Colin pushed himself into the dining room and into his usual place at the table. Dickon was next to him, and he clapped Colin on the shoulder in greeting. His curly mouth was grinning broadly, his blue eyes full of joy. Dickon hadn't yet seen Mary, Colin realised, which explained the pure delight on his friend's face. But where was she? Colin looked around, confused. The gong had gone- Mary was never usually late.
"They're coming, Colin," said Archie, glancing up from his newspaper at his son's anxious face. "You know what women are like."
But which woman would enter the dining room with Mary? The cloaked figure in the car had been so disfigured by the rain on the window that Colin still didn't know which of his guests remained. He dared not hope.
The door opened and Mary emerged, followed closely by a mass of dark hair. Colin's heart leapt so high that he thought for a second that he would take off and fly around the room. But as he looked closer, he saw that the sparkling eyes in the porcelain face were a bright blue- not the emerald green that he had been expecting. His heart sank as quickly as it had risen, and a lump formed in his throat. Dickon glanced across at him, torn between joy and concern. Colin managed a smile that he knew would never fool Dickon, but at least it allowed his friend to stand up and embrace his fiancee without feeling too guilty.
Mary and Dickon were absorbed with each other for quite a while- long enough for Colin's father to clear his throat and look pointedly at his niece. Mary was blushing, and her fingers were knotted with Dickon's. Strange, Colin thought, that his heart would once have twisted in jealousy at that sight. It didn't hurt at all now. Well, not at that, anyway.
"Colin!" His father's raised voice brought him back to earth.
"Yes?" He blinked and looked around at the faces watching him. Somehow, everyone had seated themselves and were looking at him expectantly.
His father eyed him, eyes warning. Colin hadn't the faintest idea what he had done wrong.
"Sorry, I was miles away," he said, hoping to appease them.
"Mmm," Archibald Craven said, his grizzled eyebrows quirking upwards.
Colin went on the defensive. "I was!"
"Well, you can snap out of it and welcome our guest." Archie's voice was sharp. "Try not to frighten this one off, too."
Colin's eyes widened indignantly, and his cheeks flushed. "I didn't frighten anyone off!"
A small snorting sound came from Mary at that, but before Colin could snap an angry retort she winked at him and mouthed 'Nice job, Rajah'.
Now he was more confused than ever. Why would Mary want Lizzie to go? Had they had an argument?
"Let's try again, shall we?" asked Colin's father in the voice of someone who's patience was being severely tested. "Colin, this is Isabelle Templeton."
The girl smiled shyly. Now that he looked at her, she didn't look much like Lizzie at all. Her hair was the same colour and her eyes the same wide shape, but her frame was tall and willowy. She would be exceedingly graceful one day, once she'd grown into her long limbs. At the moment, she reminded him a little of a fawn, caught in the headlights. Her movements were quick, as though she were always startled. Hell, she probably was frightened, having to look at him!
"Ciao, Bella," he said, smiling politely but still not really feeling it.
To his surprise, Lizzie's sister rolled her eyes and smiled into her plate. "Original," she muttered, looking up at him questioningly. Oh, God. Her eyes were just like Lizzie's after all. The same look that made him sure that she could see right through him.
"Tu parla l'italiano?" he asked, to lighten his own mood more than anyone else's.
"Non," she replied. "Je parle le français."
"Ahh," Colin said, grinning despite himself. "Bonjour, Isabelle. Ça va?"
"Ça va bien, merci. Et toi?"
Colin shrugged. "Je vais assez bien."
Isabelle smiled again. "How very English," she said.
Colin leaned back in his chair, tilting his chin upwards and narrowing his eyes. "I can revert to Italian if you'd like?"
Isabelle's mouth opened to reply, but her gaze travelled past Colin and she shut it again.
The voice that spoke cut right through his chest. "Would you please stop flirting with my sister, Colin Craven?"
Lizzie swept into the dining room as best she could, fully aware that all eyes were on her. Dickon was smiling his usual wide smile, Archibald Craven was looking longingly at his plate of still untouched food, Isabelle was staring at her sister intently, and Colin looked like... well, a fish. His mouth was gaping open slightly, and Lizzie actually had to stop and wonder why it was that she was in love with a man who could look so gormless when he was caught unawares. His cheeks were burning, and she hoped that he wouldn't do something stupid, like faint- she had enough of that from her ridiculously overdramatic mother. Sometimes, she thought that her mother was a reincarnation of Mrs Bennet from Pride and Prejudice. Or maybe Jane Austen was a time-traveller who happened to have met Mrs Templeton on her journeys from the past? It was absolutely a possibility.
Lizzie sat herself down next to Isabelle, opposite Colin, and looked up at him evenly.
"I really think that one girl a day is enough for anyone, even you," she said, turning away from him and towards the end of the table so that she didn't have to watch the pain flare up in his eyes. "Good evening, Mr Craven, Dickon."
"Good evening, Elizabeth," said Archibald Craven, smiling at her over the top of his newspaper. He enjoyed observing the interactions between this feisty little woman who had his son in the palm of her hand, and Colin. They reminded Archie a little of himself and Lilias, although he hoped to God that their relationship would never end like his did. He wouldn't wish that crushing depression on anybody.
Dickon smiled his wide smile again, and then turned to engage both Mary and Isabelle in conversation. The other two needed to talk without everyone listening in, even if it would be very interesting to listen.
Colin had appeared to make a conscious effort to shut him mouth, and was glaring sulkily at his plate, pushing a carrot around with his fork.
"Eat it if you're going to," Lizzie hissed. "Or leave it. But either way, stop dragging it around as if you have the entire weight of the world on your shoulders."
Colin set his fork down with a clatter and bit his lip instead. He was trying to think of something witty to say, but was failing miserably.
Lizzie's heart was pounding fiercely, but she wasn't going to let him know that. She looked down at the untouched food before her, feeling vaguely sick. Oh, actually, she felt very sick. Very sick indeed.
"Could I be excused please, Mr Craven?" she asked, not waiting for his answer as she ran from the room. She looked back once, to see Colin's grey eyes trained on her, his brow furrowed in confusion.
She wound her way blindly through corridors until she reached the library, breathing carefully through her nose. Long shadows were cast by the shelves and furniture- the only light was coming from the huge moon hanging outside in the night sky, like a giant illuminated pearl. Lizzie fumbled with the window catch, her fingers slipping on the cool metal. Finally she pulled up the sash and collapsed onto the windowsill, the cold air stroking her skin.
"Lizzie-" She hadn't heard him come in. Hesitant fingertips touched her arm, turning her skin to goosebumps, and she twisted, trembling slightly, to look right into Colin's eyes. They were the same agate grey- made twice as large by the black lashes that fringed them. Those eyes, she knew, looked almost blue in the direct sunlight, and could sometimes seem nearly black. His hair had grown. It tumbled over his forehead, thick and dark blond, making him look more like a boy than a man. But his eyes told a different story, of pain and loss and love, that no boy could ever tell.
"I've missed you." His whisper seemed to caress her, and she shivered.
"I've missed you too."
He sat down next to her and she sank into his chest. His arms went around her- they were warm and surprisingly solid for someone so apparently fragile. He lifted her gently into his lap, as though she weighed no more than a child, and sat with his back pressed against the wall so that he was parallel to the window.
She thought suddenly of his legs and turned to look at him, alert for signs of pain. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"
He laughed, and there was a trace of bitterness. "Only every day," he said, forehead resting on her shoulder.
She elbowed him in the ribs, satisfied by the dull thud that she made. "I meant by sitting on you."
"Well, I'm hurting now," he hissed, teeth gritted.
"Oh, sorry," said Lizzie. She was starting to become angry- the months of torment of waiting for some sort of sign from him were pushing to the surface of her emotions. "That was for not writing to me."
"What?" His forehead lifted up again, and she felt his breath on her neck.
"You heard." She made her voice calm, but cold.
He wasn't as good at being calm, and his grip tightened on her, crushing her to his chest. "But I did write to you! Not once did you reply!"
She could feel his chest moving as he spoke, and it comforted her to know that he was real- she hadn't just dreamed him up. She shook her head. "I didn't get any letters from you."
"But I wrote them!"
She blinked back angry tears, furious that he continued to lie to her. "You didn't!"
He made a growling sound in the back of his throat and scooped her up, twisting her around so that she sat facing him. She was suddenly very aware that she was all but straddling him.
His gaze travelled downwards, and he looked abashed. "Oh," he mumbled. "Sorry, I didn't really think about that."
She snorted. "You never think."
His eyes were fixed on his hands, which he had abandoned in his lap, as though he was creating a physical barrier between them. "I think about you."
"Not enough to write," she muttered.
"Lizzie!" He looked up again suddenly, eyes blazing. His hands were on either side of her neck, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. He brought his face level with hers, so close that their foreheads touched, and Lizzie was sure that his eyelashes would tangle with her own. "Lizzie," his voice was rough, his breathing shallow. "I wrote to you, I promise I did."
"Okay," she breathed, reaching up to bury her fingers in the back of his hair.
His eyes closed and his nose touched hers, but then he stiffened, and she pulled away, confused. He was looking at her in horror, his hands deadly still.
"Oh God," he said, eyes wild and slightly terrified. "It's too late, isn't it? I was wrong, it's too late. You're pregnant!"
Lizzie sat stock still, too shocked to move. He really had gone mad! "What-"
"I'm so sorry, Lizzie. I should never have done this. I'm so sorry." He was gently pushing her away from him, twisting around to get off the windowsill.
"Don't be an idiot, Colin, I'll help you," she said, jumping off the sill herself and taking a firm grip of his hand to stop him from falling. "Where's your chair gone?"
"Oh, it's outside," he said, running his hand through his hair again. His cheeks were highly coloured, his eyes suddenly so dark that they were almost black.
"What?"
"I said it's outside."
"What do you mean it's outside?" She turned back to him, frowning. "How did you get in here?"
"I, um... Oh."
Her voice was chilling as she let go of his hand and took a deliberate and perfectly calculated step backwards. "What do you mean, "Oh."?"
He scooted back onto the windowsill again, eyes apprehensive. "No-one else knows-"
"Knows what?" Her voice was deadly.
"Um..."
Smack. Her palm collided with his face solidly enough to leave a pink handprint that coloured his cheekbone.
"Ow!" He fell silent, nursing his cheek.
"How could you keep this a secret?!" She paced in front of the windowsill, occasionally kicking an armchair as she passed it. She knew she was overreacting, but it felt good to be angry.
"Should you be doing that in your condition?" he asked, after she had stubbed her toe and sworn quite loudly.
"What condition?" she snapped, glaring at him.
"You know, what if it hurts the baby?"
"Oh my God!" Lizzie all but screamed, seriously considering slapping him again. "I'm not pregnant!"
He stared up at her, and, to he honest, he looked like she'd hit him again anyway. "You're not?"
"No! Why on earth would I be pregnant? I'd love to know who you think I've slept with!"
"Oh, I don't know!" Colin's voice was growing louder and louder. "Maybe your fiancé?"
Lizzie whirled around. "Slow down, Colin! You haven't even asked me yet!" She cried, waving her hands around her to illustrate her point.
"What?"
"You know what I said!"
"You aren't engaged?"
"What?" He really had gone mad, Lizzie thought. "Who would I be engaged to? I'd really love to know!"
"Mr. B. Parker-Smythe?" Colin faltered, suddenly unsure.
Lizzie stopped pacing, and sank into the armchair, her face breaking into a smile. She began to laugh, and then to cry, until she could perhaps understand why Colin had thought she was pregnant, considering these bloody mood-swings. "Colin, Mr. B. Parker-Smythe is my sister's fiancé."
"Isabelle?" Colin was even more confused.
"Isabelle?!" Lizzie didn't know whether to laugh or cry again. "She's not even seventeen, you idiot! Emmeline! My sister Emmeline!"
"Emmeline? I always thought she was married!"
Lizzie buried her face in her hands. Her voice was a mumble that squeezed out from between her fingers. "No!"
Colin sat back on his windowsill, and surveyed the woman that he would marry, because he would never love anyone else. "Well, that changes things."
"Does it? Really?" asked Lizzie, her sarcasm sounding half-hearted even to her.
Colin stood up, and Lizzie, for the first time, saw him in full glory. His frame was tall and slim, his hair bleached almost silver by the moonlight. This creature was new, no longer the man that had so physically depended on her. He was handsome, his eyes alight with an almighty happiness, such as Lizzie had never before seen. How could he belong to her?
He sank to one knee, and from his pocket he pulled a little copy of a book that she so loved. It seemed to be significantly more battered than when she had last seen it, and she smiled back tears.
Colin threw back his head, and looked into the eyes of the woman that had so bewitched him, fairy that she was. He held the book in his hands, but they were steady as he set it beside him. He wanted to write his own story.
"Elizabeth Templeton," he began, his hands finding her waist. "I love you." He paused, shaking his head, and letting out a little groan. "I've read so many novels, Lizzie, and so many have contained proposals, but never have I thought about my own. I supposed I never really thought I'd get married."
She raised a delicate eyebrow. "I haven't said yes."
"Oh. Will you?"
She smirked down at him. "When you've finished."
"Cruel fairy that you are!" He pulled her down next to him, and they knelt together, faces level. "I don't like you looking down at me," he whispered.
She kissed him on the nose, her touch light. "And I don't like you looking down at me."
He shrugged. "You'll have to get used to it."
This time she kissed him on the neck, and then pulled back to look him directly in the eyes. "I suppose I will," she whispered.
Ahhh, it's finally happened! I know this chapter was a long time coming, but I hope it was worth the wait! :)
Please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you thought! Also, did anyone pick up on the subtle hints that Colin was regaining the use of his legs? ;)
