Chapter FOURTEEN
“LIZZY, YOU should come down for breakfast,” Mr. Bennet called up the stairs, his voice still carrying that same easy drawl he used on stage—like he was warming up before a set.
Elizabeth blinked awake. A lazy morning light filtered through her curtains, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. Then she remembered: Shelburne, Vermont, her parents' home, a month away from the chaos that had happened to her in New York.
She sighed, swung her legs off the bed, and paused in front of the mirror, her eyes meeting the tired version of herself staring back.
It had been a month since Mr. Darcy’s truth-telling in her New York apartment, and there were mornings when she still felt half pulled back into that swirl of headlines, DMs, comments, accusations, and apologies.
Other days, it all felt distant, like it had happened to someone else entirely.
The shame of her mistake, the weight of what she’d done, and the quiet heartbreak that lingered were what convinced her a trip home might clear her head. It hadn’t.
She found her slippers and padded down the stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Bennet stood at the counter, spreading jam on toast with the focus of a man who approached domesticity as a competitive sport.
The smell of casserole filled the space, obviously coming from the microwave.
Kitty sat at the table, her hair still mussed from sleep, cradling a mug with both hands.
She had arrived a few days earlier to check in on their parents and was set to leave in two.
Mary, who still lived at home, sat ramrod straight with an earnest expression, reading the morning paper as if it were scripture.
Mrs. Bennet was already at the table, eyes bright with that particular brand of enthusiastic mother energy.
“Oh, Elizabeth,” she began before Lizzy even reached her seat. “Did you see the internet ruckus this morning? I told your father, I said, people still talking about that article of yours.”
Elizabeth forced a polite smile and slipped into her chair.
“It’s been over a month, Mama,” she said evenly, “and I took it down.”
Mrs. Bennet set down her tea with a tiny sigh. “Taken down or not, my dear, you went up against a billionaire. How could you ever think to be free of that stench? Now no one will want to marry you. You know what people say about women who go after rich men.”
Elizabeth blinked.
Mr. Bennet chuckled without looking up. “My dear, she didn’t go after him. She wrote a story.”
Mrs. Bennet batted her hand at him. “Tom, you don’t understand the social optics of it. If she goes against a billionaire, how is she ever supposed to find a man who will tolerate that? When she goes against someone powerful, who could love her?”
Mr. Bennet looked to Kitty, eyebrows raised. “Well, Kit — what do you think? Should we start boarding up the windows in case offended billionaires begin pelting us with lawsuits… or do we wait for Parliament to pass an emergency bill banning Elizabeth Bennet from ever writing again?”
Kitty snorted into her tea. Elizabeth let out a reluctant laugh despite herself. Mrs. Bennet rolled her eyes while Mr. Bennet smiled with reckless abandon.
When the laughter died down, Kitty blinked. “Have you spoken to him since then?”
Elizabeth pinched her lips together. “What am I supposed to say? I nearly ruined the reputation of a good man. Even after I deleted the article, people still talked. His PR team must have worked overtime to clean up the mess I started. The only thing I could do was write that follow-up piece clearing his name, and my own article exposing that scoundrel Wickham.”
Mary looked up from her paper, glasses perched at the tip of her nose. “And what has become of Mr. Wickham now?”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes with just a hint of exasperation, “he’s still on the run. At least five women have come forward about his catfishing scams on various dating platforms. He meets them, takes their money, and disappears. It’s ridiculous.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Bennet smiled. “A man who runs scams and runs from commitment and consequence. He runs so much, it practically justifies calling him dashing. Or what was the adjective Lydia used to describe him again when she called?”
That did it. Laughter broke around the table, even from Mary, who tried to hide her smile behind the newspaper and failed entirely.
The conversation trailed as they ate. For the first time in weeks, it was ordinary—bickering and jokes about grocery store mishaps and Mr. Bennet’s latest attempt at a new breakfast recipe.
And then the doorbell rang.
Almost immediately, Elizabeth’s stomach gave a tiny lurch.
Mr. Bennet looked up. “Are you expecting someone?”
“No,” Elizabeth said, frowning. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Not here. Not now.
Mrs. Bennet waved a hand. “Probably a delivery or a neighbour. Don’t worry about it.”
Elizabeth got up slowly and crossed the living room.
Her skin went pale, and her heart thudded harder as she opened the door.
There, standing on her porch, was Fitzwilliam Darcy.
And just behind him—quiet, composed, her eyes carrying the same careful tension as her brother’s—stood Georgiana. Elizabeth recognized her instantly. The face was unmistakable from the pictures Wickham had once sent.
For a moment, Elizabeth nearly staggered backward.
“Mr… Mr. Darcy?” she said, her voice catching.
His gaze was steady. Not apologetic—but open, sincere. There was something in his expression that made her chest tighten.
“Elizabeth,” he began, voice quiet and even, “I hope I’m not intruding. I came to speak with you… if you’ll hear me out.”
Before she could answer, the girl beside him stepped forward. She was younger than Elizabeth expected, dressed simply, her hands clasped in front of her.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” she said softly. “I’ve heard so many nice things about you. I… I asked if I could come. I wanted to meet you. If that’s alright.”
The porch suddenly felt too narrow. Her pulse roared in her ears.
Elizabeth blinked, thrown off balance by the sight of them both.
Her mind scrambled for footing—How did he find out where she was? Was he here with a lawsuit? So many other silly thoughts ran through her mind.
But before she could follow the thought, Darcy added gently, “We won’t stay long. But if you're willing, we’d really appreciate a moment.”
Her legs were made of cotton.
For lack of what to say, Elizabeth swallowed, then glanced at the girl. “It’s nice to meet you, Georgiana,” she said softly.
And somehow, that was enough to let the moment breathe.
***
Inside, Mrs. Bennet had only just realized who was standing at her door when Elizabeth introduced Mr. Darcy aloud.
“Oh my goodness,” she gasped, clutching at her chest like she might faint with joy. “A billionaire in my living room—someone pinch me!”
“Mother,” Elizabeth hissed, stepping aside so they could enter.
Mrs. Bennet was already smoothing her hair, straightening couch cushions that didn’t need straightening. “Please, make yourself comfortable! Would you like tea? Coffee? Stock options? We’ve got oat milk!”
Kitty nearly choked, and even Elizabeth cracked a smile.
Mr. Bennet peered in from the kitchen. “Mr. Darcy, you just missed our finest offering—last night’s reheated casserole.”
“Dad,” Elizabeth muttered.
Darcy smiled faintly, clearly amused. “Thank you, Mr. Bennet. You have a lovely home.”
“Well, we like to call it a farm,” Mr. Bennet said dryly. “In the sense that the grass grows faster than anyone can mow it, and the Wi-Fi signal dies once you step outside.”
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, was still fawning. “You must be tired from the drive.”
Mr. Darcy insisted they were not.
Elizabeth watched him sit there—watched him laugh lightly at something her father said, watched him ease into the room like he belonged in it. It didn’t feel real.
For a month, she had lived with the ache of regret. Lived with the slow, unsettling truth that he had been both—Mr. F, the person she’d grown to like, and Mr. Darcy, the one she’d judged too quickly and too harshly, only to discover he was a good man after all.
She missed everything more than she let herself admit—their conversations, the way he listened, and their meetings in strange little cafés that had started to feel like a rhythm of their own.
But she had accepted it was over. She had ruined it.
And the moment he walked out of her apartment after his apology, she knew she had lost someone who mattered. Someone rare. Someone good.
And yet here he was. In her father’s living room. As if he had always been meant to be there.
She barely heard anything he said, caught in the way he smiled at her father like they’d known each other forever. She managed to answer Georgiana, who asked a few gentle questions about growing up in the house, and watched Kitty jump in to help when her voice faltered.
“The country life is better,” Darcy said. “I should see the rest of your compound, sir.”
Somehow, Elizabeth heard that. But what caught her even more off guard was her father’s response.
“Lizzy, darling, why don’t you show Mr. Darcy the grounds? A quick walk will help him stretch his legs—and perhaps give you privacy to talk, since I know he’s here to see you.”
Elizabeth caught the smirk behind his teacup. A setup. A loud, obvious one.
It took her far too long to rise, aware of every eye in the room—Georgiana’s, Kitty’s, Mary’s, her parents’.
Still… she nodded. “Sure. This way.”
Outside, Elizabeth led Darcy down a stone path flanked by hedges, the early morning sun washing the garden in gold. The crunch of gravel underfoot was the only sound for a moment, but her mind was racing.
He was here. In Shelburne. In her home. And somehow, it didn’t feel like a breach, but a homecoming.
She stopped beside a low stone wall that overlooked the back stretch of the Bennet property—what her father jokingly called "the farm." Chickens clucked in the distance. A tire swing creaked.
Darcy stood beside her, hands in his pockets. "You have a beautiful home."
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "It’s chaos most days, but yes. It’s real."
A simple pause followed, one that gave Elizabeth just enough space to gather her thoughts and steady her breathing, which was becoming increasingly laboured.
Then Darcy said, "You must be wondering how I found you.”
“I assumed Jane told you where I was. Judging by Father’s smile, I’d guess she told him you were coming or something.”
Darcy shook his head. "Remember you told me once about your dad’s grocery store chain? And that he used to do stand-up comedy?”
“Yes…”
“Well, combine those two bits of information about a retired comedian, grocery store owner in Shelburne, Vermont, and you’ll find your dad’s website. I reached out to him, explained everything, and he gave me his blessing to come.”
Elizabeth managed a brief smile and muttered something about her dad being a coy man.
“I messaged you on TrueNorth,” he continued. “Every day after I left your place. I couldn’t get you out of my mind, so I kept messaging. But then I realised my messages weren’t being read. I asked Jane about you, and she told me you were taking a break.”
"I deleted the app," she admitted. "That night when I posted the article, I was so furious that I deleted it after I sent… after I sent the message to you. I was hurt. I didn’t want anything to do with you. Or TrueNorth."
Darcy nodded. "That is understandable."
Another stretch of silence passed between them, and Elizabeth searched for something—anything—to cut through the awkwardness building inside her.
"You brought Georgiana along."
"I figured you wouldn’t slam the door on both my face and hers."
Elizabeth laughed softly.
"I'm so sorry for all I caused you," she said, a little breathless now. "I don’t even know why you’re here, but I’ll keep saying sorry for as long as it takes for you to forgive me."
“Come on, Elizabeth.”
“I swear, when I saw you, I wondered if you were here to serve me a lawsuit or just tell me how much damage I’d done to your name.”
"Neither," he said. "I just needed to see you. One last time, if that’s what you want. But if there’s even the smallest chance…”
Elizabeth turned to him, the weight of the last month catching up with her. Tears welled in her eyes as the cold sting of shame washed over her.
"I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I could have been so stupid to believe Wickham. I made a fool of myself. I insulted your name. When I saw what I’d done, I had to run. I couldn’t stay in New York—not after that. Not when everything felt like it was on fire."
Darcy stepped closer. "The fire didn’t scare me. Losing you did."
Her breath caught.
"I’ve tried to get you out of my head for weeks, Elizabeth. I failed. Miserably."
His eyes met hers.
"I kept seeing you everywhere. In dreams. In strangers’ faces. I talked about you so much that even Georgiana noticed. She was the one who insisted we come find you. And she was right."
He paused, his hand lifting gently to wipe a tear from her cheek.
"The first time we met in person, you didn’t even wait for the date to begin before running off.
But I’ve been thinking—that technically means we only went on two dates, not three.
So I was wondering..." His voice softened, a little shy now. "If you don’t think I’m a horrible person anymore, would you consider going on a proper first date with me?
No secrets. No contracts. No grudges or past. Just us. "
Elizabeth stared at him.
Not the founder. Not the billionaire. Not the scandal she had nearly caused. Not the man at the gala who once claimed she wasn’t handsome enough to tempt him.
Just him.
Mr. F.
The stranger whose chat had once made her laugh every day.
The man she had fallen for without meaning to.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.
She felt it again now—that same pull, the quiet certainty beneath all the noise.
And this time, she didn’t run from it.
Elizabeth smiled, eyes bright. "I’d like that very much."
Darcy exhaled, and for the first time in weeks, Elizabeth smiled so widely it made her stomach flutter.
They stood there a moment longer, the wind soft in the trees, the sun painting everything gold.
And in that stillness, something new began.