Chapter Three #3
In truth, Elizabeth had formed some opinions and ideas of Georgiana based on her observations, but she reasoned that a little prevarication that erred on the side of kindness was allowed.
It was clear the girl was several years younger than Elizabeth—possibly Lydia’s age.
She appeared unpretentious and earnest. Elizabeth was almost certain she was the same young girl she had seen under the chestnut tree last summer.
This meant she had a brother or some other male relation who could make her laugh and that her grief was not new.
Her clothes, though quite the worse for wear, were clearly very fine, and if that did not reveal her family’s wealth, her name and the name of her home would have.
As Elizabeth understood it, the Darcy’s of Pemberley were one of the wealthiest families in Derbyshire and Pemberley its grandest home.
Mr. Barlow had mentioned the Darcys as acquaintances once or twice, but they did not socialise now.
Elizabeth had inferred this to be due to Mr. Darcy’s reluctance to entertain or be entertained since the death of his wife several years earlier.
This was the final thing Elizabeth knew about Georgiana—she had lost her mother when she was very young.
“Oh, right,” Georgiana responded, looking down.
Elizabeth imagined she was becoming self-conscious, so she ventured to say, “I hope I might have the opportunity to learn more. I stay at Barlow Hall every summer with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner and am always in great need of new friends.”
That this was precisely the right thing to say was evident in the lifted chin and bright smile Georgiana gave her. Though what she intended to say in response was lost, as at that very moment, a voice could be heard, far off and through the trees.
“Georgiana Catherine Darcy, you come back this instant,” the angry feminine voice demanded from somewhere to their left.
“Oh, no!” Georgiana exclaimed, then, surprising Elizabeth, she grabbed her arm and dragged her away from the sound. “She mustn’t find me.”
“Who is she?”
“My governess.” The word dripped with obvious disdain. “She does not care about me at all. She only wants to get my brother’s attention, and when no one is watching, she is perfectly horrible to me. She has made my life so very rotten.”
Elizabeth followed Miss Darcy’s lead. She had little choice given the younger girl maintained possession of her arm, but she would have gone anyway.
They ventured deeper into the wood along what appeared to be a well-trod path.
She was fascinated by Miss Darcy’s story.
Governesses were a somewhat foreign concept to her.
She and her sisters had never had one, nor had any of her intimate family or friends.
Her only knowledge of the peculiar creatures came from books and one brief summer where a wealthy family let Netherfield Park and their horrid children seemed to delight in vexing their governess whenever they were seen in the village, at church or at any neighbourhood gathering.
Refusing to believe Miss Darcy was anything like the Welton boys, Elizabeth listened for more of the tale.
And there was more. They walked for nearly five minutes in the same direction and throughout, Miss Darcy kept up a steady stream of complaints.
Some specific: “She threatened to chop off my hair if I didn’t eat my porridge this morning.
” Some general: “The way she prances about, hoping to get William to notice her.” All of it painted a picture that made Miss Darcy’s predicament feel very woeful indeed.
Finally, the younger girl stopped. They had reached the road near the fork that led to the village and away from Derbyshire towards three different destinations.
Elizabeth knew not which was which beyond the road to the village which she recognised.
Georgiana turned to Elizabeth and said with shy solemnity, “I must be off. I am sorry we did not meet sooner and for any inconvenience I have caused you. If I do return, I would very much like to call you friend.” Before her new friend could step onto the road, as was clearly her intent, Elizabeth gently took her arm.
“Miss Darcy, what are you about? Where are you going?”
“To my aunt.”
“And where does your aunt live?”
“She lives in Matlock,” Georgiana replied, seeming to grow impatient with Elizabeth’s questioning. However, Elizabeth was concerned, only now realising that she had not found a young girl having a cry out in the woods, but a young girl running away from home.
“And how far away is Matlock?”
This seemed to give Georgiana pause.
“I am not entirely certain,” she admitted. “It usually does not take us more than a day to reach their estate.”
“A day’s travel . . . in a carriage?”
“Yes.” Georgiana now looked slightly worried.
“You plan to walk all that way in those shoes?”
They both looked down at Georgiana’s rather fine but impractical soft boots.
“Well, I don’t suppose . . .” Georgiana sighed, plopping down on a log with a huff. “I hadn’t truly thought it through. I only thought . . . well, we visit our Fitzwilliam relations every summer at some point, and I only thought it might be nicer to be there than here.”
“I can understand that,” Elizabeth offered, sitting down as well. “I love my Aunt Gardiner and might have considered setting out on my own to reach her had I been faced with your dilemma. However, is there no one at home who might listen to you? You mentioned a brother?”
“Yes, William,” Georgiana said with a smile. “He is the kindest and best brother.”
Elizabeth thought of the handsome gentleman she saw beneath the tree.
“Why have you not sought his advice or protection in light of your situation with Miss Devon?” How Elizabeth would have loved a brother to advise and protect her.
She simply could not imagine why Georgiana would not have brought her troubles to her older brother whom she seemed to love and admire so much.
“What if . . .”
“What if what?” Elizabeth asked.
“What if he cares for her . . . for Miss Devon, and my explaining all to him causes a rift or makes him feel he cannot pursue her?”
Elizabeth doubted the heir to Pemberley would consider a governess, even in her more circumscribed world, this was not generally done.
However, Georgiana had said Miss Devon was quite beautiful and very clever about only presenting her best qualities to her brother.
What little Elizabeth did know about men too old to be her playmates and too young to be the fathers and uncles of her world was not very much at all.
However, what did seem clear was that they could be quite stupid over a pretty face.
“Has your brother ever shown an inclination towards Miss Devon?”
“I am not certain what an inclination would look like.” Georgiana confessed. Truth be told Elizabeth was not certain either, but it seemed important to ascertain whether there was anything to be muddled by telling all to her brother before they discarded the possibility.
“This spring, a cousin of our neighbours was visiting. He was sixteen,” Elizabeth began, rising to pace while she spoke to work out her ideas.
“The first time we had dinner with them and were introduced, he stared at my sister Jane throughout the whole meal. The whole time! I thought it made Jane uncomfortable, but of course she would not hear a bad word said about anyone and insisted he was just a bit awkward because he did know many people—half the people were his family, mind you . . . anyway,” she resumed, having realised she had gotten off track.
“The next time we saw them was at church and he stared at her the whole service. The whole service. But this time he didn’t just stare.
The moment we stepped outside, he rushed right up to Jane and asked to escort her home.
Escort her! Like it wasn’t simply a walk down a country lane crowded with our neighbours and friends making their way after the service as well.
Jane agreed and took his arm and walked with him for the mile or so back to Longbourn.
She wouldn’t tell me too much about what he said, but he did tell her he thought she was pretty—that’s about all she would reveal to me.
After he left, I heard my mother and Lady Lucas talking about how Mr. Davids, that was his name, how Mr. Davids was fond of Jane.
So . . . does your brother stare at Miss Devon? ”
“No, I don’t think so. He looks at her if they are speaking, but I have never noticed anything beyond that,” Georgiana, having been listening in rapt attention, responded after a moment’s thought.
“Has he told her, or you, that she is beautiful?”
“No, I am sure of that because I did hear Miss Devon tell Amelia, one of the upstairs maids, that the least he could do was compliment her on her gown and complain he seemed to not notice her beauty at all. She said he was being . . . intentionally evasive, I think she said.” Georgiana seemed pleased at having recalled this potentially probative bit of information.
“This is good,” Elizabeth declared. “By the by, I do not understand why complimenting a beautiful woman on her beauty is part of how a gentleman courts beautiful ladies. I mean, if they are beautiful, they know it, everyone knows it. Why must it be spoken of? It is not as if a beautiful lady can help being beautiful. God deserves the compliment. Shouldn’t praise be reserved for accomplishments or character?
” Realising she had lost track of their conversation again, Elizabeth was ready to apologise to her new friend for her chaotic ramblings, but Georgiana surprised her.
“I had not ever thought of it that way,” she admitted.