Chapter Twenty-One
The lamps had been lit against the gathering dusk by the time Darcy’s carriage rolled to a stop on Grosvenor Square.
He descended stiffly, muscles protesting the long day spent mostly in the carriage.
Light glowed behind the drawing room windows of his townhouse, warm and welcoming.
The front door opened before he reached it, his butler materialising with quiet efficiency.
“Good evening, sir,” the butler said, taking Darcy’s hat and gloves. “We did not expect you until tomorrow. Shall I have your chambers prepared?”
“Thank you, Henderson. I came earlier than planned.” Darcy stripped off his coat and handed it over. “Where is Miss Darcy?”
“In the music room, sir. She has been practicing this past hour.”
Darcy nodded and moved toward the back of the house.
The music reached him before he opened the door, familiar notes from a Mozart sonata.
She played well, with technical precision.
But there was something tentative in her playing, as though she feared making mistakes more than she enjoyed the music.
The music room occupied the ground floor’s southern corner.
Evening shadows had claimed most of the space, but candles burned on the pianoforte and in sconces along the walls.
Georgiana sat at the instrument with perfect posture, her fair hair caught up in a simple knot.
She wore a pale blue dress that made her look younger than her sixteen years.
She looked up as the door opened, and her face transformed, careful concentration giving way to unguarded joy. “Brother! I did not expect you until tomorrow evening at the earliest.”
Darcy crossed to her and took both her hands in his, squeezing gently. “I finished my business in Hertfordshire sooner than anticipated. I hope I am not interrupting your practice.”
“Never,” Georgiana said, and her smile held such warmth that Darcy felt some of the day’s tension ease from his chest. “I am always happy to see you. But you look tired. Shall I ring for tea? Though dinner will be in an hour, perhaps you would prefer to wait…”
“No, I am quite thirsty. Ring for tea, please.”
Georgiana moved to the bell pull while Darcy settled into one of the chairs arranged near the fire.
He watched Georgiana return to sit opposite him after speaking with the maid, her movements carrying that same tentative quality he heard in her music.
As though she worried about taking up too much space, about asserting her presence too boldly.
The maid returned with remarkable speed, bringing tea and biscuits. Georgiana poured with careful attention, preparing Darcy’s cup exactly as he preferred it.
“You said you had business in Hertfordshire,” Georgiana said, her voice carrying gentle curiosity. “Was it pleasant?”
“I went to call on Mr. Bennet at Longbourn.” Darcy took a sip of tea, grateful for the warmth. “The father of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Georgiana’s eyebrows rose slightly. “The lady you have spoken of?”
“Yes.” Darcy set down his cup with care. The words came simply. “Georgiana, I have asked Miss Elizabeth Bennet to marry me, and she has accepted. We are engaged.”
The teacup trembled in Georgiana’s hands, rattling softly against the saucer. Tea sloshed dangerously close to the rim before she managed to steady her grip. Her face had gone pink, and she fairly beamed with pleasure.
“Oh!” The exclamation emerged breathless with delight. “Oh, Fitzwilliam, I am so happy for you. So very happy.”
“I should have written,” Darcy said, though relief flooded through him at her obvious pleasure. “But I wanted to tell you in person. You are the most important person in my life, Georgiana. I needed to see your face when I told you.”
Georgiana set down her teacup with trembling hands and rose from her chair. She crossed to where Darcy sat and threw her arms around his neck. Darcy returned it, feeling his sister’s slender frame shake slightly as she clung to him.
“I am so glad,” Georgiana whispered against his shoulder. “So very glad. You have seemed troubled these past months. But if you love Miss Elizabeth, if she makes you happy, then I am the happiest sister in the world.”
She drew back and returned to her seat, her cheeks still flushed. But as she settled once more with her tea, something in her expression shifted. The joy remained, but uncertainty crept in around its edges.
“Will she like me, do you think?” Georgiana asked, her voice going soft with hesitation. “I know I am not as accomplished as other ladies. My conversation is poor, and I am too shy in company. What if she finds me dull?”
The question struck Darcy with unexpected force. He heard in it all of Georgiana’s accumulated insecurities, all the damage that Ramsgate had done.
“Elizabeth will adore you,” Darcy said, and meant it with fierce conviction.
“She is kind and warm, with none of the false civility that marks fashionable society. She values genuine feeling over empty accomplishment. She will see in you all the qualities I see; your gentle nature, your talents for music and art, your capacity for deep affection. She loves the sisters she already has fiercely and deeply. I am certain she will take you to her heart as well.”
Georgiana’s expression brightened again, though traces of uncertainty remained. “Tell me about her. Tell me everything. What does she look like? What are her interests?”
Darcy found himself describing Elizabeth as he remembered her from their early acquaintance.
Her fine eyes and the way they sparkled with intelligence.
Her love of long walks. The way she sang and played the pianoforte with more spirit than polish.
Her devotion to her sister Jane, demonstrated through that muddy walk to Netherfield.
“She is independent,” Darcy said, warming to his subject despite everything.
“She speaks her mind freely, even when it would be more prudent to remain silent. She challenged me constantly, refused to be impressed by any of the things that usually command respect. She treated me simply as a man, not as a figure to be awed.”
Georgiana leaned forward, her tea forgotten. “She sounds wonderful. When will I meet her?”
“Soon,” Darcy promised. “We are to be married by special licence here in London. She will be staying with her aunt and uncle Gardiner in Gracechurch Street while preparations are made. Perhaps we might call on her there.”
“A wedding in London,” Georgiana said, her smile returning full force. “Oh, I can help with preparations. And Aunt Matlock will guide us, I am certain.”
They talked on, Georgiana asking questions and Darcy answering as best he could. What would Elizabeth wear? Would there be a wedding breakfast? Who would attend? Darcy found himself describing plans that Elizabeth had announced rather than discussed.
At one point, Georgiana asked if Elizabeth’s family would all attend, and Darcy had to explain that Mrs. Bennet’s enthusiasm had been rather overwhelming, that Mr. Bennet seemed bewildered, that the younger sisters would likely create chaos.
Georgiana laughed at his descriptions, clearly delighted by the thought of a large, noisy family.
“It will be good for you,” Georgiana said with unexpected perception. “You have been too isolated, brother. Too accustomed to having your own way in everything. A wife who speaks her mind and a family who does not stand on ceremony will shake you out of your habits.”
The observation was accurate enough to make Darcy smile despite the discomfort. “You may be right. Though I confess I am not certain I am prepared for quite so much shaking.”
“You will manage,” Georgiana assured him, her confidence absolute. “You always do.”
As they moved into the dining room, Darcy found himself describing the Elizabeth he had fallen in love with rather than the woman who had accepted his proposal.
The Elizabeth who had refused to dance with him at the Meryton assembly, who had nursed her sister with devoted attention, who had challenged his assumptions about class and consequence.
That Elizabeth felt real in a way the eager, compliant woman in Kent did not quite manage.
But he did not share these doubts with Georgiana. Did not speak of Anne’s warning or his own growing unease. His sister was too happy, too delighted at the prospect of gaining Elizabeth as a sister. Darcy would not shadow that joy with uncertainties he could not properly articulate.
Finally, Georgiana rose and kissed his cheek. “I am so happy for you, brother. So very happy. And I cannot wait to meet my new sister.”
She left him sitting alone in the dining room, and Darcy remained there long after her footsteps faded.
The room had gone dark except for the last flickering flames, and in that darkness, his doubts seemed larger.
He had committed himself to this marriage, had secured Mr. Bennet’s permission and told his sister the happy news.
There was no honourable way to withdraw now.
And he did not want to withdraw, Darcy told himself firmly. He loved Elizabeth. Loved the woman she had been, at least. Perhaps the change in her manner was simply the natural result of accepting his suit. Perhaps all his doubts were nothing more than his own difficulty with change.
The fire collapsed into ash with a soft sound, and Darcy rose with a sigh. He must still visit the Matlocks and arrange for the special licence. Would set in motion the machinery that would make Elizabeth Bennet his wife. And somewhere in that process, surely, his certainty would return.
Surely.
Matlock House occupied a prominent position on one of Mayfair’s most fashionable streets, its Portland stone facade gleaming pale in the lamplight.
Darcy’s carriage stopped before the entrance at half past nine.
The butler showed no surprise at his arrival, merely took his hat and gloves and led him up the marble stairs to the first floor drawing room.