Chapter 7 #2
Obviously not, otherwise he would have gone after Georgiana any time in the last thirteen years. But no, the stupid man had to be respectful and never make a move.
“Some men wouldn’t care if their daughter or sister married down a little,” Elizabeth said with as much casualness as she could pretend to affect.
“According to your time’s values, I mean.
Your brother’s view on rank and connections isn’t the same as it was when I first met him.
Fitzwilliam wouldn’t care so long as you were happy, and the man had what he calls ‘a good character.’”
Georgiana gave her a wary look, and she feared she said too much.
To distract her, Elizabeth added, “Fitzwilliam married me, after all, and if you judge me by nineteenth-century standards, I’m poor with no connections and I’m a product of divorce.
I’m not the sort of wife suitable for a man like Mr Darcy. ”
Her voice broke a little, and she hoped Georgiana wouldn’t notice.
Here she was, a successful thirty-nine-year-old doubting that she was good enough for her husband.
But how could she not? Anyone who knew the full truth could look at what Darcy gave up versus what he gained and think he didn’t get a good bargain.
“But he loved you,” Georgiana said with a fond smile. “I think he loved you even before you brought him here to save his life.”
She never doubted Darcy loved her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t look back with remorse. She redirected the conversation by asking, “Wouldn’t Mr Willers love this hypothetical woman who is socially a little above him?”
Georgiana flushed and nodded. “He is an upright man, honest, honourable, kind, and…and I certainly wish him every happiness if he marries.”
She leant forward a little. “If Mr Willers is leaving for personal reasons, then maybe before he leaves you should tell him how highly you—”
“Elizabeth.”
They both started and turned round. Neither had heard Darcy and Sandra come in from the school bus. He was outwardly calm, but there was a look in his eye that told her he heard her hint. He would say nothing against her in front of Sandra, or his sister, but the disapproval poured from him.
“Mummy, is Aunt Georgiana performing this weekend?” Sandra asked, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension.
Elizabeth was glad for a reason to avoid Darcy’s eye. “No, honey, she starts Monday. She’ll sing Monday through Friday until we go to the Lakes in August with Charlotte and Mary.”
Sandra frowned. “But then I have to wait until school is out to hear her sing. That’s three more weeks. That’s not fair!”
Darcy would normally have said something about not whining, but he disregarded everyone, staring at his phone. Georgiana looked at him expectantly, hoping for his notice, but he ignored her. Elizabeth watched the small emotions of disappointment and resignation pass through Georgiana’s eyes.
“Why do I not give you your own private performance?” Georgiana said to Sandra. “Would you like to help me pick the first song?”
This attention turned around her mood, and Sandra tugged her aunt by the hand into her room and promised to line up her stuffed animals and dolls so they could all hear the concert.
Darcy didn’t say a word until he heard his sister’s voice from the other side of their apartments. “We had an agreement to not tell her about the future. There is too much at stake.”
“I didn’t,” she snapped. “But she wanted to talk about Mr Willers. Although, I think she would rather talk about Pemberley’s future with you.”
“You are talking to her enough for both of us,” he said sharply.
“I didn’t tell her she marries him or even that she should,” she cried. “I wanted to tell her to speak up if she loves him. But I’m not the one she needs to hear it from. I think she’s worried you’ll think she’s marrying down.”
Darcy shrugged. “If she wants to talk about her feelings and heartbreaks, you are a better listener than me.”
“Yeah, because female-related things like emotions are just beyond your masculine understanding. That sounds a lot like you.”
Normally when she and Darcy talked, whether on small matters or significant ones, whether they were in accord or in disagreement, he listened to her.
His complete attention was on her and what she said, whether he disliked it or was captivated by it.
Now, he moved around the room, putting things away that didn’t need to be put away, and then looked at his phone.
His body language screamed that he didn’t care.
She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and make him pay attention, make him demonstrate he loved her and was still glad he chose this life in this century.
But she couldn’t make this about her, not when Georgiana so desperately needed her brother’s approval.
The equinox would be here before they knew it.
Elizabeth took a long breath and let it out slowly.
“I’m not saying you should tell Georgiana that she marries him and what happens to her son.
Just tell her that you approve if she marries someone who works for her.
” Was he still consumed by the pride Darcy had when she first knew him?
“Or do you look down on Mr Willers because he doesn’t have wealth or a title? ”
Now he looked at her, and she didn’t like what she saw there. Her accusation had hurt him.
“How can you ask me that, and after all this time?” The hurt was gone; now he looked insulted.
“Do you see me condescending to anyone who works for me? Do I not treat everyone equally? And not only because I am supposed to, but because I know it is right? If Mr Willers is whom Georgiana wants, then so be it.”
Darcy had left the nineteenth century with the hope his sister would just be happy with whatever choices she made.
Elizabeth had known that and still asked the spiteful question.
She should never have said it. But if he cared so much for his sister’s happiness, why didn’t he help her now when she was so sad about Mr Willers leaving Pemberley?
“Then talk to Georgiana about what will make her happy. I don’t understand why you won’t spend five minutes with the person you left me for and went back in time to save.”
Darcy slowly turned round and stared at her. “Left you for?” he repeated. “You make it sound like it was easy to leave you. Do you resent me for going back to save her from marrying Wickham and dying?”
“No,” she said firmly. “She’s your family and you love her, and she had no one else.” He opened his mouth to speak but she wouldn’t let him. “And she’s here now, but you want nothing to do with her even though she still needs you.”
He scoffed. “She doesn’t need me.”
“She does!” Elizabeth insisted. “She’s looking for validation from the one person alive, then or now, who can give it to her. Georgiana needs you to tell her she can marry him, that she can speak first, and that the status and wealth of her husband don’t matter to you.”
“She doesn’t need me,” he repeated.
Why was he so adamant? It was such a small thing to tell his sister she was doing a good job and that marrying the steward wasn’t beneath her.
“Your support still means something to her. No, not something; it means everything. Why is saying ‘I give my blessing for you to propose to Mr Willers’ so damn hard for you?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” he mumbled.
“Explain it to me, then,” she said darkly. “Try to use small words.”
He threw down his phone and stared at her. “Because you have never had to sacrifice anything!”
Elizabeth drew back, her heart racing, absolutely gutted. She could read Darcy well after all these years together. The guilt filled his eyes as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But it was too late to take them back. He said nothing he didn’t mean.
Darcy had made the sacrifice to leave behind everything and everyone because she couldn’t abandon the rights and knowledge she had here.
He had been brave, and she had been a coward.
He gave up extraordinary wealth and power, and a family and community who loved him, for a woman who, while prepared to go back for him, would have been afraid and reluctant if she had.
“Daddy!” Sandra came out of her room. “It’s Thursday. I have maths homework.”
Elizabeth and Darcy shared a look; the conversation was over for now, even though her heart pounded and she could have burst into tears.
Sandra came to the counter with her bag and pulled out her folder and a paper with times tables review.
Although Darcy rolled his eyes over children being forced to do more work once school was over for the day, he routinely sat with her to keep her on task, even though he “did the maths the wrong way.”
While they got to work, Georgiana picked up Sandra’s school bag and ran her fingers along the zipper.
She carefully tugged it down and watched the teeth pull apart, and then moved the zipper up to close them, repeating the process over and over.
Elizabeth had seen the same looks of marvel and fascination on Darcy’s face, although he had been here so long those moments were few and far between.
Did he imagine going back to what must be more familiar?
“What is it Sandra calls you both?” Georgiana asked, startling her out of her thoughts.
“Mummy and daddy, or mum and dad, have replaced mamma and papa,” Elizabeth answered, busying herself with dinner prep so no one could see the tears hovering in her eyes.
“We thought about having her call us ‘Mommy’—which is American—and ‘Papa,’ which is what Fitzwilliam is used to, but we didn’t want her to stand out from her friends by using old-fashioned names or Americanisms.”
She and Darcy couldn’t dissociate themselves from who they were. She was raised in America and he was born in 1784, but Sandra was a modern English girl. They had agreed to make sure their daughter was grounded in the world she would grow up in.
How grounded was Darcy in this century if he was still thinking about the sacrifices he made to be here?
Darcy did homework and played with Sandra while Georgiana tried to help her with dinner.
Sandra would have been a better assistant, and she couldn’t even use a sharp knife or easily reach the counter.
While Georgiana knew what to keep in her larder and what dishes to order for dinner based on what she had, she did not know how to actually prepare her own food.
Elizabeth hoped Georgiana never entered the kitchens at Pemberley because the cook and maids would likely spend hours undoing her attempts to “help.”
But Elizabeth appreciated her interest, especially with Darcy pointedly avoiding looking in her direction.
The evening passed slowly, with the silent tension between her and Darcy rising to an uncomfortable level she was certain the others felt. Darcy put a whiny Sandra to bed, and Georgiana didn’t stay with them much longer before going to her own room with “the book picture on my in-ter-net box.”
Darcy tensed his shoulders when they were alone, like he was bracing himself. But Elizabeth found she didn’t have the energy, not to hear about his regrets about leaving the nineteenth century or to resume any talk about what Georgiana needed from him.
How could he disregard his sister, like it was nothing? What worried her more was that if he could so easily overlook Georgiana, how easy would it be for him to ignore her? Georgiana would eventually return home, but she would stay with a husband who regretted all he had given up to be with her.
She didn’t sacrifice enough, according to him. And he was absolutely right.
“I’m going to bed,” she announced. Darcy nodded, not even looking up from his book.
Usually within five minutes of hearing her say that, Darcy finished what he was doing and joined her.
They would spend time in bed talking, and then trying to satisfy one another as much as possible without waking Sandra.
But since Georgiana arrived, it took him far longer to come to bed.
Everything about his behaviour made her unwilling to reciprocate if—not when lately, but only if—Darcy reached for her in the dark.
She just felt so angry. He had always said she mattered to him more than anything, even more than Pemberley.
She was too hurt and angry to lie next to Darcy and know that not only was he not going to touch her, but that he looked back on choosing her and this life with regret.
Elizabeth got ready for bed and snatched up her pillow and stormed back through their main room.
“Where are you going?” he said in a startled voice.
“I’m sleeping somewhere else.”
“What?” he exclaimed. They had never slept apart in thirteen years.
“Do I need to repeat it, Mr Darcy?”
His mouth gaped. “But…Georgiana is in the guest room.”
That was all he could say? Not ask her why. Not say that he had better plans for her tonight than sleeping, not that he couldn’t fall asleep without her, not that he wanted to talk through whatever the hell was bothering him about his sister.
Not that he was happy to live exiled in the twenty-first century if it meant he could be with her.
“There are six other fancy bedrooms in this giant house. I’ll sleep in one of them.”
“Um, they may not be comfortable.”
“It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”
“But the house opens at—”
“I guess the tourists will have to wait!”