Chapter 5 #2
As soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Morgan, Miss Darcy took a shuddering breath. “I cannot stop crying. I try to stop and then I think of how I almost . . . and then I cannot . . .”
Elizabeth took her hand. “Then do not try to stop. Cry as much as you need to.”
“My brother asks me not to weep. I do not think he understands.”
“Your brother, I suspect, has never had his heart broken. Men who have not had their hearts broken are notoriously poor judges of how long the crying should last.”
Georgiana gave a watery, hiccupping laugh. “He has been very kind. But he would never make a mistake such as this.”
“Perhaps not this mistake, but I can assure you that even your brother has made many of his own. We are none of us perfect.” Elizabeth took Miss Darcy’s hand. “I have four sisters, therefore I am well-educated in weeping.”
“Four sisters?” Miss Darcy exclaimed. “Are you all friends?”
“Some days yes, others no,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I would not trade them.”
“I should like to have a sister,” Miss Darcy said quietly.
“Then you shall have the Bennet girls as your honorary sisters, beginning with me. You must call me Elizabeth.”
Miss Darcy lifted her eyes to meet Elizabeth’s. “Truly?”
“Of course.”
“Even though I nearly—”
“You showed great fortitude, in my opinion. So yes.”
“Then you must call me Georgiana,” Miss Darcy said as she dabbed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes.
Elizabeth smiled. “Very well then, Georgiana. Here is what you must do. You must cry until you cannot cry any more, and then you must drink something, eat something, and sleep—in that order. If you do so, then in the morning you will find that things are a bit improved. And if you do the same, and add in a walk in the garden, then the morning after that, you will feel even better. And eventually, day by day, you shall find that you can think of what happened without even wishing to weep.” She nudged Georgiana playfully.
“Until then, your brother will simply have to bear the discomfort of your tears.”
“I am so ashamed.” Georgiana’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I nearly—”
“But you did not,” Elizabeth assured her. “And the entire scheme is their shame, not yours.”
“I was not pleased with Mrs. Younge and how she restricted me when I would not agree. But I believed George. My father loved him, and I have known him all my life. I thought he loved me, and . . . well, I admired him.” She pressed her hands to her face. “I am so stupid.”
“You are not stupid. You are fifteen, and a charming man you knew as a child deceived you.” Elizabeth gentled her voice.
“You are not responsible for other people’s villainy, Miss Darcy.
You are only responsible for your own conduct.
And recall, if you will, that you insisted on having your brother’s permission, which was the correct thing to do. ”
Georgiana lowered her hands. Her eyes were red-rimmed but something in them had steadied. “But I nearly gave in. If it had not been for you and Mrs. Morgan . . .”
“Mrs. Morgan is very wise. You should listen to her.”
“But not to you?”
Elizabeth laughed. “Insolent girl. No, in this at least, you must listen to me as well.”
This time Georgiana’s smile was almost real. Elizabeth pressed her advantage.
“Now. There is tea and a little food coming, and you are going to partake of both. And then you are going to wash your face and put on a fresh dress, and you are going to come downstairs to relieve your brother of his anxiety.”
“I cannot. My brother will ask questions I cannot answer.”
“Your brother is worried about you. Seeing you well will help him. It will help you, too, to leave this room. One cannot heal while hiding away.”
“What if I cry again?”
“I am certain your brother carries a handkerchief. There is no disgrace in your tears.”
The tea arrived. Elizabeth coaxed Georgiana to drink, to eat a little, to wash her face in the basin of cool water that sat upon the bed table. She helped her into a simple morning dress and brushed her hair until it lay smooth and soft before putting it up in a simple chignon.
“There,” Elizabeth said, stepping back.
“Do you often arrange your sisters’ hair?”
“Often enough. We all do. With one maid between us, someone must always wait.” She judged her handiwork. “You look quite pretty.”
“I feel like a wrung-out cloth.”
“You will feel less wrung-out tomorrow.”
Elizabeth took Georgiana’s arm and guided her to the door. In the hallway, she paused.
“Your brother loves you very much. He is not adept at showing it, I think, but it is there. Do not shut him out simply because he does not know how to comfort you. Show him how, if you can.”
Georgiana nodded. Her hand tightened on Elizabeth’s arm. “Will you stay? For a little while?”
“For as long as you need me.”
They descended the stairs together with Mrs. Morgan. When they entered the drawing room, Mr. Darcy stood. When he saw Georgiana washed, dressed, upright, his countenance went through a rapid series of expressions: surprise, relief, gratitude.
He said nothing. But Elizabeth saw him blink rapidly, once, twice, and she understood that in regard to his sister, his silence was not coldness. He simply did not know what to say to make her feel better.
An hour later, when Georgiana was reclining on the settee with a book and a second cup of tea, Elizabeth could feel her body warning her to rest.
“You are pale,” Mrs. Morgan murmured.
Her response was also low. “You always say I am pale.”
“Paler than usual, then. We are leaving.” It was not a question.
Elizabeth put up a little protest, but she did not mean it.
Mr. Darcy walked with them to the door.
“Miss Bennet.” He stood very straight, his hands clasped behind his back. “I am obliged to you.” He stopped. Tried again. “If there is anything I can do to repay your kindness—”
Elizabeth was tired and therefore merely held up a warning hand. “Mr. Darcy, I am going to give you some advice without any expectation of recompense.”
“I—very well.”
“When someone does you a kindness, the appropriate response is ‘thank you.’ Not an offer of payment. Not speculation about what they might want in return. Not an attempt to calculate their price.”
“I did thank you.”
“You thanked me and then immediately offered some form of repayment.” She met his eyes.
“Please understand, I did not help your sister for anything you or she can give me. I helped her because she is a wonderful girl who has been badly used, and because I care for her, and because it was the right thing to do. If you cannot accept a kindness without immediately trying to balance the ledger, Mr. Darcy, you will find yourself very lonely indeed.”
She curtsied and turned to leave.
“Miss Bennet.”
She paused and looked back over her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
Elizabeth allowed herself a small smile and a nod. Then she took Mrs. Morgan’s arm and walked out into the sunny afternoon.
“What was that about?” Mrs. Morgan asked as they made their way back towards their lodgings.
“He attempted to repay my kindness. I corrected him.”
“And?”
“And he thanked me. Properly, at the end. Without any mention of money or obligation.” Elizabeth considered this. “He was very nearly polite.”
“High praise.”
“It is not praise, merely observation.” She was silent for a moment, thinking of the look on his face when Georgiana came downstairs. The rapid blinking. The way his voice had caught. “He is not quite what I assumed.”
“No?”
“He is still superior and proud and entirely too convinced of his own consequence. But he is not—” She searched for the word. “I thought he was cold. He is not cold, he is merely very bad at being warm.”
“That is not a significant revision.”
“No, I suppose not. But it is not insignificant, either.” Elizabeth felt her lips twitch despite herself.
They walked the rest of the way without speaking. When they reached the lodgings, Elizabeth went straight to her room, removed her stays, lay down on the bed, and slept for three hours. She woke feeling much restored and sat down to dinner with Mrs. Morgan.
Tomorrow, she would walk the promenade again. Tomorrow, she would see if Georgiana felt well enough for company. Tomorrow, she would continue the slow work of recovery—her own and her friend’s.
But tonight, she would return to bed at an early hour and try not to think about Mr. Darcy standing in the hallway, his voice rough and strange, saying Thank you.