Epilogue #2
She knew his sigh was of having further kisses postponed and not the task at hand. “If she agrees, I will see her tomorrow.”
When Darcy returned home after calling on Georgiana, he expected to find Elizabeth out.
It was rare they had a disengaged evening during the season, so it surprised him that she was writing in her journal in the library.
She must have stayed in to meet him when he came back.
Seeing her in what had once been his space, and knowing how she had been shut out of such spaces when she was single, made him smile.
And he could admit to being delighted that she waited for him, that he had someone to come home to.
“Writing all of your secret thoughts?” he asked as he entered.
She smiled and set it aside. “No, recording what I did, who I saw. I had fallen behind. If I have any secret thoughts, I would simply tell them to you.”
He could tell she wanted to talk about what happened, but he wanted to think about his own family for a little longer. “The children are asleep?”
“I think your daughter was so absorbed by her book she did not notice who did or did not say goodnight to her,” she said. “Your son says since you missed reading to him before bed that you owe him two stories tomorrow.”
“A price I am happy to pay.” He saw her questioning look as he sat next to her and he said, “I stopped by my cousin’s on my way home. I wanted to tell him about Georgiana and…”
“And sit quietly with a drink before your wife pestered you with questions?”
He breathed a laugh. No one knew him better than Elizabeth did, and no one cared for him as deeply. “Georgiana is… She is well enough.”
The lesion on her face was immense and looked dreadful, but it was not painful, only humiliating.
She admitted she had a deep, boring pain in the bones of her legs that was worse at night.
But there was a stillness, a forbearance to her manner that was nothing like the girl of fifteen he had once known.
“And Wickham?”
Her question startled him out of his musing.
“Died a fortnight ago. She said he had hostile attitudes and illusions at the end, and the doctor thought he might have died from a pox lesion in his heart like the one Georgiana has on her face. But it is also possible the calomel treatments did more harm than good. She said he kept taking mercury, but no amount was going to help him. She is now afraid to take any mercury treatments herself.”
Elizabeth gave him a forlorn look. “I am sorry she was so far away for so long.”
“Sorry?” he repeated. “I am not. After all he had done, I wanted him far away from you—and she chose to be with him. I would have led him into hell itself if it meant Wickham could not hurt my wife.”
Her sadness faded and a warmth replaced it. He knew she was grateful to him for protecting her from Wickham’s exploitation, but she also knew he never wanted to hear her thanks.
“What business brought her to London?”
“Settling Wickham’s estate, specifically obtaining the thousand pounds my father gave him. With that and what little remains of the money I gave her, she is returning to Scotland and her modest life there.”
“We can afford to give her—”
“I offered, and she refused,” he interrupted.
“She sacrificed everything for a man who did not deserve her. And the consequence is she gained nothing.” Elizabeth put her hand in his. “I am sorry she only learnt that after so much pain.”
“I had always thought we would bring her home,” he said. He had rather Georgiana lose her character even further than remain with such a man. “But she does not want that even now.”
“She does not want us to suffer any consequences to our own reputations, I suspect. It is her consolation to us for the damage and disappointment she caused.”
That was near to what Georgiana had told him earlier this evening. That losing a sister in such a way was a disgrace never to be wiped off, and she would not bring further harm to her family.
Darcy leant back in his seat with a sigh. “She has many regrets, Elizabeth. But who is to blame, Wickham or her? She was just fifteen.”
“It is both. She made a selfish choice and did not admit she was wrong when she could have, but she was also a na?ve child who was taken advantage of.”
“I suspect for a long time she had too much pride to admit I was right and she was wrong.”
“And then she was too ashamed to seek you out.”
“I never hated her for marrying him, you know,” he entreated.
“I pitied her, certainly. I was angry with both of them for what they put you through, for taking advantage of your kindness. When they had money—and he still gambled and drank and renounced his vows—she convinced herself it was natural for a man to indulge in appetites. That there was something yet she could do to redeem him and make him be loyal to her. She gradually lost hope she could change him as the money was wasted and as his malady attacked his body and the mind, and left him unable to father healthy children.”
Rather than reply, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder and let him speak.
“I paid for him to get treatment when he had the clap the first time. I did it for my father’s sake, not for his.
And do you know what Wickham said? That he had no intention of enjoying those unfortunate women in armour, as the sport was much pleasanter without it.
An agreeable congress was worth it, for they were only prostitutes after all.
My sister is not the only woman he harmed.
“Georgiana realised what he truly was years later, and by then had too much shame to come to us. Elizabeth, what did I do or say that made her think she could never come home?”
She put her arms around his shoulders and sat in his lap, gripping him tightly.
“Nothing. You gave her every opportunity. I am certain shame affects both the body and the spirit. The knowledge that you have transgressed against norms, against the people you love? You feel that in every fibre of your being. There is no escaping it. Have you ever done anything you were ashamed of and would rather people never know?”
He knew Elizabeth thought of herself, of the shame of lying to him years ago, of keeping a secret from him, and of being extorted in the first place.
He still hated that she felt he would bow to social pressure if it appeared she had been unfaithful, but there was no sense in dwelling on old miseries, especially when it was so far in the past.
Darcy gestured for her to rest her head on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of Elizabeth’s hair. “Well, I did run off with a woman I had no intention of marrying. It could have caused a shameful scandal.”
He felt her chuckle against his shoulder.
“In our circle, amongst her old friends and London life, everyone knows Georgiana was an heiress who ran away with a scoundrel who lost your respect. In her village in Scotland, she is just the widow of a bad husband. Pitied, I suspect, but not judged the same way.”
“I agree she feels humiliated. She said she would not allow us to stay in her humble home when I asked if we could visit, but when I said we would take lodgings nearby, she relented that we could visit.”
“She will not come to Pemberley?”
“No, she refused. Maybe someday, when she believes me when I say I forgive her.”
“I am sure at fifteen she thought she was brave.” Elizabeth’s fingers threaded through his hair.
It was an idle gesture of affection, but it made his thoughts drift from the past toward the present.
“She was rejected by society, held in contempt by all she knew and loved, for the sake of a man who she thought loved her above all others. A man she thought she could change.”
“However little just it is, women are defined by the men who sired them and the men they marry. That is why one’s choice of husband is so critical.”
“That is why I thoughtlessly put myself into a position to either be ruined or marry a man I had known for a week.”
Elizabeth sat up and grinned at him, and he laughed a little. She was so sweet to want to cheer him. “Would you say running away with me worked out well for you, dearest?”
“I was fortunate. The consequences might have been dire.”
“The consequence was I found the desire and love of my life.”
Her smile turned more thoughtful as her fingers continued to rake through his hair. She leant toward him with an expressive look. “Do you want to forget all about it for a little while?” she whispered.
He would much rather fall into the waiting arms of his wife than think about his sister. He nodded and lifted her hips to hint that she should straddle his waist, and she moved and shifted her skirts, but she was still not as close as he needed.
Darcy kissed her and spread his hand over her back, pressing her closer while wrapping his other hand behind her neck and running his fingers through the strands curling at the base of her hair.
Elizabeth locked her arms around him, kissing him back with equal intensity, but it was only when he moved a hand to her breast that she released a needy moan.
His hand closed around her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple through the material of too many layers.
She whimpered, her head falling back at the sensation.
He could hardly get close enough to her on this small sofa.
He stood quickly, lifting Elizabeth with him.
She gave a delighted shriek of surprise as he carried her to the desk.
He looked into her eyes to see if she wanted the same thing, if this was how she wanted to distract him from any sorrowful thoughts from the past. Smiling, she raised herself until she caught his lips again, one hand grasping his hand to lead it up her thigh, encouraging him to push her skirts up to her waist. Only then did he unfasten his trousers and stand between her legs. “I love you.”
“Show me,” she said, hooking a leg over his hip.