12. The Consequences of Ramsgate #3
That produced the first genuine interest Darcy had seen from her all morning. “Will you see her?”
“I hope so.”
Georgiana’s fingers loosened upon the book. “I am glad.”
Darcy had expected objection, perhaps anxiety at his departure. Her answer, simple as it was, struck him with gratitude and guilt together.
“I will not go if it distresses you,” he said.
“It does not.” She answered too quickly, then amended herself with an effort. “I mean, I shall miss you, but Mrs. Annesley is kind. And Richard is to call?”
“Every week. More often if needed. I will write to you, and you may write to me whenever you wish.”
She lowered her gaze to the book. “I have not been a very good correspondent.”
“You may begin again.”
The words were harmless. They did not feel so. Georgiana’s mouth trembled, and she nodded without speaking.
Bingley, to his credit, suddenly found a reason to examine the titles upon a nearby shelf. “Darcy, you never told me you had this edition. I have been meaning to read it for years.”
“You have been meaning to read many things for years.”
“That is why my intentions are so literary.”
Georgiana’s expression eased a little.
Darcy drew a chair closer to her. “Mrs. Annesley will remain with you. Richard will have my direction. Barton can send a messenger at any hour. If you are uncomfortable, if you wish me to return, you have only to write.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
She looked up then, and for a second he saw not indifference or resentment, but the raw ache beneath both. “I know you would come.”
His throat tightened in a manner he despised.
“Yes,” he said. “I would.”
Georgiana nodded again and rose. “Then you should go. Miss Bennet will be pleased to see you.”
“I hope so.”
“She will.” A little color touched her cheeks. “She told me to make you practice difficult music, if you remember.”
“I remember.”
“I think she must like you very much.”
Bingley moved away from the books with great interest.
Darcy, aware of his friend’s attention and Georgiana’s fragile attempt at teasing, allowed himself to answer with more dryness than he felt. “That is a conclusion I would rather not examine before witnesses.”
Georgiana’s lips parted in the smallest laugh, gone at once but real enough to make Darcy briefly unable to speak.
“I shall leave you to your plans,” she said, and curtseyed again to Bingley. “I hope you will be very happy at Netherfield.”
“Thank you, Miss Darcy. I hope so too.”
She left the room as quietly as she had entered.
Bingley waited until the door closed before speaking. “She is much altered.”
Darcy remained standing, facing the door. “Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
“She had a difficult summer.”
Bingley, kindest of men, did not ask for more. “Then Hertfordshire may do you both good in different ways.”
“Perhaps.”
“You cannot watch over her every hour, Darcy.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Bingley asked, with unusual seriousness.
Darcy returned to his chair. “That is the second time today I have been asked that question. I am beginning to dislike it.”
“Questions one dislikes are often the ones worth answering.”
“Who has been instructing you in philosophy?”
Bingley shrugged. “No one. I keep all my wisdom in reserve so you may be perfectly astonished when it appears.”
Darcy picked up the map from the table and unfolded it, grateful for practical matters. “Show me Netherfield.”
Bingley leaned forward eagerly, all animation restored. He pointed out the road from London, the village, the neighboring estates, and the position of the house with such satisfaction that Darcy felt some portion of his own heaviness yield. Hertfordshire. Meryton. Longbourn a few miles away.
“Here,” Bingley said, tapping the map. “Netherfield. And somewhere near it, your Miss Bennet.”
Darcy looked at the neat lines of ink marking roads he would soon travel.
“Not my Miss Bennet,” he said.
Bingley grinned. “Not yet?”
Darcy folded the map with more care than necessary.
“Not yet.”
Georgiana went to her room, her heart racing in her chest. Time was necessary, time for her brother to cool his ire, time for her to formulate the best strategy to convince him to change his opinions. With his journey to Hertfordshire, she would be granted exactly what she needed.
Her new companion, Mrs. Annesley, was a dear woman. Attentive and aged, the lady was completely trusting. As long as Georgiana confided in her and she could report growth and healing to her brother, the woman largely left her alone.
Georgiana spent many hours in her room “in solitary reflection.” In truth, she wrote letter after letter to her gentleman.
The dear man always replied. His words of love carried her through their long separation.
His letters arrived wrapped in papers she included with her missives that had her name and direction written in her own hand. Fitzwilliam never suspected a thing.
It was duplicitous, but her brother refused to listen to reason. He had drawn his own conclusions, and Fitzwilliam rarely—if ever—admitted fault. No, it was up to her to ensure he eventually saw the truth.