Chapter 3
Darcy sat at the writing desk in the guest room he had been given at Netherfield Park, trying again to draft a letter to Georgiana. How many failed attempts had he made already, over the days and weeks since learning of her elopement? Darcy could no longer say.
Dear Georgiana,
I am in Hertfordshire visiting Bingley…
He stopped. Georgiana was Mrs Wickham. He could no longer write to her with the easy affection they had shared all their lives.
Not only would it belie his own anger and distress, Georgiana might not even wish it.
Darcy crumpled the first attempt and tossed it in the fire, pulling out a second sheet.
Dear Mrs Wickham,
I am writing to you from Netherfield Park, an estate in a small neighbourhood in Hertfordshire. You will recall my good friend, Charles Bingley. He recently let the estate and asked me to come for an extended visit. But I must confess that I am not able to settle…
He stared at the letter. This draft might as well have been written to a stranger, for all it contained of the deep connection he had once felt for the little sister who was almost a daughter to him.
If easy affection was impossible, then surely cold disapproval was no better.
After several minutes of staring at the lacklustre words, Darcy crumpled the paper into a tight ball.
He walked over to the hearth and threw the letter in, watching as the flames consumed the paper.
It was futile to try to bury his feelings.
Though most of his waking hours had been consumed in consulting with lawyers and worrying over his sister, Darcy had not been able to bring himself to write to Georgiana since news of the elopement had reached him.
That fateful summer day, something had been severed between them.
And while Darcy did not hesitate to assign the lion’s share of the blame to Wickham, he found that hurt had gradually come to take nearly as large a place in his feelings as concern and distress for her.
It would have been easy to go and see her, at least in a practical sense.
The monthly stipend arranged by Darcy’s lawyers in lieu of the full dowry was paid to their London address.
The distance was nothing, but the thought of seeing Wickham — of seeing Georgiana as Wickham’s wife, living with him in the same house — was impossible. Darcy could not bring himself to go.
The substitution of an allowance for the full dowry would at least ensure that Wickham could not run through all of Georgiana’s inheritance, as he had done with the last sum of money he’d been given.
A fact Wickham had made perfectly clear he was unhappy about in a scathing letter to Darcy a few weeks prior.
He was furious with the situation and had demanded that Darcy reverse the settlement. But Darcy had no intention of yielding.
Georgiana would be at least somewhat shielded from Wickham’s whims, but he was helpless to protect his sister’s person or her spirits.
What was Wickham doing to her? Thank Heaven above that Wickham had always been one to use charm rather than force or ugly words.
He would not dare to strike Georgiana, not while he still hoped to gain access to her full dowry.
Likely he would keep his pleasant mask up as long as possible.
But Georgiana was under his control now.
Even in the absence of any deeper threat, that alone was unacceptable.
A knock sounded on his door, and he turned slowly, calling for the person to enter.
Bingley stuck his head around the door before coming in and closing the door behind him.
“How are you, old chap? We have not seen you since breakfast, and we were starting to worry. Caroline said I should come up and ensure you were not moping again.” He held up a packet of letters.
“And these came a little while ago. I told the butler I would deliver them to you.”
“Thank you,” Darcy said dully. “I supposed am moping,” he admitted, “but I shall not come down just yet.” Though he would not explain as much to her brother, he did not have the strength to listen to Caroline Bingley’s sniping or gossip.
Unfortunately, his family had endured the seat of honour in far too much gossip as of late.
He could only hope things calmed down before he was forced to show his face in London again.
What Wickham might do, and what mortification Georgiana would feel!
Or at least, so he hoped. Perhaps he judged his sister too generously, for while Darcy did not hesitate to assign most of the blame to Wickham’s manipulations, she was not entirely innocent in what had happened.
Though less to blame by reason of her youth and innocence, Georgiana had made her choice.
Even at sixteen, she had known better, and it would take years to outlive the scandal that had resulted.
Perhaps she simply did not care, Darcy thought with something approaching despair.
Bingley looked at him narrowly. “You are not well, are you, Darcy?”
“I am fine,” he lied.
Bingley clearly saw through the falsehood. He joined Darcy at the hearth, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I know that things have been difficult as of late, my friend. Is there nothing I can do to help take your mind off things? I hate to see you moping about like this.”
“What can you do?” Darcy asked. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and began to pace.
“My sister has disgraced herself. I thought I raised her better than to run off and elope with the first man who —” He was about to say something he would regret, so he let his words trail off.
He was not usually a man possessed of a volatile temper.
But he had been under such immense strain.
He was finding it difficult to keep himself from lashing out at others, even his dearest friend.
“Forgive me,” Darcy said, raking his fingers through his dark hair. Exhaustion, of spirit if not of body, felt like a weight on him. “I have never felt this helpless before.”
Bingley nodded. “I do not blame you, my friend. We are men. We feel the need to fix every problem we face. Unfortunately, not every problem can be fixed.”
Darcy hated that his friend was right.
After a short pause, Bingley slapped him good-naturedly on the back and started for the door. “Come down to tea. Perhaps Caroline and I can help take your mind off things?”
Darcy cleared his throat, stalling for time. Caroline Bingley was hardly likely to help the situation. Once, he had thought well of Bingley’s sister. After all, she was an elegant, well-educated woman.
Unfortunately, her schooling had not included lessons in developing one’s heart and character.
Her reaction to the disaster that afflicted his family showed that all too clearly.
She pretended to be heartbroken over how far Georgiana had fallen, but each sweetly uttered condolence carried a hint of smug satisfaction with it.
Miss Bingley clearly relished her proximity to the year’s most fascinating gossip.
Still, it would hardly do to criticise Caroline Bingley to her brother. Darcy had no wish for Bingley to be disillusioned in a sister as Darcy himself had been. “No, thank you. I need to finish some letters.”
Bingley looked disappointed. He opened the door to his room and stepped out into the hall, turning at the last second. “I want you to know how very sorry I am, Darcy. I never could have anticipated such a thing, never.” He turned. “Shall I see you at supper?”
“Yes, until then,” Darcy replied. When Bingley was gone, Darcy returned to the desk.
He took up the letters and thumbed through them.
When he came to a letter addressed to him from his cousin, he eagerly opened it.
The colonel always had something to say to the purpose.
The sending address had been obscured, no doubt to protect military confidentiality.
Dear Darcy,
I have just arrived at my new post, where I found a letter from my mother awaiting me.
She says she will consent to recognise the new Mrs Wickham (I can hardly bear to write the name!), but she will not dignify Georgiana’s actions by inviting her to public events.
Perhaps it is just as well. I understand the gossips are still too interested in our former ward.
When things are quieter, it may be possible to persuade my mother to take Mrs Wickham under her wing.
Unfortunately, our Aunt Catherine will not be swayed.
She believes we should disown Georgiana entirely for what she has done to the family.
I have tried to reason with her, but there is no speaking to her, as you well know.
The only thing that can be done is to allow time to pass and hope that forgiveness can be achieved.
Have you written to her? I should like to know how she is getting on, but I will take your lead in the matter. The greater injury is yours, cousin, and so must be the decision of how to deal with your wilful sister.
I expect some weeks of leave at Christmas. If there is any way I can be of assistance, you will not find me hesitant to act.
Faithfully,
Richard Fitzwilliam
Darcy folded the letter and laid it aside. For once, a letter from his favourite cousin had left him feeling worse than before he had read it.
Georgiana Darcy was now Mrs Wickham. He should have done more to protect her — and she should not have engaged in an elopement she knew very well to be wrong as well as foolish.
Guilt and anger mingled in Darcy, leaving him feeling more than a little sick.
Then came the next level — guilt for feeling anger, when Georgiana might already be suffering.
Bingley had invited him to Netherfield to try to take his mind off things.
Little wonder it had not worked. Everything was a reminder of Georgiana.
When Darcy could not even finish a letter to her, how could he expect to have peace for so much as a single moment?