Chapter Thirteen
Pemberley
Mr. Darcy planned his trip to Meryton carefully, writing out the names of the inns they should stop at. He had first decided to take the shortest possible route, but then he paused to reconsider as a sudden thought bloomed in his admittedly weary mind.
Perhaps the article in The Morning Post had not been noticed? Perhaps they were all making a mountain out of a molehill? He loved his aunt dearly, but he knew that she was extremely sensitive – perhaps over-sensitive? – when it came to her social position.
Tapping the quill against his lips, he decided that he and Georgiana would stop for a day or two at Darcy House in London.
It was rather out of the way, as they would pass through Hertfordshire on their way to London and then have to retrace their steps to return to Hertfordshire, but it would be good to know the worst – or the best – of the situation first-hand, rather than taking the Countess’ word for the extent of the damage.
He would let Mrs. Hilden, the housekeeper at Darcy House, know of his plans at once.
***
“Brother, I do not want to go to London! Everyone knows what happened, and they will stare and laugh, and –”
Mr. Darcy interrupted her. “Georgiana, we have to know how things stand with us. Perhaps Aunt Ellen has managed to contain the damage.”
“And if not?” Georgiana’s lower lip was trembling.
Mr. Darcy sighed. “Then we will leave for Meryton immediately. But we have to know, Georgiana, how far and how wide the tale has spread. Also, it may be that our presence in London will be seen as refuting the gossip, for only guilty people hide away.”
“Then I should hide away, for I am guilty,” Georgiana whispered.
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “No more than I, Georgiana, but hiding accomplishes nothing.”
***
The journey to London was long, and made longer still by Georgiana’s unwillingness to discuss the subject that hung in the air between them. Mr. Darcy had tried, on the first day, to broach the forbidden topic.
“Georgiana, can we not – finally – speak about Ramsgate?”
She turned to face a window. “You already know what happened.”
“I do not know, not really.” How could he ask her what he desperately wanted to know? Surely, if she was with child, it would show by now, would it not? Why was there no one to ask?
“What is it you want to know? He pretended to be in love with me and, of course, all he wanted all along was my dowry. I was a complete fool to believe that anyone could be in love with me, that much I have learned.”
“No, no, Georgiana! You are very lovable, and someday you will meet a man who is worthy of you!” Mr. Darcy’s voice was desperate.
“I shall never marry.” Her voice was small and tremulous.
“You tear my heart apart when you say such things, Georgiana.” Mr. Darcy’s voice, normally so sure and commanding, was now trembling.
“Shall you mind having me with you always, William?”
“Of course not, Georgiana, but that is not the future that awaits us! I promise you, I promise you that you will find love, real love, not the false words of a practiced seducer!”
She shook her head and did not reply.
Mr. Darcy ran his hands through his hair in frustration.
He had very much hoped that his sister would confide in him during their enforced time together as they journeyed to Meryton, and had therefore had his valet, Corbin, travel in a separate carriage and go ahead of them.
Corbin traveled alone, as Georgiana had refused any feminine companionship, and had made it a point to pack only those gowns that she could get into and out of on her own.
Alas, Mr. Darcy’s hopes were not realised, as Georgiana stared out the window for the entirety of the journey.
He tried to reassure her that she was still loved and any blame for the unfortunate events of Ramsgate must fall to Wickham, Mrs. Younge, and of course to Mr. Darcy himself, for not having properly scrutinized Mrs. Younge’s references.
These words of consolation and comfort fell on apparently deaf ears, as nothing he could say seemed to help her.
He found himself occasionally glancing at her midsection and then quickly looking away.
He thought that he could not imagine what he would do if she were with child, but despite his horror at the idea of it, his agile mind leaped ahead, picturing the sequence of events that would result in his own niece or nephew being adopted at birth by some farmer and his wife.
No, no, he thought, shaking his head. I will not think of it.
But think of it he did, and it tormented him.
How he wished he could ask her outright if she had surrendered her virtue to Wickham!
But even his active imagination failed – quailed!
– at the very idea of such a conversation.
Such a conversation required a mother, not a brother.
***
When they arrived at Darcy House, they were greeted by Mrs. Hilden and Mr. Samuels, the butler. Was it Mr. Darcy’s imagination, or were the two long-time, trusted servants a bit nervous? A bit less warm than usual? He dismissed the idea as soon as it arose.
The knocker was put up on the door, and Mr. Darcy awaited the flood of cards and invitations that would normally have poured in as soon as word of his arrival in Town was put about. But there was nothing. Actually – nothing! This was unheard of.
He began to feel some alarm. But then he calmed himself. Perhaps no one knew he was there? The knocker might not have been noticed. He had a box at the theatre at Covent Garden, and Much Ado About Nothing was being shown just then. He thought the title perfect for their current situation.
“You cannot be serious,” Georgiana protested when she was told that they were to go to the theatre.
“I am, indeed,” her brother said. “But I will invite our aunt and uncle to attend with us. That will be a show of support that cannot be mistaken. I shall send a footman with a message at once.”
Dear Aunt Ellen,
We are in London for a few days, on our way to visit Bingley in Hertfordshire. I think of going to see Much Ado About Nothing in Covent Garden tomorrow night, and I hope you and uncle will consent to sharing our box.
Would it not be good for Georgiana to be seen with you? Are you willing to show your support for her?
Darcy
A return message came within the hour.
Darcy,
Do not do it. This is not something you can brazen out. You and Georgiana will be shunned, and this will do her no good.
Also, I do not think I can convince your uncle to be seen with you just now. His political standing has been weakened by Georgiana’s actions, and he is not in the best of humours as a result.
But do come to dinner tonight, the two of you.
Aunt Ellen
For a moment, Mr. Darcy felt rebellious enough to attend the theatre, with or without the Matlocks, but his respect for his aunt and her opinion won out. He sought out his sister, saying, “Georgiana, we will not go to the play, but we will go to dinner at Matlock House.”
Her relief was palpable.
Then he added, “I think to go to Bond Street; will you not come with me to Hatchard’s? Doubtless you can find new music there.”
She shook her head, vehemently, and ran upstairs to her room.
Mr. Darcy watched her go. He would go on his own, then, and pick up a few small gifts for his sister; would not some new music sheets lift her spirits? He would doubtless see a number of acquaintances there, and at least a few of them would give him the benefit of the doubt.
He walked into Hatchard’s and all but bumped into Sir Hilton, a baron with a small estate in Suffolk. “Hilton,” Mr. Darcy said, nodding to the man. But Sir Hilton quickly turned away and scurried from the shop. Mr. Darcy stared after him.
Mr. Darcy made his purchase and went back out into the street.
He walked past a number of shops and spotted a tearoom.
He went inside and was shown to a table in the back of the room.
He ordered a tea and a scone, which arrived quickly.
As he sipped his tea, he looked around the room.
There – was that not Lady Archer? And her good friend, Lady Foley?
He nodded at them, and they immediately looked away.
The two quickly gathered their belongings and left the tearoom, heads held high.
Mr. Darcy felt his face flame. It was bad, then.
It was very bad, if the likes of Lord Hilton, a minor baron with no fortune, felt that he could afford to snub the nephew of the Earl and Countess of Matlock.
And it was very, very bad if Lady Archer and Lady Foley, both part of the Countess of Matlock’s social circle, completely ignored him and then rushed away.
***
While Mr. Darcy was finding no friends on Bond Street, Georgiana sat in her room and stared into her mirror.
She was well aware that she had broken important social rules in allowing George Wickham to approach her, let alone visit her, let alone consent to an elopement, let alone put herself into his power in the cottage’s sitting room! But now she had a new worry.
She had not missed William’s occasional glances at her mid-section. He must think that she might be with child! Georgiana had no idea how children were conceived, but if Brother was worried, then there was doubtless a reason for it. How she wished she could ask him!
But she had no words to open such a conversation, let alone carry it to a conclusion. This was a conversation for a mother, not a brother.
***
“What on earth were you thinking?” the Earl thundered, pounding his fist on the dinner table.
Georgiana could not reply; she put her head in her hands and wept.
Mr. Darcy stood up. “Uncle, if I had understood that the purpose of this dinner was to chastise my sister, I assure you that we would have remained at home.” His tone was firm and unyielding.
“Henry, Darcy is right. This is not helping.” The Countess sat across the long table from her husband and so could not put a restraining hand on his arm, but her gaze was just as effective.
The Earl hesitated. He took a long drink of wine from his goblet, set it down, and turned to face his nephew. “You are right, Darcy. I apologise, Georgiana. But if you knew the difficulties this has caused me…” He trailed off.
“Uncle, our situation is far more my fault than Georgiana’s, but surely what matters now is now to move forward, how to undo what has been done,” Mr. Darcy said.
“I will eventually recover,” the Earl said, grudgingly. “I have too many allies, have made too many friends, to be permanently damaged by this gossip. But you and Georgiana will not fare so well,” he added, grimly.
Mr. Darcy sat for a long minute, finally forced to face what he had feared since he had first read the article in the paper.
His actions – or, rather, inactions – had led to Georgiana making a grievous error.
A fatal error, in fact, as far as society was concerned.
He was an outcast. His sister was possibly unmarriageable, at least to anyone of importance.
The full magnitude of their situation hit him like a thunderstorm.
For several minutes, he could not speak.
Finally, he turned to Georgiana and said, “We will leave London tomorrow at first light and go to Netherfield Park. There, I know I have at least one friend.”
Turning then to his aunt, he said, “Netherfield Park in Meryton, Hertfordshire. That is where letters will reach me. I will keep you apprised as to our situation, and I hope you will let me know if…” He trailed off, then took a deep breath and finished, “If anything changes.”