Chapter 22

William slowly climbed the steps to the third floor, listening to the hum of conversation coming from the living room. The cocktail hour before dinner was still in progress, but he had managed to slip away from the party unnoticed—or, at least, he hoped so.

He wandered into his bedroom, allowing his feet to carry him where they chose. He found himself passing through the French doors onto his balcony. It was a cool evening, particularly for August, a pleasant contrast to the stuffy living room he had just escaped. He inhaled deeply, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his top shirt button.

William had spoken to Dr. Rosemont that morning about the possibility of convalescing in Los Angeles, and she had approved the plan as long as he agreed to a few simple conditions. Tonight after dinner, he intended to call Charles to discuss the idea, and first thing in the morning he would have Sonya start making the arrangements. Tomorrow was Saturday, so technically Sonya had the day off, but he was anxious to get his plans underway. In any case, she was accustomed to the periodic need to work on weekends. She’ll give me an earful about it, but she’ll do it.

He had summoned his resolve and had informed Gran, Georgie, and Mrs. Reynolds of his decision that afternoon. As expected, they opposed the plan. They had argued that he didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had to admit that he had given them cause to make that assessment. He had neglected the danger signs and now he was paying the price. But as long as he resided in this house they would go on paying the price too, constantly watching him, worrying, fearing the worst. Yet another example of my selfishness. When I was ignoring my symptoms, I never stopped to consider how it might affect them. He was convinced that the best solution for all concerned was for him to move away for a while.

William heard voices below, and saw his Aunt Eleanor leading Catherine de Bourgh on a tour of the garden. He exited the balcony, not wishing to be seen if either of them should turn to look back at the house. I guess I’d better get back down there anyway. I’ve been AWOL for long enough.

“You’re not finished with your soup, are you?”

William looked up to see Mrs. Reynolds standing beside him, staring at his barely-touched bowl of soup. “Yes, I am. But it was delicious.”

After a momentary pause, she removed the bowl, a disapproving frown on her face. William looked down the table and saw Richard’s crooked grin. William shook his head with a sigh. It was like this at every meal.

Conversation at the dinner table had been dull. Catherine had done most of the talking, with occasional comments by Rose, Aunt Eleanor, or Uncle Robert, whenever they could wedge in a word or two. Richard had been satisfied to sit observing the scene with an amused expression on his face, directing an occasional smirk in William’s direction. Georgiana had spent the meal staring off into the distance, barely saying a word. William had said only as much as courtesy demanded, his mind restlessly analyzing different aspects of his plan to go to California. What did Richard call this? The Dinner Party from Hell? He wasn’t far wrong.

How different things would have been, had Elizabeth been there. He closed his eyes and imagined her sitting beside him, glancing at him frequently, sharing her amusement at Catherine’s pompous statements and her incessant name-dropping. He saw his hand steal under the table to squeeze hers gently beneath the tablecloth, and he felt her delicate fingers entwine with his. He rubbed his foot against hers, and the laughter she was suppressing danced in her green eyes.

“William? William?”

He opened his eyes, suddenly aware that Georgiana was speaking to him. A salad sat in front of him, though he didn’t recall its arrival. He looked around the table and saw several pairs of eyes watching him with expressions ranging from curiosity to alarm.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Are you okay, Will?” Georgiana touched his arm. “Are you feeling sick?”

“No, I’m fine, just … a little tired. I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

“I was asking about your foundation’s new scholarship program,” Catherine said. “Your grandmother seemed to feel that I should hear more about it. But if you’re not interested in the dinner conversation—”

“Of course he is,” Rose interposed smoothly, giving William a warning look. “I mentioned the program to Catherine before dinner, William, and I said that you would fill her in on the details.”

“Ah. Well, yes, it’s intended to encourage young composers.”

“Rose already told me that much,” Catherine snapped.

William hadn’t intended his answer to be that brief—he was proud of the new program and enjoyed discussing it—but Catherine’s manner discouraged lengthy speeches. “We’re accepting applications from graduate students majoring in composition. They’re required to submit samples of their work.”

“Manuscripts or performance tapes?”

“Both.”

“I’m relieved to hear that.” Catherine nodded in approval. “Such awards should never be based solely on a review of the printed page. One must hear a performance of the work as well. How many awardees will you select?”

“We haven’t set a fixed number, but it will be somewhere between six and ten.”

“And what will they receive?”

“A stipend to support their education for a year. And we plan to hold a benefit concert featuring their work. We’ll probably produce a CD with a live recording of the concert as well.”

“You should be sure to select a few awardees who intend to compose for the piano. Then you could perform their compositions yourself.”

“Yes, in fact, that’s part of the plan.” William allowed a smug expression to creep onto his face. He loved being a step ahead of Catherine. “There’s going to be a special category for piano compositions.”

“I have some students at the conservatory who I’m quite sure will be interested in applying. I assume you’ll be putting together a selection committee?”

“Yes, of course.” What did she imagine, that we’d just pick some applications out of the pile at random, and then we’d have our winners?

“You’ll be using Juilliard faculty, I suppose,” she said in a clipped tone. “You seem to think they are superior to faculty at other institutions, though I’ve never understood why.”

William decided to ignore the second part of her comment, which had long been a sore subject with Catherine. “I’m not absolutely certain who I’ll ask to serve.”

“I see. Well, I would of course be willing to serve on the committee should you wish to take advantage of my considerable expertise. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that I’ve chaired many such committees, and have often recruited luminaries of the music world to assist me. And I have great affinity for composers. Lewis always said that I would have been an exceptional composer, had I chosen to pursue that path.”

Richard cleared his throat loudly. William glanced at his cousin, noting his unconcealed smirk.

Catherine turned her attention to her salad, leaving William free to re-immerse himself in his imagination, where Elizabeth’s company made the evening bearable. He scarcely noticed when Mrs. Reynolds arrived to remove the salad plates, again scowling at William’s untouched food.

“What did I tell you, Will? The Dinner Party from Hell. The rest of that scotch is going to come in very handy later tonight.” Richard’s expression suggested that some excruciating torture had been visited on him.

William nodded. “Catherine definitely knows how to make time stand still.” The cousins had temporarily taken refuge in the garden behind the house.

“I have to hand it to Mom,” Richard said. “She figured out how to escape.”

“Oh, come on! You’re not saying she was faking, are you?” Eleanor Fitzwilliam had developed a severe headache near the end of dinner. She and Robert had departed soon afterwards.

“I don’t know. But if she was, I wish I’d thought of it first. Oh, and then Gran let Georgie go upstairs to practice. Another good excuse I wish I’d thought of.”

“Practicing piano? I guess you’ve forgotten that you don’t play.”

“There are other things I could have practiced upstairs … though I’d need a partner for the primary activity I have in mind,” Richard said, leering.

William snorted. “I’m surprised to hear that you think you need practice in that area—I thought you were already the master.”

“Indeed I am, old man, but only because I practice constantly, just as Catherine was advising Georgie to do. Practice makes perfect and, as you know, I accept nothing less than perfection.”

“I know. You’re a role model for us all,” William said, grinning. “But, really, I’m surprised you’re so desperate to escape. I’ve spent plenty of worse evenings than this one. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough at dinner.”

“I believe in taking pleasure wherever I can find it. And at dinner the only possible source of enjoyment was to mock every word that ridiculous woman said. Of course, I had to mock her silently to stay out of trouble with Gran.”

“To stay out of worse trouble than you’re already in, you mean.”

Richard grimaced. “Don’t remind me. That’s yet another reason to take refuge in that scotch bottle later tonight. The look Gran gave me when I walked into the house nearly burned a hole through my forehead.”

Rose hadn’t said a word when Richard had strolled nonchalantly into the house only a few minutes before dinner was to be served; however, the look in her eyes had promised retribution as soon as their guest departed.

“You asked for it by being so late,” William said, shaking his head.

“It’s called being fashionably late, Will.”

William chuckled. “You should know by now that Gran disapproves of that particular fashion.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see how it goes. Anyway, speaking of being in trouble, I gather you’ve gone public with the Fitzwilliam Plan.”

“Your suggestion about going to LA, you mean? Yeah, I did. Dr. Rosemont approved it, and I talked to Gran, Georgie, and Mrs. Reynolds this afternoon. Why? Did one of them say something to you?”

“Mrs. R. pulled me aside after dinner. Wanted me to talk you out of it.”

“Did you tell her it was your idea?”

Richard cleared his throat. “I was going to, but then I realized that she’d probably poison my tea if I told her. She loves you, so she’ll forgive you eventually, but if she knew that I’m the brains behind the plan, it’d just confirm her opinion that I’m beyond redemption.”

“She’s fond of you—she just doesn’t always show it.”

“I suppose. But she keeps it very well hidden. So, have they been rough on you?”

William shook his head. “Not that bad, but they haven’t had time to bring out the heavy artillery yet, with Catherine coming for dinner.”

“Don’t let them talk you out of it.”

“I won’t,” William said with certainty. “Say, I’m going in to get a glass of brandy. Want anything?”

“No, thanks. You coming back out?”

William nodded. “As long as I don’t get trapped in there.”

He passed through the doors from the garden to the library. The room was empty—he could hear Rose and Catherine in the hallway outside the dining room. Catherine was offering Rose a stream of nonstop advice on the preservation of a tapestry hanging there.

He made his way quietly toward the small bar set up in the corner and poured brandy into a crystal snifter. He was about to return to the patio when a voice behind him startled him.

“William, there you are. I need to speak with you.”

It was Catherine, who had just entered the library with Rose close behind her. Catherine seated herself majestically on the sofa and watched William expectantly. He approached her, but he chose not to sit next to her. His height was one of the few strategic advantages he enjoyed over her, and that advantage was of course magnified when she sat and he stood.

“Yes, Catherine?” he said, enjoying the feeling of looming over her.

“Sit down,” she snapped. “I certainly can’t be expected to speak to you if I have to sit here craning my neck.”

William sat down, trying not to roll his eyes. “What do you want?” He knew that he sounded abrupt, but he didn’t have the patience to be ordered around by Catherine tonight.

“A few minutes ago, your grandmother told me that you had some idea of going to Los Angeles to become a beach bum.”

William’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure Gran didn’t say that.”

“No, of course I didn’t,” Rose interjected from across the room. From her tone, William suspected that Rose had had her fill of Catherine along with the rest of them.

“Not in so many words, but that’s certainly how it sounded,” Catherine said. “William, I feel bound to share my opinion with you for your poor mother’s sake. She would be horrified to see you even considering engaging in such a frivolous pursuit. I’m surprised at you—you’re generally a serious, hard-working young man. That shiftless cousin of yours must have had something to do with this.”

“I beg your pardon.” William rose to his feet. His voice and the expression in his eyes would have chilled the blood of a lesser opponent.

“Don’t get huffy with me, young man. Sit back down this instant. Los Angeles! I’ve never heard anything so absurd. For you to waste your talents this way, even for a short time—”

“I’m taking my work with me, Catherine. I’m not going to lie on the beach all day.”

“Then prove it. If you want a break from New York, come to San Francisco instead. You could become a temporary member of the faculty at the conservatory.”

William stared at her, speechless. San Francisco?

“It would be a perfect place from which to administer the scholarship program. I’m sure several of our faculty members would be honored to serve on the selection committee. In fact, you could hold the winners’ concert there too. And those master classes I hear you’re about to teach at Juilliard—if you enjoy that sort of thing, you could teach an occasional seminar for us, and you could work with some of our more advanced graduate students. And you could give a few recitals to keep your performing skills sharp.”

Rose, who was listening to the conversation from across the room, spoke again. “Now, Catherine, you do understand that William is convalescing from heart trouble.”

“I’m not suggesting that he run a marathon,” Catherine huffed. “William, we’ll bring you in as our Artist in Residence for the fall semester. We’ll give you a music studio on campus, equipped with the piano of your choice and anything else you require. You can set your own schedule, according to your health restrictions, as long as you fulfill some basic obligations. There would be no salary, but you’re certainly not in need of one.”

William’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t trust himself to speak yet. Two words repeating in his head drowned out everything Catherine was saying: San Francisco …

“Hey, what’s up, Will?” It was Richard, who had just come in from the garden.

William looked at him mutely, still gathering his thoughts, so Rose spoke for him. “Catherine has invited William to spend the fall semester as Artist in Residence at her conservatory.”

“So you’d go to San Francisco instead of LA? Interesting idea. But you’d have to give up the LA beaches and all those surfer girls.”

“Of course that would be your primary consideration, Richard,” Catherine sniffed, her eyes glacial.

“It certainly would,” Richard replied cheerfully. “Hmm, blondes in bikinis, versus working for you, Catherine. Yeah, I’d pick the bikinis every time. But that’s just me—I’m kind of twisted. Actually, I think you should seriously consider it, Will. I have a funny feeling you’d be happier there than in LA.”

Catherine’s scowl faded as she absorbed the unexpected conclusion of Richard’s remarks. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but listen to your cousin, William. He’s giving you good advice for a change.”

“It’s an unaccustomed pleasure to agree with you, Catherine,” Richard said with an exaggerated bow. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think I need a drink.”

Richard strolled away to the bar area, and William, who was finally composed enough to speak, turned to Catherine. “I appreciate the offer, but I need some time to think about it before I make any commitments.”

“You can take a day or two, but we’ll need to move quickly. The semester starts in just over two weeks and I’ll want to issue a press release immediately.”

“Of course. I should be able to give you an answer before you leave New York.”

“You shouldn’t pass up this opportunity, William. I wouldn’t make this offer to just anyone. But it’s the best way for you to stay active while you recuperate, and I owe it to your mother to look after you.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need looking after.”

Catherine made a sound suggesting that she disagreed, but she didn’t pursue the matter. “And I’m sure I don’t need to point out how much it would please Anne if you chose to spend some time with us.”

“I wish you would bring Anne with you to New York some day,” Rose said. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

“I considered bringing her this time, but as you know, her health is so delicate. I was afraid that the trip would be too much for her.”

Soon after, Catherine departed, citing plans for a late rendezvous with an important official from the Metropolitan Opera. William said a polite, if somewhat absent, good night and escaped to his rooms, leaving Richard to fend for himself in the face of Gran’s disapproval. He had a great deal of thinking to do.

Shortly before midnight, William emerged from the elevator on the sixth floor and passed through the greenhouse, exiting to the roof garden. He was glad for the warmth of his suit coat against the cool, damp night air. He gazed up absently, only vaguely aware of the moon, partially obscured by clouds, and the sprinkling of stars in the sky.

Richard had left a few minutes ago, after finishing the bottle of 50-year Macallan they had opened the previous night. William had consumed only one glass of scotch—between wine at dinner and a brandy afterwards, he had already drunk more than he should. He knew that he hadn’t been good company for his cousin, but he couldn’t help it. Ever since Catherine had made her proposal, two words had rung continually in his head, silencing all other thoughts.

San Francisco.

He knew that Catherine’s motivation in making the offer had nothing to do with honoring Anna’s memory. It would be an impressive coup for Pacific Conservatory to form an alliance with a musical artist of William’s stature. While the school was highly respected on the West Coast, it had yet to achieve the sort of reputation enjoyed by a handful of truly elite institutions. The cachet lent by William’s residence there would offer the conservatory visibility on a national scale.

The idea offered a surprising number of advantages on his side as well. He had long thought that he would enjoy doing some teaching, and he would now have the opportunity. Furthermore, as she had suggested, he could give occasional recitals without the added stress of traveling. And she was correct that he could draw on the conservatory’s faculty and other resources to advance the young composers’ scholarship program.

Not every aspect of the plan was entirely appealing. Catherine had long cherished the hope that William would marry her daughter Anne, and it was clear that she sought to advance that cause by bringing him to San Francisco. But William had been fending off her matchmaking efforts for years, and he would simply continue to do so. In addition, although he didn’t relish spending several months under Catherine’s watchful eye, he felt confident that he could assert his independence during his stay.

But none of this is what I’ve been thinking about nonstop for the past few hours.

His eyes drifted across the garden to the table where he and Elizabeth had dined together less than two months ago. He remembered, for what seemed like the hundredth time, how lovely she had looked in the glowing candlelight, her eyes soft and warm as she smiled at him.

San Francisco.

But remember what she said that night at her apartment. “I don’t ever want to see you again.” He had tortured himself with that memory more times than he could count, the pain still as fresh as when she had first said the words.

What would she think if I suddenly showed up at the conservatory? Wouldn’t it seem as though I was chasing her, intruding on her life and forcing her to notice me? Have I no pride at all? Do I really want her to think I’m that desperate?

William walked over to the table and sat down. He closed his eyes and she materialized, sitting across from him. She reached out to touch his hand gently, and her radiant smile warmed his heart … until he remembered that she was only a vision. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes, biting his lip as he stared at the empty chair.

God help me, but I am that desperate.

If there was the slightest chance that he could change her mind, he had to try. And so he would go to San Francisco, and risk the pain of being rejected … again.

His decision made, William left the roof garden and returned to his bedroom. Tomorrow morning, he and Sonya would start working on the arrangements.

By the following Friday evening, the house was in an uproar, or at least what passed for an uproar in the normally sedate Darcy home. Everyone, it seemed, was preparing to go somewhere.

Rose and Georgiana were leaving on Sunday for a week in The Hamptons. When these plans had been made in late July, William had intended to accompany them. Now that he was scheduled to leave for San Francisco on Thursday, they would be going without him. Rose had suggested that they postpone their trip until after William’s departure, but the imminent start of Georgiana’s school year made that impossible. In addition, the timing of their trip had one major advantage: they would be out of the house during Mrs. Reynolds’s upcoming absence.

As soon as William had announced his intention to spend the fall months in San Francisco, Mrs. Reynolds had swung into action, making plans of her own. She was to leave for San Francisco on Monday morning in order to make preparations for his arrival, and she would be staying through the weekend to, as she phrased it, “help him get settled.” William’s assurances that he could handle things himself had been summarily dismissed.

“Mrs. Darcy agrees with me about this, William. You know how I hate to leave this house in anyone else’s hands, and I wouldn’t be doing it if it weren’t absolutely necessary. But it is. For one thing, that place has been sitting there empty for months. It’s going to need a good cleaning.”

William would be living in a Nob Hill penthouse owned by Richard’s parents. When they had moved from San Francisco to New York, the Fitzwilliams had decided not to sell their former home. They used it occasionally when they traveled west to visit friends, but it sat unoccupied much of the time.

“Aunt Eleanor told me that the cleaning people come every other week, even though it’s empty,” William had replied. “I’m sure it’s in good condition.”

Mrs. Reynolds had snorted at his naiveté. “Trust me, it needs a good cleaning. Those services don’t do a proper job of it. Besides, you don’t know the first thing about hiring help, and you’re going to need a housekeeper. Fortunately, Mrs. Fitzwilliam tells me that there’s plenty of space, so the housekeeper can have her own room without being in your way.”

William had argued that he didn’t need live-in help, and in the end he had prevailed. Mrs. Reynolds was to hire a part-time housekeeper who would work afternoons, leaving as soon as William’s dinner was prepared. He had further insisted that the housekeeper be given weekends off, pointing out that he could dine in restaurants on those days.

In truth, he had opposed having a full-time housekeeper primarily because it interfered with his visions of romantic evenings and weekends with Elizabeth. He was becoming somewhat alarmed by the relentless optimism filling his heart, fearing that he was setting himself up for another crushing blow at her hands. There was no guarantee that she would welcome him, or even speak to him, yet his mind had leapt ahead to winning her love and devotion.

He would have to be careful when he saw her again, taking his cues from her behavior. She had rejected his declaration of love; in fact, it had led her to eject him from her life. It wouldn’t do to frighten her away by repeating his mistake and professing feelings that she wasn’t ready to accept. If I’m to have any chance at all, I need to remember that I’m starting over with her, and I mustn’t rush things this time.

The rest of William’s plans were going well. He had completed his master class at Juilliard, receiving excellent feedback, and had tentatively agreed to teach again during the winter. Dr. Rosemont had referred him to a medical school friend in the Bay area, a noted cardiologist who would be taking over his case. She had already sent Dr. Salinger copies of William’s records, and the two doctors had discussed his condition in detail over the phone. His first appointment in San Francisco was scheduled for the Monday after his arrival.

Darcy Arts Trust business was also moving along satisfactorily. He and Sonya had worked hard over the past week to finalize plans for the young composers’ scholarship competition. The announcements had gone in the mail that morning to music schools and conservatories all over the world.

Sonya and William had also organized other business related to the foundation in order to ensure that things would run smoothly in his absence. She would make occasional trips to San Francisco to meet with him as needed, and he had made the supreme sacrifice of learning to use e-mail in response to Sonya’s insistence that it would simplify communication.

“Otherwise, I know what’ll happen,” Sonya had grumbled. “You’ll constantly be calling me at 2:00 in the morning, because it’s only 11:00 your time and you’ve just thought of something important. This way, you can go online and e-mail me about your important thought instead, and I can get a decent night’s sleep.”

Actually, William hoped that he would be more pleasantly engaged most evenings, but he was now the not-so-proud owner of a laptop computer that Sonya assured him was “the latest and greatest.” She had subjected him to a computer boot camp of sorts over the past week, doing her best to rapidly teach him the fundamentals of e-mail. His first message had gone to Charles Bingley, who had responded with alacrity and astonishment, both at the fact that William had “finally joined the information age” and at the news of his upcoming stay in California.

Sonya, in an impressive show of resourcefulness, had managed to secure the sports car of William’s dreams. Obtaining a Ferrari 360 Spider convertible often required a wait of up to two years, but no one had ever questioned Sonya’s ability to find her way over, under, or around seemingly impenetrable obstacles. Even now the car awaited him in San Francisco, parked in the Fitzwilliams’ space in the building’s garage.

All in all, things were going well. Even his body was finally cooperating. His blood pressure was close to normal, and his breathlessness and dizziness, though still present, were somewhat improved. In response to his carefully offhand inquiry earlier that week, Dr. Rosemont had lifted the ban on sexual activity. “Just start slowly, okay?” she had said. “It wouldn’t do to have you expire on your first weekend in San Francisco, in the midst of some sort of marathon session.”

Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.

There was only one significant cloud on the horizon: Georgiana. She had vociferously opposed his plans to spend time in California, and continued to object long after Rose was reconciled to the idea. William had promised to fly her out for a visit and to come home occasionally; however, it was obvious that she considered his departure a sort of abandonment. She was certainly accustomed to his frequent absences by now, since he had traveled extensively for nearly her entire life, but perhaps she had seen his health problem as a blessing in disguise since it would keep him home. Or perhaps she was merely feeling more possessive because he had recently been seriously ill. Or perhaps, as Sonya had suggested, she was just being a typical 15-year-old. William wasn’t sure, and Georgiana wouldn’t discuss it with him. Trying to draw her out, he took her out to dinner one evening, to a concert another night, and on two shopping trips, but her mood continued to be sullen and uncommunicative.

I’ll just have to make sure I call her every day. Or better yet, she’d probably like it if I e-mailed her a lot. She’s always e-mailing with her friends. And I’ll ask Richard to keep an eye on her. Maybe she’ll eventually talk to him.

Nearly everything had fallen neatly into place in a remarkably short time. But somehow I don’t think things are going to go this smoothly when I see Elizabeth.

Rose Darcy looked at the clock again. Only five minutes had passed since she had checked it last; it was nearly 1:00 in the morning. Rose, who believed in the “early to bed, early to rise” doctrine, had been trying to get to sleep for over two hours.

She sat up in bed, noticing the silhouette of her luggage, which was barely visible in the dark bedroom. It was Saturday night—technically, Sunday morning—and she and Georgiana were to depart after church for a friend’s estate in East Hampton. That must be why I’m restless tonight. Starting tomorrow, my family will be separated for a long time.

She got out of bed, sliding her feet into her slippers, and wrapped herself in the thin bathrobe lying at the foot of the bed. She walked down the long hallway from her bedroom to the sitting room she shared with Georgiana, feeling her way in the darkness. When she reached the sitting room, she shuffled across the floor, trying to avoid bumping into the furniture, and turned on a lamp.

Nearly everything in Rose’s sitting room had a history. Old family portraits in ornate frames graced the walls, and the rugs and furniture were all relics of an earlier time. Here, more than anywhere else in the house, Rose indulged her passion for the family’s history and traditions.

But it was not the historic portraits that caught her attention now. She picked up a framed photograph from an end table and gazed at it with rueful affection. It was a photo of William and his mother on the beach at Pemberley. Four-year-old William, looking somber and frail, was wrapped in Anna’s tight embrace.

Rose remembered this time with painful clarity. At age three, he had nearly died from complications following his surgery, and his recovery had been slow and fraught with setbacks. Rose gripped the photo tightly. The frightening experience had led her to forge a tentative bond with her daughter-in-law, despite her initial reservations about her son’s choice of wife. Together they had watched over the little boy they both adored until eventually their fear of losing him had begun to recede. Or at least my fear receded. Anna never got over it.

The past two months had resurrected the memories … and the fear. Rose had lost her husband and son to sudden heart attacks. Since William’s hospitalization, she had been haunted by thoughts of losing him as well. She had gone about her business, meeting her various obligations with an air of calm control even while William was in the hospital; however, she had done so at a cost that her friends and family never suspected. Many a night she had awakened, trembling and drenched in perspiration, from a nightmare in which William had died in the park before the ambulance arrived, or in which she received a middle-of-the-night phone call from an unknown doctor, announcing that her grandson was dead. But each morning, she had pushed aside her private torment and had again assumed her mantle of composure, doing her duty to her family and friends as she had been taught to do since her childhood.

And now he was going to be thousands of miles away. William was frequently absent from the house on performing trips, but this was different. He would be gone for months. She wouldn’t hear the faint sounds of the piano during his long, frequent practice sessions, or see him sitting across the dinner table, smiling gently at something Georgiana had said. She wouldn’t hear his footsteps on the marble stairs, or his deep voice echoing through the house. And she knew that she would spend the next few months discovering a hundred other ways in which his absence left empty places in her life and her heart.

It had not escaped her notice that William’s dark mood had cleared now that he was bound for California. Perhaps it was simply the promise of a change of scene—Rose realized that the combined effect of three women fussing over him had become overwhelming for the poor boy—but she suspected that there was an additional explanation. Elizabeth Bennet was in San Francisco, and Rose was convinced that the young woman was far more important to her grandson than he was willing to admit. She had overheard Sonya and Richard discussing the matter a few days ago, and had learned that they agreed with her assessment. She was concerned by this development; however, she had chosen to keep silent and to trust William’s judgment, at least for the present.

Rose left the sitting room and slowly descended to the third floor. She felt the need to say goodnight to William, and since he often stayed up late, there was a good chance that he would still be awake. Indeed, when she reached the third floor, she saw a weak shaft of light shining into the hall from his sitting room, the door slightly ajar. She knocked softly, but there was no answer. Nudging the door open, she peeked into the room and saw William asleep in his armchair, a book on his lap.

She tiptoed to his side, her eyes locked on him. “Sleep well,” she whispered, surprising herself by reaching out with trembling fingers to smooth his hair. She stood beside his chair for several minutes, memorizing every detail of his face. Then, with a soft sigh, she left the room as quietly as she had entered, carefully shutting the door behind her.

The following Wednesday evening, William and Allen sat together in the kitchen eating dinner. Each evening, Serena had offered to set a place for William in the dining room, but he considered it ridiculous to stand on ceremony when he and Allen were the only people in the house. Serena had gone home a short time ago after warming the casserole left in the freezer by Mrs. Reynolds, and preparing a salad to accompany it.

The two men said little as they ate. Both were naturally reserved in any case, and they felt the awkwardness of this unaccustomed sharing of one another’s company at mealtime.

Despite Mrs. Reynolds’s fears, the house had continued to run smoothly in her absence. Serena had been there every day, carefully following Mrs. Reynolds’s compulsively detailed instructions. During the daytime hours, William and Sonya had stayed busy with last-minute preparations for his departure. In the evenings, quiet descended, and for the first time William recognized how much he would miss all of them—Gran, Georgie, Mrs. Reynolds, Sonya, and Allen too. He looked at Allen across the table and considered telling him so, but after a few moments spent searching awkwardly for the right words, he abandoned the attempt and turned his attention back to his food.

“Oh, I almost forgot. There’s something I need to ask you,” Allen said suddenly.

William looked up expectantly.

“I was in your bedroom the other day, repairing the door to your balcony that kept sticking.”

“Oh, yes, I noticed that it was working much better now. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Allen said. “But I wanted to ask about the orchid on your night table.”

William glanced at him, surprised. “What about it?”

“Do you want me to return it to the greenhouse while you’re gone? I can care for it in either place, but if it were in the greenhouse it would get the right sort of light.”

William smiled. Trust Allen to be worried about an orchid. Over the years, he had become even more interested in orchid cultivation than William’s mother had been.

“That won’t be necessary. I’m going to take it with me to California.” The orchid had become too precious to William, due to its associations with Elizabeth, to leave behind.

“Then I should pack it up for you so it’ll travel well. It would be a shame if it got damaged again.”

“Again?” William frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“The end of the stem was broken off at some point. I thought maybe it happened when Miss Bennet was bringing it to you at the hospital.”

“It wasn’t from Miss Bennet,” William said, wondering where Allen got that idea. “It was a gift from Caroline Bingley.”

Allen set down his fork. “No, sir, that’s impossible. It’s the same orchid I took to Miss Bennet the day after she had dinner here.”

William froze, staring at Allen. “But … that orchid was taller. And it was in a different pot. It’s just the same type, that’s all.”

“I beg your pardon, sir, but it’s the same plant. As I said, it seems to have lost the end of its stem, so it’s smaller now. And I re-potted it before I took it to her. The original pot was very plain, and I thought something more decorative would be nice for the young lady.”

Oh, my God. “And you’re absolutely certain about this?”

“Yes, sir. I assumed that she gave it to you when she visited you.”

“Visited me where?”

“In the hospital,” Allen answered with a small frown.

“What are you talking about? Elizabeth didn’t visit me in the hospital.”

Allen’s face was a mask of confusion. “She didn’t? That’s very strange. When I saw her leaving the hospital, I naturally assumed—”

“You saw her leaving the hospital? When?” William could barely breathe, but it had nothing to do with his medical problems.

“It was the day you had your procedure. The day I drove Miss Bingley to the hospital, when I acted like an ‘old fool,’ to quote Marcia. I never knew that you thought Miss Bingley gave you the orchid. I can guarantee you that she didn’t have it with her when I dropped her off.”

“She told me it was from her.” Not that I’d be astonished if it was a lie. “But never mind about that. Tell me more about Elizabeth.”

“After I dropped Miss Bingley off, I had some errands to run for my wife. If I recall, she was planning your meals for the rest of your hospital stay, and she needed some special things at the market. I finally made it to the hospital a little after noon, I suppose. As I came up the sidewalk, I saw Miss Bennet outside lugging a suitcase, trying to get a cab. She told me she was on her way to the airport. I offered to drive her there, but she said, no, a cab would be fine. So I helped her hail one, and then I came inside and found Marcia and Sonya and the family.”

This is impossible. “And you’re sure Elizabeth was at the hospital to see me?”

Allen hesitated. “Well, no, I just assumed that. But why else would she have been hailing a cab in front of the hospital?”

William couldn’t think of another reason either. “And you’re sure the orchid is the one you took to her.”

“Absolutely. I know every plant in that greenhouse, and I recognize the pot. I’m very sorry, sir. If I’d had any idea that you didn’t know—”

“I understand, Allen. Thank you for telling me. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

William rose from the table, unable to sit still any longer. He trotted up the steps, his breathing somewhat labored by the time he reached the third-floor landing, and strode into his bedroom. He lifted the orchid from the table and inspected it closely, noting for the first time the evidence of the broken stem.

That vivid dream I had about Elizabeth in the hospital that day … it must have been true, at least, some of it. She came to see me, but I was asleep. And that means—

William’s thought processes came to a crashing halt. What did it mean? She hadn’t left a note with the orchid. She hadn’t followed up with a phone call. Why would she leave the orchid beside his hospital bed and then depart without another word? Was she trying to erase me from her life? That would explain why she refused Allen’s offer of a ride—she didn’t want to feel obligated to me or my family.

But in that case, why would she have brought the orchid to the hospital? She could easily have left it at the house instead, if she didn’t feel comfortable giving it away or discarding it. It simply didn’t make sense.

And how did she find out I was in the hospital to begin with? Did someone call her? I don’t think Sonya would have gone against my express wishes, but Mrs. Reynolds might have, if she believed it was for the best.

William’s eyes widened at a hazy recollection of a conversation with his CCU nurse that day. She had told him that his “girlfriend” had visited. I assumed that she meant Caroline, but what if—

He grabbed his cell phone, dialed Directory Assistance, and requested the number for the hospital. As he waited for the hospital switchboard to answer, reality set in. He shook his head and pressed the “Off” button to disconnect the call, wondering what he had been thinking. First of all, he didn’t remember the nurse’s name. Second, even if he could find the nurse who had mentioned his girlfriend, it was unlikely that she would remember a small incident that had happened two months ago.

Besides, what could I say that wouldn’t completely violate my privacy? I can see it now: “Do you remember two months ago when a woman you thought was my girlfriend visited me? I need you to describe her, because when you say ‘girlfriend,’ I’m not sure which woman you mean.” Oh, yeah, that would sound great in the gossip columns.

William flipped his phone shut and tossed it on his dresser, seething with frustration. The phone slid across the dresser’s polished mahogany top and crashed to the floor. He began to retrieve it and then changed his mind. That useless thing can just stay there!

He yanked open the door to his balcony and stepped outside. He barely noticed the light rain gradually soaking his clothes as he stared into the darkness, waiting for the tension in his body to dissipate. As his mind grew calmer, he saw that there was only one option left.

I’ll just have to ask Elizabeth herself why she came to the hospital. If she’ll speak to me, that is.

William slept not at all on this, his final night in New York. He lay awake, adrenalin flooding his system as he thought of the orchid, of Elizabeth, and of what might await him tomorrow in San Francisco.

Copyright © 2006 by the author Last updated August 30, 2006