Chapter Seven #2
Elizabeth found each of her sisters easy to love.
Jane’s letters had painted a picture of her family that Elizabeth found almost unnervingly precise.
Jane and Mary were intelligent, well-read and witty.
Jane was a little quiet, Mary rather direct in her speech and a little daring, but both were entirely proper in company.
Jane was perhaps too determined to see the good in everyone she met, and Mary spent perhaps a bit too much time pointing out their faults, but they were women with whom she would be friends even if they were not her sisters.
Kitty, who had just turned seventeen and was recently out, was cheerful and warm.
She was shy, and though not terribly clever, neither was she foolish; she was becoming quite proficient in the still-room and spoke French fluently.
Unlike Kitty, who tended to timidity, Lydia was boisterous by nature, very bright but also undisciplined.
“You know,” Mary said as Lydia was hustled off to her lessons one morning, “Lydia wanted to come out at the same time as Kitty. She said it was unfair that she be the only one left at home.”
Jane blew a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. Elizabeth glanced up from her drawing to spy a glimpse of the tension her eldest sister was so good at hiding. “Thank goodness Mrs. Grover stood firm.”
“Mama certainly did not,” Mary replied. “She thought it a grand idea.”
“What happened?” Elizabeth asked, setting down her crayon and wiping her hands on a cloth set out for the purpose. She could scarcely believe her mother would think Lydia anywhere near prepared to be out, and to slight poor Kitty in such a way would have been terribly unkind.
“Papa spoke with Mrs. Grover. Her opinion was that Kitty had earned her coming out, and Lydia should have to earn her own.” Mary sounded satisfied with the outcome.
Jane appeared unhappy. “Lydia cried for days. However, we all waited until we were seventeen, though Mama would have liked us out earlier.”
“It would have been unfair to Kitty to have to share her come-out with a younger sister,” Elizabeth observed, “and I must say that Lydia is not at all ready to be in company.”
“Oh, she is not so very bad,” Jane began, but when both her sisters raised their eyebrows, she laughed. “Oh, very well, she is not so very good, either.”
“That is quite a concession coming from you, Jane,” Elizabeth responded slyly, and then fell silent for a moment before saying, “Lydia has much to learn, and if she is ever to come to London with me, she must be ready. The women there can be brutal. Lydia might not even recognize she was being torn to shreds until the invitations stopped arriving.”
“Is it truly so vicious, Lizzy?” Jane asked.
“It need not be for you, Jane,” Elizabeth assured her, “but you must not look for kindness there. Not at first.” She reached over to take her sister’s hand.
“You must rule a London drawing room as you do Kensington. Firm and consistent, in control at all times.” She tipped her head to one side.
“You should see how Aunt Olivia commands a room.”
Jane considered that. “I suppose it would not be so very difficult if I put my mind to it.”
Mary shook her head. “You are too kind, Jane, but you are also firm where you believe yourself to be right. If you are honest about the situation you are entering, you will be entirely equal to it.”
Jane blushed. “Thank you, Mary.”
Mary nodded once. “I should take no pleasure in it, though.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes theatrically. “We know, Mary, we know.” Mary pretended to take offense, but Elizabeth and Jane just smiled.
Elizabeth put aside her letter from Mr. Yeager when she saw that a letter from Georgiana had been forwarded from 13 St. James’s Square.
Not even Georgiana was to know precisely where she was staying.
Her aunt wanted her location kept quiet so that she could enjoy herself without the kind of heavy escort she had always required as Miss Russell.
John had been displeased with her aunt’s plans, but Elizabeth was grateful for the opportunity.
Georgiana was staying in Ramsgate for the summer as a holiday—a gift from her indulgent brother. Lizzy had been invited to visit, but Aunt Olivia had said that her stay in Hertfordshire was too important to interrupt.
Her friend had been writing Elizabeth about the art exhibitions currently on display as well as how much she loved the sea.
Elizabeth broke the seal expecting more delightful descriptions.
The rest of the letter, however, did not make her as cheerful as news from Georgiana was wont to do.
She stood hastily and called for a maid.
“Please tell Jacob to wait in the kitchen and have something to eat,” she said. “I have an urgent message for him to take back to my aunt.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose as his sister continued to stare silently across the coach at him.
“Georgiana,” he snapped, his patience nearing its end, “what happened? Precisely?”
“Are you speaking to me again, then?” she asked, crossing her arms across her chest. “I wondered how long you could keep from scolding me.”
“I just want to know what happened, Georgie,” he replied, struggling to keep his composure. “George Wickham, of all men!”
“I did not know anything about him, Fitzwilliam,” she retorted. “You never thought it necessary to tell me what a scoundrel Papa’s old protégé had become.”
“He was in the south of England, Georgie,” Darcy explained. “There was no reason to tell you. I never thought you would be in company.”
“Well, you were wrong, brother.” Georgiana lifted her eyebrows and turned towards the window, watching the landscape rush past. “He claimed you were friends, and Mrs. Younge was only too happy to forward the acquaintance. Things might have gone very badly.” She looked away. “I was flattered at first.”
He took a deep breath then let it out. “At first…” Darcy said, encouraging her to continue.
“Eventually her willingness to step away while Mr. Wickham and I were speaking began to alarm me, and I sent a letter to Lizzy to ask her thoughts.”
“Lizzy?” Darcy asked, remembering the name from countless conversations with his sister. “You mean Miss Russell?” Miss Russell who is kind, who is clever, who draws, who plays, who rides, who is beautiful… Miss Russell the paragon?
Georgiana rolled her eyes. “Of course, Miss Russell. She is my dearest friend.”
He sighed. Be patient. “And Miss Russell told you…”
“That Mrs. Younge was terribly negligent, and I must write you immediately,” Georgiana said, her chin raised in challenge. “She had her aunt send it express by a private rider.”
Darcy felt himself relax a little. Private rider.
Less chance for the information to spread to the gossips.
Miss Russell was clever indeed. “She was perfectly correct, sister. I am pleased you could turn to her.” He held his hands together on his lap, thumbs pressing against each other.
“I do, however, wish you had felt confident enough to write to me directly.”
“If I was only being silly, I did not want you to charge up here and create a scene.”
Despite his attempt to remain calm, the words burst out before he could stop them. “It is my duty to create a scene when a bounder is importuning my sister!”
Georgiana shook her head slowly. “Duty. Responsibility. Can you not understand I do not wish to be a duty to you? A burden?”
The charge made him blink as though he had been slapped. “Georgie, you are never a burden to me,” he protested.
“Fitzwilliam,” she sighed. “I am fully aware of your sense of duty. Every member of our family has mentioned it to me at one time or another, the great sacrifice you have made for a much younger sister left to your charge when you were twenty-two.”
“Georgie…” She was tearing his heart into shreds. He never knew she had been made to feel she was an obligation. It was the last thing he would have wished.
“You ought to have been out doing whatever it is young men your age do,” she said quietly, her eyes trained on the floor.
“Instead, you were running Pemberley and taking care of me. Planning I should marry some titled bore who would increase my status. I love you and I know you love me. But I was a burden. I am a burden.”
Darcy pulled the curtains over the windows and moved to sit next to his sister. “Georgie, look at me, please.” He gently tapped her chin. “Please.”
His sister did as he asked.
“You are my sister, Georgie. You and I—we are all that is left of the Darcys. You could never be a burden to me.”
Georgiana’s blue eyes sought his. “Then why would you not tell me about a man who has threatened you? Any man who would do so is also a danger to me.”
“Georgiana, it is my job to protect you. You are but fifteen.”
“Which is old enough to understand,” she replied, frustration in her voice. “I am sixteen in a month, Fitzwilliam. I am happy to have you protect me, but I must also be allowed to protect myself.” She stuck her nose up in the air. “I am no longer a child, no matter what you think, old man.”
He felt his lips stretching into a smile. “Old man?”
Georgiana gave him a crooked smile. “Lizzy always says that when we are unsure, it is important to question. I have learned to do that, brother, and it saved me.” She blushed.
“That and having a brother who was willing to charge up to Ramsgate and… respond forcefully.” She straightened her shoulders.
“I am sorry to say I was flattered at first and, remembering only that Mr. Wickham was Father’s godson and your friend, I felt safe.
Then he told me a terrible story about the Russells and I knew something was wrong. ”
Darcy frowned. “What did he say?”