In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  “That’s because you’re a romantic,” Liz replied with a hug.

  “How are you, Liz?”

  “Better now that he’s alive!” She laughed, feeling suddenly giddy. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh! How wonderful! Congratulations!”

  Of course, her husband looked like a proud peacock especially when Rick slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh. Fitzwilliam winced from the shot of pain. “Fucking Marine,” he said under his breath.

  Arm-in-arm, the girls walked toward Salvatore, chatting about their news, which included Sarah’s own announcement of proposing to Rick. Ha! Liz knew they were in love!

  But the cousins held back, needing their own moment to reconnect—and to clear the air. Through the crowded platform, she could feel Fitzwilliam’s eyes burning into her back and turned to look at him over her shoulder.

  He winked.

  ***

  “I missed you, Darce,” Rick admitted, like the sap Darcy always knew him to be. The man’s voice trembled slightly as they watched their partners.

  “I missed you all. How is Georgiana?”

  “A wreck. I haven’t told her yet.”

  “I’ll be the one to tell her. It’s my responsibility. I owe her at least that.”

  Shifting his weight, Darcy averted his gaze to the Pullman car beside them. Gratitude and apologies always came hardest. “Thanks for helping Liz through her trauma, and for what you did in Venice. Thanks for calling the team together to help me in the field.”

  “You’re welcome. Look, I’m not mad, just disappointed, but I do understand.”

  “Do you? Sometimes, even I can’t comprehend the depth of my love for her, the ends I’d go to keep her safe and make her happy every day that we’re together.”

  “I can. That kind of love is an amazing thing … rare, I think … I mean … when you are willing to die for the one you love it’s an overwhelming feeling.”

  Now he raised an eyebrow. “Yes it is.”

  “I’m leaving Obsidian and … Sarah and I are getting married.”

  Darcy felt released from guilt at that pronouncement. In the awareness of the safe passage he’d cleared for all their futures, the pain in his shoulder and his conscience was negligible.

  “Would you die for her, Rick?”

  “Yes, a thousand times, yes.”

  Again, his tender gaze fell to his wife’s laughing countenance, his heart bursting with emotion. “Is your heart and mind so filled with her that she’s all you think of? That the only place you ever want to be is by her side?”

  “I never thought it could be so … but, yes.”

  “Then you do know exactly how I feel. Congratulations, cousin, just like I have, you’ve finally found your true and final mission in life.”

  Epilogue

  The Thorntons

  June 16

  Derbyshire, England

  No bride could have asked for a more perfect day for her nuptials. What girl didn’t dream of a romantic country wedding in the magnificent Peaks District of Northern England? In fact, to this no-longer newlywed’s eye, its beauty resembled the location of her own wedding day, right down to the horses grazing in the west field and the lily-pad strewn pond.

  One day, she’d sit with the gardener and design the landscaping and footbridge and fill that pond with Koi, but right now it was delegated to her to-do list along with the greenhouse. She currently had something much more pleasing in which to attend: her bundle of absolute love: Richard Darcy Thornton born ten weeks ago, at a monstrous 9 pounds, 6 ounces and 22 inches.

  On this fine summer morning, Liz stood on the master suite balcony overlooking the lush landscape surrounding Helstone Manor, feeling as though she were admiring Leesburg, Virginia with its splash of bluebells at the height of their season and the splendor of Pemberley’s wooded perimeter. From the hilly verdant eminence on which the manor majestically stood, she reflected on how she had always considered that there had never been such a place where nature had done more, or where natural beauty had not been altered by modern tastes than at Pemberley, but she was wrong. So similar were the two estates that she felt entirely at home. Her husband had planned it that way when he purchased Helstone for half of the 22 million he transferred to England before his departure for Bermuda.

  She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a few seconds, infusing her lungs with the sweet-scented air. A contented smile emerged from deep in her soul at the absolute euphoria she felt not just at this moment, or because there was a wedding about to take place, but because she felt safe and content and, admittedly a bit emotional—a result of adjusting hormones. Never had she felt so at peace, or so in love with life and with both of her fellas. Dumas—and her husband—were right: “He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness.” Serenity had finally come to both their souls.

  Her hand grasped the railing and she admired the huge, sparkling emerald ring hugging her simple—yet profoundly symbolic—gold wedding band, a gift from Fitzwilliam along with a new sketchbook when their son was born two months ago. Fitzwilliam … he may have been John Thornton to 99% of the people in their circle, but he was still Fitzwilliam to her, but never Iceman ever again.

  Bird song and chatter commingled with Mozart’s “Piano Concerto No 21 (Elvira Madigan)” coming from the nursery behind her. Mallika and Kalendar Prince chased one another below her and she could see, in the distance, the colorful gardens and birdcage gazebo surrounded by white banners tickled by the breeze. The party planners were hard at work placing the final swags and floral touches on the two dozen chairs facing the gazebo—the place where another couple’s forever journey would begin.

  On the path below her window, Dixon walked beside a hedge of yellow roses toward the carriage-house-turned-apartment/security headquarters. The debonair-dressed man had cut his hair and was whistling a happy tune, and she smiled. Boy, his crustiness had sloughed off significantly since moving to the English countryside. Rumor had it (from her husband) that Dixon was seeing a woman in the village over.

  “Howdy, Mrs. D,” he said with a look up to her and a raise to his arm as he ambled by.

  “Good morning, Marion!” she teased. “It’s a beautiful day for a wedding, isn’t it?”

  “Sure is.”

  “You look very handsome today.”

  “Aw, go on with ya’. It’s just a suit.”

  “It wasn’t necessary to dress up. We’re all family.”

  He stopped and shielded his eyes from the sun behind her when he gazed up to the balcony. “Yes we are, but keep calling me Marion and you’ll be off my Christmas card list.”

  “Liar. Uncle Dixon would never leave the little man without his security detail.”

  “You got me there,” he said, grinned then continued on his mission with a spring in his step and whistle on his lips.

  “Babe, who are you talking to?” her husband asked, coming through the open French doors to join her.

  “Dixon. He’s in a great mood today.”

  “We all are.”

  Her breath caught when she turned, gazing at the picture Fitzwilliam presented: dancing dark eyes and a smile that swelled her heart. Looking so dashing, he wore a gray suit and pink tie and the most endearing accessory: the baby blue layette blanket draped over his shoulder. But it was the image of what he held that caused her wide grin. Their chubby boy—their pride and joy lay spread out on his father’s right arm, happily sucking on his bottle without a fuss as Fitzwilliam held it to his mouth.

  Her husband had the magic touch in keeping their son calm, cool, and collected. Fatherhood, like motherhood, seemed to come naturally to them, but her husband’s protective concern allowed her to get some much needed rest in Richard’s every two hour feeding demands.

  “The caterer is asking for you,” he said.

  “Are you sure they need me? Maybe Gigi can handle it? I mean … I would like to hold my son for at least five minutes this morning before t
he barrage of aunts, uncles, and grandparents wake up and get a hold of him. I am Richard’s mother after all, darling.” She teased, cocking an eyebrow, which he understood very well. “Between you, our sisters, and Dixon, he probably won’t recognize me after this week!”

  A sigh of pretended disappointment left his lips. “I suppose you can hold him,” he teased back. Bending down over their son’s head, his lips met hers, lingering with a moan. Oh, she knew that particular moan. It’s been a looong twelve weeks of abstinence for them.

  “No,” she lied in response to his moan, having every intention of seducing him tonight after the wedding.

  He waggled his eyes and whispered, “When?”

  “When you least expect it, sexy.”

  He waggled his eyes again. “Tonight? When there is romance in the air?”

  “Perhaps. Although … I don’t think the timing is ideal. Unless, of course, you want to build the muscles in both arms in another nine months—just when your shoulder is feeling good, now you want another chubbster draped over it!

  “We won’t get pregnant so soon.”

  “Yes we will. I’m not breast-feeding, and it’s not like we use birth control.”

  She loved teasing and goading him and thoroughly enjoyed his frustrated grunt. Fitzwilliam removed the bottle from the baby’s mouth and she bent, kissing the little one’s head with a brush to his dark hair. “My precious sweetness; I don’t think you’re ready to share Daddy’s attentive hogging with a sibling, are you?”

  “Hey, I have no problem with a repeat performance. In fact, there’s a case of 2008 Spottswoode Cabernet on the tables down there.”

  “Ha. Ha! Again with the wine. It wasn’t the wine, Fitzwilliam, and might I remind you of the 23 hours of labor in which I swore to kill you at least a half a dozen and divorce you at least 48 times?”

  “The thought of getting pregnant so soon … or shot … or death … or divorce … will not keep me away from you—not even your knives or lethal tongue, savage woman. Not in the past, not now, not ever.” He kissed her again then seductively whispered into her ear with longing in his voice. “I miss you, Lizzy,” before turning from her—with the baby still in his arms.

  The butterflies in her stomach fluttered at how he breathed “Lizzy.” Yeah, she was going to love him passionately—maybe even on this very balcony after their guests retired for the night. Although, she did expect the partying to continue into the wee-hours of the morning. Maybe she’d even have wine.

  Stopping at the crib, he turned to her with an unmistakable grin. “Tonight, Lakmé, when there’s romance in the air and after I ply you with copious amounts of that Spottswoode—”

  “And a foot massage,” she interrupted.

  “And a foot massage … expect me to seduce you.”

  “Baby, I don’t need all that enticement. I just need the promise of your extremely talented Chironius carinatus.”

  He laughed. “That’s what gave us Ricky!”

  She chortled, fully in agreement and open to the idea of expanding their family but, of course, she wouldn’t tell him that! “Please stop calling him Ricky.”

  “We’ll see what his uncle has to say about it.”

  “Ha! I’d say that today of all days, Rick’ll be quite agreeable to anything you say.”

  ***

  There were times in Fitzwilliam Darcy’s life when he had considered a bullet to his own head was the only recourse in finding peace. The demons had chased him from the day he learned that his mother betrayed her family with his best friend, directing him toward a path of vengeance and death until he met her … Elizabeth Bennet.

  Those dark days were gone—banished forever—never to return. She’d been his salvation when he was too focused on revenge to even realize that he needed saving. She was his life and breath and because of that he’d always go to extremes to ensure her happiness and safety, but he’d never be lulled into a false sense of security even if Operation Black Ice ended with him the victor. Here at Helstone, he’d taken the same security measures as they had in Pemberley because, frankly, the world was filled with assholes doing dangerous things and his family’s safety was paramount. But he was confident that Iceman’s past was dead and buried. No one would come calling. No one would find them. Liz Darcy had disappeared before leaving for Europe, never to be seen again. And when they’d stepped off their final train in Victoria Station, the Thorntons had emerged hand-in-hand, blending in with every other Briton heading toward their home. Although he’d been worse for the wear and in need of medical care beyond a temporary combat fix, they’d strode to the limousine waiting for them with Nick Higgins installed in the driver’s seat.

  Just as he had promised, a new dawn … a new day.

  The swell of pride filled his heart as he stood as best man beside Rick and Sarah in the 19th Century birdcage gazebo adorned with yellow roses and ivy.

  He’d never seen his cousin look so fulfilled. The man’s ruddy complexion beamed with joy and his relaxed body language indicated that he was comfortable in his decision to marry, and freed from a future of death-dealing, instead uniting to one of life-giving. Marriage to this woman—someone who adored him and cared for him above all things—would suit him well. Their relationship, born in the worst of circumstances, had proven serendipitous, just as it had for Liz and him.

  “Best man?” he and Rick had joked with still a little sting in his cousin’s voice about his deceit. Hardly the “best”, but Liz and Ricky thought so and that’s what mattered. It had been a long few months of making up to the men in his life, especially the military men; the women were more forgiving of his solo mission—even Caroline. Two days ago they had arrived at Helstone for the wedding, and an immediate no-holds-barred fight was called; the guys took it to the mats where he got a proper beat down by all of them. Sure, they were sympathetic to his rehabbed shoulder, but not enough to cut slack to the rest of his body. He still hurt from Charlie’s roundhouse kick to his ribs and Justin’s guillotine wrestling move. Still, it was in good fun and he fully understood—and expecting nothing less.

  His gaze settled on the wedding couple’s clasped hands and he listened to Rick’s prideful recitation of his vows, loud and clear for all to hear. The future in-laws looked on with joy at the former Marine who saved their daughter from death, the Amazon … or worse at the hands of Diablo’s butchers. Sarah’s sister, the maid-of-honor, cried in equal measure as Georgiana, seated beside Liz in the first row. Maybe his sister’s tears were pregnancy tears. He was familiar with how that worked, and both he and Liz were happy for her and Justin’s news. But man, his sister’s beat down of him for “dying” was just as ugly as Charlie’s, only she went for a verbal lashing guilt trip prior to her absolution—followed by more tears.

  Wearing a strapless gown and a delicate floral tiara, Sarah looked every inch the classic English Rose. Today two dozen guests were witness to something akin to his and Liz’s nuptials. Private and meaningful, the day was about the vows and the power of commitment to another until the end of time, not the party afterward—even if Liz had outdone herself in the planning of both weddings.

  As the bride professed her vows with a tremble in her voice, he looked out to Liz cradling their son in her arms. Their eyes met. So beautiful; so absolutely breathtaking. She was stunning because her serenity and bliss came from inside her. She was happy and didn’t have a care in the world beyond doting on Ricky—and him—and doing everything that brought her enjoyment. Unconsciously, his chest swelled with pride. He did that. He’d made her happy. She told him so. This life they now led was what they’d always dreamed of.

  A little wink preceded the slow movement of her luscious lips as she mouthed “Tonight. Sex” and he bit back his laugh. How could he deserve this halcyon life after all his many sins, no matter how noble the intent or at ease his conscience felt at his end of the rifle?

  Prayers for the couple offered by the pastor floated out to the guests and up to the heavens. He lif
ted his own prayers asking for blessings upon his cousin’s marriage and adding some of his own intentions. Not that he was a religious man, but what better time to give thanks. He continued to hold Liz’s gaze, recalling the last time he’d prayed they were in that hillside chapel in Santorini. Made in the silence of their hearts before the cliff jump, their petitions had mirrored the other’s: to create life from their love.

  Thank you, God for bringing Liz and me together. Thank you for the many second chances you’ve blessed my family with. Thank you for the most incredible wife and son and a family of true friends. Thank you for this new beginning. Please help me to be the absolute best husband and father I can be and help me to always keep them safe.

  He wondered if Bennet had asked the same given the smile on his face, seated beside his ex-wife. Ah, forgiveness was a tricky thing—the man had attained absolution from him for his assistance—but it meant wiping the slate clean for his past offenses to Liz. If she could entirely move on and forgive both her parents, then so must he. She put it all in a box when her father guided her through Prague with reassurances and calmness. In the light of a new day, she’d considered that Operation Black Ice had protected their baby’s future—and that was more than enough. Grudges were a thing of the past now and, just as he had with Wickham, he needed to put it all behind him to maintain peace. Living in the moment was his and Liz’s credo.

  One row behind Liz and the baby, the redheaded viper sat beside Higgins, and based on their roaming hands at last night’s not-so-bachelor party the two were a hot and heavy item this morning. In fact, Caroline looked clingy and in awe of the take-no-shit-from-anyone guy. Perhaps she had finally moved on from her lust for Iceman. It had always been Iceman she wanted—never Fitzwilliam. Only one woman succeeded in breaking through to the man he’d pushed so far down below and she wanted him, redeemed him with her love and trust before it was too late.

  Among the onlookers to this auspicious event, Knightley sat beside Charlie and Jane. Only two of the three remained in the employment of the newly reformed “Obsidian,” renamed “Benzaiten” under Caroline’s direction. Darcy had laughed aloud when he heard the name, and while his two friends thought it was some funky ore like obsidian, he wouldn’t be the one to tell them that it was a Japanese water snake goddess. He still hated snakes!