Her appearance - so ravishing despite the destructive rain - took him by surprise.
And, even now, hours later, with everyone warm and comfortable thanks to shelter and champagne and signature Pemberley Hotel hospitality - he can still barely believe his eyes.
"Here, have another one." He offers the flute to her. She's since removed her hat, gloves, and other trappings. Her coat hangs casually over the back of her chair. It's just Lizzie - beautiful and breathtaking in her now-minimal make-up and slimming black dress.
She smiles at him as he settles down on the chair beside hers. She's been quiet, maybe she's grown quiet, but there's still that same depth in her eyes, that same sense of quiet, deep waters running behind the portals to her soul.
He's spent the last four years of his life trying to be a better person - trying to be the person she described back then, before she ditched everything in favor of a European adventure. He's tried to forget her and failed, tried to live up to her standards again and again.
Today, it all feels a little worth it.
"I - it's probably very vain of me to claim this," he broaches the topic gently, lest he spook her again. "But I'd like to think you came over - for me. And I would very much like to thank you - for me."
She blinks quietly at him. Then she sips her drink between her soft, smiling lips. "You have no idea."
He feels a little chastised and rights himself until he's facing the table. The waiters slip by quickly to fill the spaces of white linen with finger foods of every kind. Aunt Catherine never minces on big occasions.
"No, Will, I mean - " She chuckles awkwardly, like she's nervous, as she slips her hand over his wrist. "It was for you - of course it was."
He feels his heart racing faster by the second. He swallows, with nothing in his mouth.
He turns to her, exuding as much calm civility as he can muster. "Thank you - so much."
"No problem, at all," the words fall off her lips freely, as if she didn't even have to think twice.
He smiles, as widely as he can on an occasion this hard. She smiles back - beguiling, enchanting, everything.
"Will! Aunt Catherine insists that you take a photo with Richard." Georgiana flies over, a woman now - healed from the scars of her past. She rolls her eyes in obvious impatience.
Darcy smiles. He reaches his free hand over to give Lizzie's a soft clasp. "I'll be right back."
Neither woman say a word, so he slips away in peace.
When he does come back - after a photo led to two photos led to half a dozen more - Lizzie's alone again, and pensive.
"Is everything alright?" He takes his previous seat, content to have just two seats at this table. It helps to partly own the place.
Like earlier, she just blinks and smiles - a thousand secrets in her bottomless eyes.
"I have a confession," she says, unprompted.
"Okay."
"Actually, I have two."
He nods and waits her out, too unsure of where it's all going to commit to any more expressive responses.
"Number one," she starts. Her voice is ethereal - her accent touched by a slight British intonation. "I didn't realize, after all these years, shame on me - that you are William Darcy, Jr."
He doesn't get it right away. She's blushing, and she's so pretty, and he barely knows how to form a coherent word.
"I guess I've just never introduced myself that way. Most of my friends call me Will so I didn't - oh."
He meets her eyes, waits to see if his strange realization is true.
She's smiling at him, absorbing all the awkwardness for him, when she nods. She's grown up, and he's grown up. And they're all a little more able to live with their own silliness.
"Oh my goodness, Lizzie - "
"It's fine." She takes both his hands. She's laughing now.
Behind him, Darcy can already feel distant relatives perking up - discovering and wondering why their workaholic celibate nephew is enamored with a girl all of a sudden.
They don't know that this isn't all of a sudden.
"Lizzie, I had no idea."
"So when I said I flew over for you - "
"You thought I was in the coffin."
"Yes."
They both pause a little before the chuckles take over. It's all too ludicrous, too Shakespearean, even. The fact that she flew all over here, dressed like a doll, for his funeral is simultaneously the most hilarious and bewitching thing he's ever encountered.
"Lizzie, thank you."
"Oh, you don't have to thank me for being stupid."
"No, you're not." He pulls their clasped hands more tightly together and a little towards him. "I'm happy you're here. So happy."
Then it's all seriousness again, and her doe-eyed face resumes its former pensiveness.
"And for my second confession," she starts.
"Yes?"
"My promotion and transfer is effective in three months' time."
He doesn't hear it yet, but he already feels it. He already senses the tingles run from her elbows all the way to his.
"I'm moving back to New York."
He breathes in sharply, before relaxing into a genuine, long-awaited smile.
She smiles back - not too harshly for a funeral, but brightly nonetheless.
It's his turn to clear his throat. "May I see you then?"
"As long as you're alive, I don't see why not."
They share the soft chuckle, reverent and intimate and sweet.
"I have a confession to make too," he says, because it just feels right to do this right now.
Her eyes are the ocean, and he's lost in them - a piece of happy, floating debris.
"I never really ever got over you."
A/N: The story was supposed to be a one-shot, but this second chapter grew from it - as did the upcoming short third chapter. I know the premise is strange, but I hope the emotions made up for it. Thanks for reading!