Chapter 19
The next morning, as the fire warmed the drawing room and frost silvered the windows, Georgiana surprised Elizabeth with a quiet laugh.
“I have no idea what I am supposed do in society or say in a drawing room,” she admitted, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “I know what ladies are meant to—embroider or write letters or discuss the weather—but I never learned how to do any of it. I was always in the nursery. Until I was not.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“I went to my aunt and uncle’s home after my father died,” Georgiana said.
“I remained upstairs in the nursery until they could send me away to school. It was a horrible place. Well, the school was alright, I suppose, but it was so very lonely. I was not titled, you see, as most of the girls there were. And I never left, not even on holidays—the earl and countess thought it disruptive.”
Elizabeth’s heart twisted. “You stayed at school the whole year?”
Georgiana nodded. “Every term. Every holiday. They said it was best for me to stay with my tutors and lessons. But no one wrote. No one visited.”
“I am so sorry.”
Georgiana’s eyes dropped. “I got used to being invisible.”
There was silence for a moment, then Elizabeth asked gently, “And what happened when you left school?”
“I was fifteen. My aunt said I needed to begin preparing for my come-out. So, they hired a companion. She was strict. Cold. She cared more about my posture and my curtsy than my thoughts.” Georgiana gave a small, wry smile. “I never got my come-out, in the end.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted slightly. “Why not?”
Georgiana hesitated, then spoke in a voice laced with embarrassment. “Because I met my husband.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught, but she kept her expression calm. “Would you… would you like to tell me about it?”
Georgiana’s eyes did not lift from her lap.
“It was Hyde Park. I was not quite sixteen. My companion had a cold and stayed behind, so I was walking with just my maid and a footman. George Wickham saw me—he recognized me from when I was very young. I did not remember him well, but he said we were great friends once. He was so kind. So handsome.”
Elizabeth swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.
“He flattered me,” Georgiana said, twisting her fingers together.
“He told me I was beautiful. That I deserved better than the life I was living. We… we arranged more walks. He sent me notes through my maid. Sometimes he visited when my aunt and uncle were out. And then one day, he told me he loved me.”
Elizabeth nodded, urging her gently to continue.
“He said that if we eloped, I would never have to come out. I could avoid all the pressure and just live quietly with him at Pemberley. He made it sound so perfect.” She closed her eyes. “That summer, we went to Matlock for the heat. George followed us there. And one night… we left.”
“Left?”
Georgiana nodded. “Straight to Gretna Green. It took two days. The first night, we shared a room. He was very kind. Polite. He kissed me once, and then let me sleep. I thought—” She broke off and shook her head. “But the next day, after the marriage… he was different.”
Elizabeth’s stomach clenched.
“He took me to the inn,” Georgiana whispered, “and he was not gentle. At first it was… pleasant, I suppose, but then I was frightened. He was loud. Demanding. He said it was his right now. That I belonged to him.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“And after that, all he spoke of was money. That he was master now. That he would finally have everything he deserved.” She let out a bitter laugh.
“But when we returned to Matlock, my relatives shut the doors in our faces. They would not see me. The earl said I had made my choice and was no longer his responsibility.”
Elizabeth wanted to scream.
“They told him the dowry was inaccessible until I turned twenty-one. He was furious. Said I had tricked him. That I was a worthless waif. He drank half the way to Pemberley and ranted the rest.”
She looked up, her voice hollow.
“And when we arrived… the house was musty, nearly empty. He disappeared within a week. Took what coin he could find. Said he was going to London. I have not seen him since.”
Elizabeth reached over slowly, placing her hand over Georgiana’s trembling fingers.
“You did not deserve any of that,” she said quietly.
Georgiana did not reply—but she did not pull away.
And that, Elizabeth thought, was something.
∞∞∞
That evening, after the house had quieted and the last chores were done, Elizabeth climbed the narrow stairs beside Darcy. Their feet were heavy with fatigue, but her thoughts were still tangled in the conversation from earlier that day.
Once inside their small, shared chamber, Darcy lit the single taper candle near the washbasin while Elizabeth unlaced her bodice and hung her gown. The routine was familiar now—quiet, careful, companionable. But tonight, she sensed something stirring beneath the surface of it all.
She waited until they were both beneath the thin coverlet before speaking.
“Georgiana told me about how she married Wickham today,” Elizabeth said softly into the darkness.
Darcy shifted beside her, his body stiffening. “She did?”
“She said he was kind at first. That he kissed her once, and nothing more, the night before they married. But after…” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “After, he changed. She was afraid.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched. She could feel the tension radiating from him.
“I want to kill him,” he said, his voice low and shaking. “I want to find him and rip him apart. But what angers me more—what shames me—is that I did not react much better when it happened at Ramsgate.”
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling.
“She was just fifteen. And I—I was so full of pride. So angry. I barely heard her explanation. I was too busy being horrified at what might have happened. I accused her of being reckless. Of being foolish. But I never told her why. I just said how disappointed I was in her.”
Elizabeth turned toward him, her hand seeking his beneath the covers.
“I was just as bad as Wickham because I was supposed to love her, and instead I just made her feel ashamed.”
“Knowing girls of that age, I imagine it did not go well.”
“She screamed at me,” he continued, voice thick. “Told me that she wished I had never come. That she wished she did not have a brother.” He let out a shaky breath. “I have never forgotten it.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached. “And then I told you that I wished you had never been born.”
Darcy turned his head slightly. A beat of silence passed.
“You did,” he eventually whispered in a voice rough with emotion.
“I did not mean it,” she whispered. “I was angry. But I should not have said it, no matter how angry I was.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek, a day’s bristle scratchy beneath her palm. “You did not deserve it. Not from your sister. Not from me.”
He started to object, but she placed her finger gently against his lips.
“No. Listen to me. You were wrong about many things—so was I. But you have always tried to protect the people you love. You are a good man, Mr. Darcy.”
“Not William?” He let out a shaky laugh. “So formal. I would have imagined we were past such things.”
“No, not when we are here. Not when that name is not who you truly are. But if you insist, I shall call you Darcy… or Fitzwilliam, if you would rather.”
His gaze searched hers, and something shifted in his expression—something soft and aching. “Say it again.”
She tilted her head. “Fitzwilliam?”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if the sound of it brought him peace. “Yes. That is who I am. With you, I remember.”
Elizabeth's hand lingered against his cheek. “Then Fitzwilliam you shall be. You are a good man, Fitzwilliam.”
He looked away, blinking hard.
“I remind Kitty of it all the time,” Elizabeth continued. “You cannot blame others for how you behave. Even when Lydia is at her most provoking—and heaven knows she often is—it is still Kitty’s choice to rise above or not.”
Her voice softened further.
“I should have remembered that. I let my anger take over. But you did not force me to say those words. That was my choice. And I am so incredibly sorry for the hurt I caused.”
Darcy looked at her fully then, his gaze searching hers in the flickering candlelight.
“I forgive you,” he said quietly.
Elizabeth nodded. “And I forgive you.”
The silence between them was not empty—it was full. Of understanding. Of pain. Of love.
She laid her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close. For a moment, she thought he might—finally—kiss her, but he did not.
But still, together, they slept.
∞∞∞
The next morning, Georgiana was already up when Elizabeth entered the bedchamber with the breakfast tray. The girl’s posture was straight in the high-backed chair, but her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and her face was pale beneath the gentle light streaming through the window.
Elizabeth set the tray down without comment and moved to the window, as she usually did, to draw the curtain just slightly wider. The silence stretched.
Then, in a voice so low it might have been a breath, Georgiana said, “You must despise me now.”
Elizabeth turned slowly. “Despise you?”
Georgiana did not lift her eyes. “Now that you know what kind of person I am.”
Elizabeth crossed the room and sank into the chair beside her. “And what kind of person is that, exactly?”
Georgiana gave a broken little laugh. “Foolish. Fallen. Weak. I knew eloping was wrong. I did it anyway. I threw away everything for someone who never cared for me.”
There were tears forming at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. “I am… I am ruined. You must think me utterly beyond redemption.”
Elizabeth reached out and gently laid a hand over Georgiana’s trembling fingers. “No. I think you were a lonely girl who was tricked. Who was starved of affection and grasped the first hand that reached toward her.”