Chapter The Matter of Confidence
THE MATTER OF CONFIDENCE
The door had scarcely closed behind their guests when the hush returned to Darcy House, heavy and unmistakable. The hush that followed was pierced only by the distant sound of a carriage departing down the street, its wheels clattering faintly like a muted bell.
Darcy remained standing near the hearth, one hand resting lightly on the back of the chair his aunt had just vacated.
The spaniel’s lingering warmth was still impressed upon the cushion, though the creature itself had been spirited away in Lady Matlock’s arms, utterly untroubled by the storm of opinions that had filled the room.
Elizabeth reached for the teapot, still half full. “More tea?”
“No,” Darcy said absently. He turned toward the window, his expression unreadable. “I believe I have had quite enough for one morning.”
She set the pot aside, watching him closely. “You were very calm.”
“I have had practice.”
A soft sound at the far end of the room turned their attention to the side door.
It opened with care, and Georgiana entered, her cheeks faintly flushed, sheet music still in her hand.
She lingered at the threshold only a moment before entering, her shoulders tight with a tension that had not yet eased.
“Are they gone?” she asked, though the answer was already written in the stillness of the room.
Elizabeth gave her a small smile. “You are safe, for now.”
Georgiana crossed the room quickly and without hesitation, pausing only to place her music on the side table. Her eyes moved from Elizabeth to her brother and back again. “I did not mean to eavesdrop,” she said, “but voices carry more than one expects.”
Darcy stepped forward. “Then you heard everything?”
“Enough,” she said. “I know they wish to help, but I am glad I was not in the room.”
Elizabeth rose. “You would have managed it. But it was your choice to make, and it has been respected.”
“You did not call for me,” she said softly.
“You need not be called,” Elizabeth replied.
A flicker of relief crossed Georgiana’s features. She moved to the fire, glancing only briefly toward the now-vacant chairs where her aunt had sat in unyielding judgement.
“Thank you,” she said. Nothing more. But the gratitude in her voice was unmistakable. She looked down at her hands. “I do want to go to court. I think. But I am not sure how to feel about the ball.”
“You need not perform,” Elizabeth said gently. “But you must be seen. There is no shame in beginning gently.”
“I thought perhaps…” Georgiana hesitated. “If my first dance were with someone I know. Someone I trust.”
“You may always rely on me,” said Darcy quietly.
She smiled, but her eyes turned to Elizabeth. “I had hoped you would say that. It is only proper that my first dance be with my brother. But afterwards… I wondered whether Mr Bingley might…”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with her husband. “I believe Mr Bingley would be delighted.”
“And perhaps some practice?” Georgiana continued. “Among family and friends, not strangers. Just enough to feel prepared.”
Darcy reached out and gently clasped her shoulder. “Then that is what we shall arrange.”
She exhaled with a sense of relief, then straightened. “I should write to Lady Matlock. To thank her. And perhaps to ask if she might come walking with me one morning.”
Elizabeth smiled. “A very proper beginning.”
Georgiana’s gaze turned thoughtful. “And I suppose… I must begin choosing a gown.”
“You shall have as many gowns as you please,” said Darcy. “But you must choose them for yourself.”
“Lady Catherine will not approve,” Georgiana murmured.
Elizabeth sat beside her on the settee. “She does not need to approve. She only needs to be received with civility, which I am certain you are capable of offering.”
Darcy added, “Your aunt may visit again, but the decisions lie with you.”
“I shall try to be brave,” Georgiana said.
“You already are,” said Elizabeth.
There was a quiet moment as the fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the winter sunlight slanted low against the windows, gilding the floor in pale gold. In the hush that followed, Georgiana seemed to gather her thoughts.
“I shall write to Lady Matlock this afternoon,” she said. “And tomorrow, perhaps, I will take out my gloves and try my curtsey again.”
Elizabeth gave her a smile that was warm and unwavering. “We shall all be practising with you.”
Georgiana’s shoulders relaxed, though a faint line of worry remained between her brows.
Elizabeth leaned forward slightly, her tone light but persuasive. “What if we planned something rather different for this afternoon?”
Georgiana looked at her warily. “Not sewing?”
“Not unless you are very determined,” Elizabeth said, amused. “I was thinking something a touch more lively.”
Darcy raised one brow. “Shall I be alarmed?”
“Only mildly,” Elizabeth replied. Then she turned her gaze back to Georgiana.
“You spoke of dancing. We might clear the parlour, roll up the carpet, and practise a few steps. Nothing formal. Jane may be prevailed upon to join us, and Mr Bingley is quite easily persuaded. Your cousins may be invited, too, if they are still in town. Lady Matlock said she believed Emma and Charles would be glad to assist.”
Georgiana blinked. “They would?”
“Lady Matlock seemed confident of it. She said you danced charmingly when you were a girl, and that Emma remembers teaching you the quadrille.”
A flush rose in Georgiana’s cheeks. “That was years ago.”
“And yet you remember the steps,” Elizabeth said gently. “That is the beauty of practice. Let it be just that, a practice. No scrutiny, no crowd, only friends.”
Darcy gave a quiet sound of agreement. “And no audience but those you already endure at breakfast.”
Georgiana’s mouth curved, though she tried to hide it. “It does sound tolerable.”
“We can play whichever tunes you like,” Elizabeth continued. “I shall even allow you to correct my footwork, which is dreadful.”
“Elizabeth, you danced quite admirably at our wedding.”
“Which is why you have not seen me attempt it since. The illusion must be preserved.”
That earned a proper laugh from Georgiana, soft and delighted. “Very well. But only if I may choose the tunes.”
“Entirely your right,” said Elizabeth. “And if it pleases you, we shall repeat it again in a few days, perhaps with a few more cousins or friends added. No need to rush. We will do only as much as you wish.”
Georgiana rose slowly from the settee. “I suppose I ought to practise if I mean to dance at all.”
“Then let us make it something pleasant,” said Elizabeth. “And when you are ready to choose a first partner, I am sure we shall find someone you trust.”
Darcy reached for his sister’s hand and gave it a light press. “You need only take the first step. We shall meet you there.”
Georgiana turned toward the window, watching the weak winter light catch on the edges of the frost-glazed panes. “I used to be braver,” she said quietly. “At school, it was easier.”
“You were not alone then,” Elizabeth said gently. “That makes all the difference.”
“I had friends,” Georgiana murmured. “Girls who laughed with me and told me I ought to walk more boldly. I wonder if they would even recognise me now.”
“Why not find out?” Elizabeth asked. “We might write to one or two. Invite them to tea. Or to join a rehearsal.”
Georgiana blinked. “You would not mind?”
“I would welcome it,” Elizabeth said warmly. “Friends can steady your nerves as well as any cousin.”
Georgiana hesitated, then gave a tentative nod. “Olivia Turner might still be in town. Her uncle is a barrister near Lincoln’s Inn.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Let us begin with her. And Kitty, of course, she misses you dearly.”
“Truly?”
“I had a letter from her just yesterday. Full of complaints about Lydia and praise for your music. If we invite her, she’ll pack her trunk at once.”
Darcy, still seated, looked between them. “The parlour may be in danger of becoming a schoolroom.”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “Do not fear. I shall ensure you are safely occupied elsewhere when the squealing begins.”
“There will be no squealing,” Georgiana said, though she smiled as she said it. “But perhaps a little music. And perhaps some dancing.”
“Then it is settled,” Elizabeth said. “We shall write today. And you, my dear, shall prepare a list of all those you trust to take a turn about the floor with you.”
Darcy stood, brushing a speck of ash from his sleeve. “I trust I shall be permitted a place on that list.”
Georgiana laughed. “Of course. So long as you do not try to lead.”
He bowed. “Then I must practise as well.”
“Then I shall go and find my slippers,” she said as she ran happily from the room. “Before you all begin without me.”
As the door closed behind Georgiana, silence settled over the room again, warm, golden, and full of a peace that had seemed impossible only hours ago.
Darcy remained still, his eyes fixed on the place where his sister had stood, his thoughts slow to catch up. There was something in his expression, not confusion exactly, but wonder.
Elizabeth crossed to his side, her presence quiet and unobtrusive. “You look astonished.”
He let out a soft breath. “I am.”
She said nothing, waiting.
At last, he spoke.”You have done more for her in a few months than I managed in all the years since our father died.” He paused, then added in a quieter voice, “She is beginning to live again. And I see now that I was only helping her survive.”
Elizabeth’s brow softened. “That is not true. You were both guardian and brother. She would not have come so far without you.”
“She trusts you,” he said. “Not merely because you are kind, or clever, or married to her brother. She listens to you. You made her laugh today. You made her believe it was possible to belong.”
He hesitated.
“And now she dares to want more.”
“She does belong, Fitzwilliam. It simply took someone reminding her.”
Darcy looked away for a moment, then back again. “I have tried so often to make her feel safe. I thought I could protect her by shielding her. But she needs… she needed this. Someone to walk beside her.”
“You did not fail her,” Elizabeth said gently. “You were what she needed then. You kept her whole. That matters.”
There was a pause, unhurried and full of unspoken things.
Darcy drew closer, and without a word, he lifted her hand to his lips. Then, with quiet deliberation, he leaned in and kissed her, as if this moment belonged to no one else.
When they parted, her eyes met his with gentle understanding.
A soft knock sounded at the door, and a maid entered, curtsying as she did so. In her arms was the smallest of bundles, warm and wriggling.
“Begging your pardon, sir. Madam. Master Thomas would not settle.”
Elizabeth was already reaching out. “Come here, my love.”
The nursemaid placed the child gently in her arms. Thomas wriggled into her shoulder as if returning to the place he most belonged.
Darcy watched, quiet, steady. This was what he had hoped for, once, not only peace, but belonging. One small hand fisting in her gown. Elizabeth held him with practised ease, her expression softened by the familiar weight of him.
Darcy moved closer, his voice low. “He is worse than I am. Already prefers you to anyone else.”
Elizabeth turned her head slightly, smiling. “It is only because I know his tricks.”
Darcy brushed a hand over his son’s fine hair, then leaned to kiss the top of the boy’s head, and then Elizabeth’s brow.
“You soothe us both,” he said. “With nothing more than tea and kindness.”
“And slippers,” she added, a quiet laugh in her voice.
Darcy chuckled. “I had best find mine as well. It seems I am expected to dance.”
“Then we shall dance, all of us,” Elizabeth said, looking down at their son. “One step at a time.”