Chapter 13 #3
Georgiana saw her at the door and collected her sheet music. “I was just practising a new song for after you reopen.”
“You don’t have to keep playing, you know.
I don’t want you to get bored.” Georgiana crinkled her nose.
She still struggled with modern words, even if she had heard them many times.
“If you find performing twice a day to be tiresome, you can stop. We can do anything you want, or go anywhere you want.”
She shook her head shyly. “I have no interest in travelling again, or learning anything more than what I need to appear as though I belong at 2026 Pemberley. Playing and being with my family is what I want to do.”
They had such a short time left together, and she wanted to cram every experience into Georgiana’s time in 2026.
But just because she had been a little bored when she was out of her time, it didn’t mean that Georgiana felt the same way.
“I just want you to enjoy yourself, and I remember not having much to do when I visited the past.”
“I am still enjoying my reprieve from being landlord and mistress,” she said, smiling. “But more importantly, I am getting to know my brother as a friend, rather than a father figure from years ago.”
“How is he different?”
“Fitzwilliam is as clever as I remember, but I never realised how inquiring a mind he must have. He has embraced this world wholeheartedly. I think he enjoys the perpetual discovering, and rising to the challenge of understanding anything that is new or unlike what life was like in the nineteenth century.”
It certainly was a part of why he thrived here. “That makes sense. He is intelligent and confident enough to want to conquer any challenge.”
“But I do not.” She took out her smartphone, hefting it in her hand and looking at it like it could bite her. “You have fantastic things here, Elizabeth, but this place overwhelms me. I can scarcely feed myself with those machines in your kitchen.”
“You’ve come a long way—”
“I have not,” she insisted. “But all is well because I do not want to. I do not want to live in this place and face a barrage of tools and words and customs and history that I do not understand. But Fitzwilliam does. He finds it fascinating, and he has the curiosity and the intellect to prosper. He even sounds more like you than he does me,” she added, laughing.
“He’s still the same person, though. His values, his feelings, his principles. He’s the same man even if he’s wearing clothes that look strange to you, or his sentences don’t sound quite right to your ear.”
“I know,” Georgiana said softly. “And I wish I had more time to know him better because I think as I grew up we would have become close friends rather than merely be tied by filial bonds.”
“You both know how lucky you are to have this chance, even though it will hurt to say goodbye. If you’re happy living quietly at Pemberley, so be it. Everyone loves to listen to you, but there’s only—” Elizabeth’s voice caught. “There’s only a few weeks left.”
Georgiana sighed. “Nineteen days. I am happy to know you better too,” she added. “When we met in 1811, I felt as though we had become friends, but my shyness and age prevented much of a relationship.”
“And I always knew I had to leave, so I’m sure I held back. As much as I cared for Fitzwilliam, I was still eager to go home. But I felt the same way about our friendship. I hated leaving you the way I did.”
“You could not have told me the truth then. But having spent three months with you here, I know my memories of our last time together are true. You have a generous heart and a self-assurance I always wanted to emulate. I meant it when I said I always thought of you as my sister.”
“Me too,” Elizabeth said, her throat closing.
Elizabeth recognised this feeling of a looming, permanent separation settling into her bones and preoccupying every thought.
She had felt it when faced with leaving Darcy in 1811—before she realised he was on the brink of death and she dragged him forward with her to medicines that could save him.
And counting down to when he had to leave her to return to his old life was a thousand times worse.
No wonder Darcy struggled at first to bond with Georgiana; he knew what heartache was coming. But she was proud of him for not giving up the chance at a connection. If he was a little distracted now, that had to be why.
“Let’s make the most of the rest of our time,” she said brightly. “Are you ready for your first girls’ night? Gwen is picking us up.” It would be a tame evening with wine, movies, and blunt talk that might shock her sister-in-law. Then again, female friends probably weren’t that different in 1826.
They fell in step together to walk outside to wait. “Are you looking forward to dancing at the ball on Saturday? It will be a fun evening. I’m sure your skills will impress the participants.”
“I enjoy dancing, even though Fitzwilliam tells me I won’t like how they recreate it here. The truth is likely somewhere in between your opinions,” she said with a knowing smile. “For him, it must seem like a misrepresentation.”
“But it also keeps that era alive, and to see so many people enjoy the Regency country dances is pretty incredible. I can’t imagine anyone two hundred years from now wanting to recreate the dances and clothing of today. Do you dance much?”
Georgiana shrugged. “Few men ask me to anymore. To some, I am beyond hope, so they ask the younger girls who are still marriageable.”
“No one asks you?” She gave her a sceptical look. “You’re wealthy and pretty and have a good social standing.”
“Old friends ask me, husbands of my friends, neighbours,” she admitted.
“Ever dance with Mr Willers?” It was too late in the game to be subtle. And Darcy would no longer mind if she pushed his sister in that direction.
“No, but he enjoys dancing and music. Sometimes, sometimes he listens to me play,” she added in a rush.
Elizabeth gave her an expressive look. “Really?”
Georgiana turned bright red. “He has been a widower for fifteen years; he never hears music at home. We walked past the door to the music room once after meeting in his office, and he mentioned missing music—that was a few years ago—so I invited him to come back in the evening. I said I would play whatever he wished and that he must come again so he could hear a different song.”
“And did it become a standing appointment?”
She nodded. “He comes into the music room for a song or two every week that I am in the country, and we always talk. Sometimes about investments, or leases with tenants, or sometimes about books or travelling or more serious topics.”
“Do these late-night conversations alone in the music room ever touch on more personal topics?” she hinted.
How was it possible Georgiana got any redder?
“Our topics are not always strictly Pemberley business.” She took in a deep breath through her nose and let it out slowly.
“In June, we were sitting close together after I finished playing. We talked later than we normally do, and the topic moved on to our hopes for the future, what the essence of an ideal life looked like, what would make us happy…”
“And?” Elizabeth was near to shaking her shoulders to jostle the words from her.
“And, he had his arm on the sofa back and he smiled at me and leant forward and…I thought he might kiss me,” she said while covering her face with her hands.
Darcy certainly didn’t get these details. “Did he kiss you?”
She shook her head. “He drew back in a very startled manner, and quickly left. Then, a few days later, he told me he was leaving Pemberley to work for Lord Gordon.”
“Do you wish he had kissed you?”
“No,” she said, surprising her. “If he wants to leave, then I am very glad he did not kiss me. The kiss would not have meant to him what it would have meant to me. That would have made losing his friendship and his counsel even more of a trial.”
Georgiana couldn’t see it. How sheltered were these nineteenth-century girls?
Were they kept so cloistered they had no idea how to tell if a boy liked them?
Probably, since it was indecent to act interested in them.
“Is it possible Mr Willers was afraid he overstepped? He thought he acted in an ungentlemanly manner and insulted you?”
“I am sure he did. I think he regretted it so much that he intends to leave Pemberley over it.”
“No!” She pushed her shoulder into Georgiana’s for emphasis. “He loves you and regretted it because he thought it was unwanted, like he was forcing you. Why are you assuming he’s not interested?”
Georgiana was quiet while they waited by the car park for Gwen. “It is hard to assume that someone loves you and loves you enough to overcome all the obstacles.”
The truth of it washed over her. She might have known Darcy loved her when he left her to return to 1811, but even when he came back to the twenty-first century, it was hard to believe he loved her enough to overcome every hurdle in his way.
She had thought he came back to ask her to return with him, never assuming that he had altered the course of his life to stay here with her.
Sometimes people found it difficult to believe that they measured up to those they loved.
“Your brother’s disapproval isn’t an obstacle to being with Mr Willers, you know,” she said. “If he hated the idea of you marrying the steward and not some peer, he would have told you.”
“Knowing Fitzwilliam approves of anyone I choose, that alone is worth the visit. And he believes I will always take proper care of Pemberley.”
“But you still don’t want to put yourself out there? I mean,” she corrected when Georgiana’s brow crinkled in confusion, “you don’t want to be the one to confess your romantic feelings first?”
“I am shy, Elizabeth. I am not like you.”
“You can’t be that shy around Mr Willers. You’ve known him for half your life and worked with him for nearly ten years. Why not tell him?”
“Women do not confess their feelings first. It is unseemly, unfeminine.”
“Even if the man loves you? He might like to hear it.”
“I do know how Mr Willers feels. The only way to know for certain is to wait until he tells me. Until then, my affections and wishes do not matter.”
“I say they do. You became business partners and friends, and you fell in love with him. Everything you’ve told me about his behaviour tells me he loves you too.”
Georgiana actually flinched. Elizabeth saw Gwen’s car pull in and knew the topic would be closed.
“I’m sorry. Our standards are so different.
I’ll just say that you have done an admirable job caring for Pemberley, and you deserve happiness, some real companionship.
No matter who you marry, we want you to be happy. If you love him that much, go for it.”
“His is the longest friendship I have ever had,” she whispered. “I do not want to lose it. What if I am wrong? What if my confession is unwanted and drives him away?”
“He is leaving anyway. You might as well try.”