Chapter Nine
Pemberley
Mr. Darcy took the message from the salver. He sighed; he had had so little good news of late that he was almost afraid to open his mail.
Darcy,
Doubtless by now you know what the newspaper printed. I believe not a word of it, and will say so to anyone and everyone.
I have just leased an estate called Netherfield Park near a small town called Meryton in Hertfordshire, and I plan to be there at the end of the week. Come and stay with us and bring Miss Darcy. It would do you both good to be in new company where you are completely unknown.
Stay as long as you wish. I do not doubt that you will find it a welcome respite from your current difficulties.
Charles Bingley
Mr. Darcy read his friend’s letter and laid it carefully on his desk.
What a true friend Bingley was! Bingley said he did not believe a word of it, but alas, the whole damned story was true.
Georgiana had almost eloped with the son of a steward, and as far as her brother could determine, she had lost her virtue to the scoundrel as well.
Would Bingley be so forgiving if he knew the truth?
Yes, Mr. Darcy realised after a moment’s thought. He would be. Bingley was not one to care about society gossip, and he would not shun or criticise a young girl who had been so badly misled by a woman she should have been able to trust.
My fault, Mr. Darcy thought, for the thousandth time.
All my fault. He had received his Aunt Catherine’s letter that morning, and he could not argue with a line of it.
Except, of course, that he would never send Georgiana to Rosings Park, no matter what.
But she was right, entirely right, in saying that this was his fault.
Damn Mrs. Younge to hell, and damn George Wickham to hell, and damn The Morning Post to hell! He pounded his fists on the desk, but it brought him no relief.
The Countess had gone back to London and had paid to have a retraction printed, but it was in tiny type at the very end of the society column.
No one would see it, and if they did, well, his aunt was right.
No one would believe it. The gossip was too juicy, too appealing.
How everyone would love to see the Darcys brought low!
The only way this could ever be overcome would be for Georgiana to make an excellent marriage, and what were the chances of that happening now?
He picked up Mr. Bingley’s letter and read it again.
***
“Georgiana, you must come out. I am leaving Pemberley, and you are coming with me.”
Silence.
“Georgiana, I will have this door broken down if I must.”
“Where are we going?” A small whisper through the door; he imagined her with her face pressed against it.
“To Bingley’s leased estate in Hertfordshire.”
“But why?” She almost moaned the words.
To get you out of your room! He felt like screaming it. Instead, he said, calmly, “It will be good for us to have a change of scene and be among friends.”
“Miss Bingley? A friend?” Georgiana’s tone was disbelieving.
“Perhaps not Miss Bingley, but Mr. Bingley is a friend. He saw the newspaper article and says he does not believe it. He suggested that it would do us good to go somewhere new.”
“Yes, he has always been kind.” The words were correct, but she spoke in a dull monotone.
Mr. Darcy leaned his head against the heavy wooden door and pleaded with his sister, his voice laced with weariness, sorrow, guilt. “He has, yes. Please, Georgiana. Please. I beg you. We cannot go on like this. I truly cannot bear it.”
Mr. Darcy heard the lock turn and he raised his head.
The door opened, ever so slowly, and through the crack he saw his little sister.
She was thin, pale, wraith-like, her hair tangled, her cheeks marred with the trail of her tears, and his heart broke all over again.
“Oh, Georgiana!” His voice broke on a sob and he pushed the door open, stepped inside and enfolded her in his arms.
“You are breaking my heart, Georgiana. I am as much to blame as you, in truth, more so, and I do not know –“ He could not continue.
“Aunt said that you did not check Mrs. Younge’s references carefully enough,” his sister said. “But that cannot possibly excuse my willingness to run off with a man without your consent. It is my fault, not yours.”
“No,” her brother said. “My fault, mine entirely. I left you unprotected, and I did not tell you what I knew of George Wickham. He is a liar, a cheat, a man who preys upon women. I did not want to tarnish your memories of a childhood friend, and in so doing, you were left vulnerable.” I thought I was doing right, he wanted to scream.
And in so doing, I allowed this terrible thing to happen!
Georgiana turned her head away. “You should have told me, Brother.”
“I know, Georgiana, and I will blame myself for not having done so for the rest of my life.”
She rested her head on his shoulder, and the two siblings clung together, desolate, distressed, and overwhelmed with regrets.
***
Bingley,
You are the best of friends. My sister and I will join you at Netherfield Park in a fortnight’s time.
Bingley, Georgiana is very fragile just now, as you might expect, and I hope that your sisters will be kind to her.
Darcy