Morning – Netherfield
T he breakfast room at Netherfield was subdued that morning.
The Bingleys, still accustomed to town hours, had yet to appear, and Miss Darcy had elected to breakfast a little later, as was her habit.
They ate together in a silence that might have passed for companionable—if one man had not been brooding into his tea while the other read the newspaper like a stage prop.
Richard, of course, could not let the morning’s silence go unprovoked.
“Well,” he said, folding the paper with exaggerated care and setting it aside, “Did confessing your feelings cause permanent damage, or are you recovering?”
Darcy looked up sharply.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I only mean to commend your performance,” Richard said, selecting a piece of toast and biting into it with relish.
“I have seen generals face cannon fire with less tension in their shoulders.”
“I behaved perfectly appropriately.”
“So you did. Appropriately silent. Appropriately stiff. Appropriately besotted.”
Darcy’s fingers tightened slightly around his teacup.
“Miss Lucas remarked on it, you know. Something about your powers of observation being... remarkably focused,” Richard said with a touch of mock innocence.
Darcy set his cup down with deliberate care.
“Did she.”
“Oh yes. Very diplomatic. But I believe the implication was clear: you were staring.”
“I was not staring.”
“No? Brooding intently in one direction, then.” Richard buttered his toast with lazy satisfaction.
Darcy inhaled slowly.
“I was not brooding.”
Richard gave him a look of grave consideration.
“Ah, forgive me. You are right. You were composing. A tragic poem, perhaps. Something in heroic couplets. ‘O! how doth the drawing room oppress the soul / When one’s affections are beyond control—’”
Darcy lifted one brow in silent warning.
Richard ignored it. “You must admit, though, for a man who loathes unnecessary socializing, you made quite the effort last night.”
Darcy looked down at his plate.
“It was a conversation that needed to be had.”
Richard watched him for a moment, his teasing air easing slightly.
“She took it well,” he said.
“Better than most would, given the circumstances.”
“She was gracious,” Darcy agreed.
“And curious.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, his voice low.
“And kind.”
“Still no idea what she thinks of you?”
Darcy shook his head, the smallest trace of self-mockery in the gesture.
“None. But she stayed in the room. That feels like a small miracle.”
Richard snorted.
“Truly, a triumph for the history books.”
Darcy gave him a sideways glance.
“You try explaining to a woman that your sister thinks you are engaged because you wrote a letter you never meant to send.”
“Fair point,” Richard conceded, then leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
“So. The plan?”
Darcy considered.
“Georgiana needs the truth. She deserves honesty. And I…” He hesitated.
“I need to say it out loud.”
Richard nodded slowly.
“That is progress, however awkward and mortifying it may be.”
Darcy gave him a dry look.
“Your encouragement is overwhelming.”
“Oh, I am very supportive,” Richard said cheerfully.
“It is just that watching you wrestle with your own emotions is the most entertainment I have had all week.”
Darcy shook his head, resigned.
They lapsed into a moment of silence.
Then, Richard leaned forward, elbows on the table and a glint in his eye.
“Miss Lucas told me something scandalous last night.”
Darcy looked up, wary.
“Did she.”
“Oh yes,” Richard said, buttering his toast with maddening slowness.
“Apparently, your reputation precedes you. Or follows you. Or,” he paused, slicing into the bread with unnecessary precision, “It lingers awkwardly in ballrooms for weeks,” Richard drawled.
Darcy frowned. “Get to the point.”
Richard gave a mock sigh.
“So impatient. Fine. She said that at the Meryton assembly, you once claimed Miss Elizabeth Bennet was—quote—‘not handsome enough to tempt you.’”
Darcy went very still.
Richard grinned. “Ah. So it is true.”
A beat of silence.
Darcy reached for his tea, eyes fixed on the rim of the cup as though it might provide refuge.
“You actually said it?” Richard prompted, practically vibrating with delight.
“Out loud?”
“I was trying to get rid of Bingley,” Darcy winced.
“I did not realize anyone else had heard.”
“And now the entire county knows you once dismissed your future fiancée like a horse at auction.”
“She was not—”
“Spare me,” Richard said, waving a hand.
“You thought she was pretty enough to write sonnets about in a sealed letter, but not to dance with? Fascinating.”
Darcy exhaled through his nose.
“It was early. I had barely spoken to her.”
“So,” Richard continued cheerfully, “have you apologized?”
Darcy hesitated.
“No. She never mentioned it. ”
“Of course she did not,” Richard said.
Darcy rubbed his temple.
“You should say something,” Richard said, more gently now.
“If only to show her you know it was awful.”
“I do know,” Darcy muttered.
There was a calm rustle behind them as Georgiana entered the room.
She greeted both men with a smile and a curtsy before taking her seat beside her brother.
“Good morning,” she said brightly.
“I hope the evening was pleasant?”
Darcy stiffened slightly.
Richard did not.
Georgiana unfolded her napkin with relaxed precision, unaware of the look that passed between her brother and cousin.
She reached for the teapot and poured with practiced grace, a soft smile on her face.
“You were spared a great many things,” Richard replied.
“Chief among them: an impassioned monologue from Mr. Collins on the theological merits of boiled potatoes.”
Georgiana laughed softly.
“It sounds… spirited.”
“Oh, it was,” Richard said.
“And your brother, stoic as ever, refrained from fleeing the drawing room. Heroic, truly.”
Georgiana cast a glance at Darcy, who lifted his cup with a rather composed expression.
“I endured,” Darcy said dryly.
“And Miss Elizabeth?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“Was she there?”
“She was,” Richard said.
“In excellent form.”
Georgiana smiled, looking faintly wistful.
“I am very much looking forward to meeting her.”
Richard, who had been buttering a second piece of toast with great deliberation, gave his cousin a knowing look and said nothing—for once.
Georgiana, still watching Darcy, turned her attention back to her plate.
“Mrs. Annesley tells me we are to visit Longbourn today?”
“Yes,” Darcy replied, composing himself.
“Bingley will deliver the invitations for a ball here at Netherfield.”
Georgiana brightened.
“Then I shall finally meet Miss Elizabeth. I hope she is as delightful as you made her sound.”
Richard hummed.
“Delightful? Certainly. Intimidating? Slightly.”
“Richard,” Darcy said wearily.
“What? I speak only truth.”
Georgiana laughed.
“I think I shall like her very much.”
Darcy did not speak.
Richard rose, smoothing his coat with a flourish.
“If you will excuse me, I must attend to my horse. If he is not sulking, he is certainly judging. He was stabled next to a mare Miss Bingley described as ‘serene,’ which I believe means slow and expensive.”
He paused at the door, glancing back at them both.
“And Georgiana,” Richard added, “do not let your brother get away with being entirely mysterious. He is due for a very honest conversation.”
Georgiana tilted her head, amused.
“I shall do my best.”
With one last look of deep satisfaction, Richard disappeared down the hall, whistling softly to himself.
Silence returned to the breakfast room.
Georgiana took another sip of tea, then set down her cup.
She glanced at Darcy, who was watching her with an unreadable expression.
She tilted her head.
“Should I be concerned?”
“No. But there is something I would like to discuss—with you—if you are willing.”
“Of course,” she said, instantly serious.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said.
“At least… not wrong. But perhaps not quite what you think.”
She regarded him curiously but did not press.
Instead, she wiped her hands on her napkin and rose from her chair.
Darcy stood as well, offering her a nod.
“Shall we go to the library?”
She smiled gently.
“Yes, let’s.”
They walked side by side down the hallway, their silence companionable now, not the hush of awkwardness, but the kind that exists when words are no longer necessary.
“I have missed these talks,” Georgiana said softly.
Darcy glanced over, a faint smile touching his mouth.
“So have I.”
He reached for the library door and opened it for her.
She stepped inside without hesitation.
The room was warm and familiar, lined with shelves and the faint scent of leather bindings and hearth smoke.
Georgiana moved to a chair near the fire, but Darcy remained standing for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, as though the gravity of what he wished to say had rooted him.
She watched him patiently.
And at last, he spoke.
“I owe you an explanation,” he said at last.
Georgiana frowned.
“About what?”
“The letter I sent you,” he said slowly, “was not intended for your eyes. Not truly.”
Georgiana tilted her head, uncertain.
“But it was addressed to me.”
“Yes. As many of them are,” he admitted.
“I have a habit of drafting letters I do not send. It helps me—gather my thoughts. That one… I sealed without thinking. I never meant for it to leave the house.”
She said nothing at first, only watched him with that quiet steadiness he had always admired in her.
“You wrote of Miss Elizabeth with such certainty,” she said.
“About her wit, her kindness, how she would fit at Pemberley, how she would be a sister to me. It did not read like hope, Fitzwilliam. It read like a fact, as though you had already chosen her.”
“That was not my intention,” Darcy said softly.
“At the time, I was doing everything I could to not to feel it. Writing that letter was only… a way to let it out, without consequence. I never intended to pursue her. I thought the feelings themselves were a failing—something to suppress.”
Georgiana’s expression grew more serious, her brows knitting.
“But if you were trying not to feel it… then why write something so tender? So vivid?”
Darcy exhaled, slow and uneven.
“Because I could not keep it from myself any longer. I could not say the words aloud. But on the page… I could admit what I had no right to consider.”
He moved to the window, looking out into the pale morning light beyond the glass.
“I told myself it was indulgence—something to quiet my feelings. But your reply made it real. Your joy forced me to see the truth I had tried to suppress.”
Georgiana rose and crossed to him, calm but firm.
“You do care for her.”
“Yes,” he said, still not turning.
“I have cared for her longer than I realized. And I fought it at every turn. Her family, her connections, none of it is what I was raised to expect. And yet she is the only woman I have ever truly—” He stopped himself.
“She challenged everything I believed I valued. She forced me to see my own arrogance, for what it was. And I hated her for it. And then… I did not.”
He looked at her then, the distance between them shrinking in the stillness of the library.
“I never meant for you to read that letter,” he said.
“But when I saw how happy it made you, how you believed in it without hesitation… it became… harder to keep resisting.”
Georgiana’s eyes shimmered, though she smiled.
“It made me believe you had finally chosen something for yourself, not out of duty or expectation. I always worried you would choose someone safe—someone cold, or perfect, or distant—because that is what the world expects of you. But you did not. You did not write about someone perfect. You wrote about someone real. And I wanted it to be true.”
He studied her face, so open, so willing to hope.
“I want it to be true as well,” he said.
“But not only for your sake. I do not want to hide my feelings anymore.”
“Then do not,” Georgiana said simply.
“Do not pretend it is a failing. Let her see what you let me read.”
He gave a faint, rueful smile.
“That might be the most frightening advice I have ever received.”
“And the best,” she said, lifting her chin with determination.
“Write a new letter, if you must. But this time, send it to the right person.”
Darcy was silent for a long moment, eyes distant.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
“There is no need.”
Georgiana blinked, puzzled.
“What do you mean? ”
He turned to her fully now, his voice low but steady.
“The letter I sent you, keep it with you. Bring it to Longbourn today. And if the moment feels right… show it to her.”
Her eyes widened.
“You want her to read it?”
He gave a faint, grim smile.
“She deserves to know what I could not say aloud. What I tried to hide, even from myself. It may be foolish, but I would rather she read the truth than hear some stammered approximation of it from me.”
Georgiana studied him, the hesitation in his face, the hard-won honesty behind his words.
Her voice was lower now.
“And if she is angry? If she feels you have presumed too much—”
Darcy’s gaze did not waver.
“Then I will deserve it.”
She hesitated.
“And if she refuses you?”
He exhaled slowly.
“Then she refuses me. But at least she will know what I truly felt.”
She stepped closer, placing a hand lightly on his arm.
“You trust me with this?”
“With everything.”
She met his gaze.
“Then she will know what I have known since I read it.”