Chapter Six
Letters to Georgiana
Darcy wrote to Georgiana that evening.
He began three letters and destroyed two. The third survived.
My dearest Georgiana,
You will think your brother transformed, but I intend to remain in Hertfordshire somewhat longer than originally planned.
Darcy stopped.
In his first life he had written cool, instructive letters. Asked after her studies. Her health. Mrs. Annesley. Rarely asked what Georgiana felt.
Elizabeth had pointed that out during their second year of marriage. He had been offended. Then ashamed.
He continued.
You need not answer any question you dislike, but I wondered today whether you are lonely. I do not mean whether you have company. I know you do. I mean whether you have someone with whom you may be unhappy without first reassuring them.
His throat tightened.
Ramsgate had happened months ago. Georgiana remained raw. He knew now how much she had blamed herself, how often his anger at Wickham had sounded, to her, like anger at her.
If I made you believe your grief or fear disappointed me, I was wrong.
Darcy stopped again.
That was enough. Too much, perhaps.
He folded the letter.
Bingley entered without knocking.
Darcy looked up. "Do you ever knock?"
"Not when I suspect you are writing love letters."
Darcy covered the page.
Bingley grinned. "Ah!"
"It is to Georgiana."
"Oh." Bingley looked disappointed, then curious. "You have written her every day."
"Not every day."
"Three times since we arrived."
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley sat. "Are you worried about her?"
"Always."
"Has something happened?"
Darcy looked at him. Bingley was young, kind, trustworthy. In their first life Darcy had underestimated him in a way that embarrassed him for decades. Bingley had been persuadable because he trusted. Darcy had treated that trust as license.
Not again.
"She had a difficult summer."
Bingley's face sobered. "Is she well?"
"She will be."
"Good."
Darcy sealed the letter.
Bingley watched, then said, "Miss Elizabeth likes hawthorn."
Darcy almost dropped the wax. "What?"
"You asked her."
Darcy glared.
Bingley laughed. "I have decided your method of courtship is botanical. Jam. Hawthorn. What next? Turnips?"
"I am not courting her."
"Of course not."
"Bingley."
"Yes?"
Darcy changed the subject deliberately. "How serious is your interest in Miss Bennet?"
The humor vanished. "Jane?"
Darcy noticed the first name. So did Bingley. He flushed.
"Miss Bennet," Bingley corrected.
"How serious?"
"I don't know yet."
Good answer.
The old Darcy might have pressed. Instead he nodded.
Bingley looked surprised. "That is all?"
"Yes."
"No advice?"
"Do you want advice?"
Bingley considered. "No."
"Then I shall attempt the novelty of withholding it."
Bingley stared. "What happened to you?"
Darcy looked down at the sealed letter to Georgiana. "A very long education."
"Where?"
Darcy smiled faintly. "Hertfordshire, mostly."
Bingley looked baffled.
Darcy enjoyed it.
Georgiana received the letter two days later. She read it three times.
Mrs. Annesley found her crying. Not desperately. Quietly.
"Miss Darcy?"
Georgiana handed her the letter. Mrs. Annesley read only after receiving permission. Her brows rose.
"He has changed."
Georgiana laughed through tears. "My brother does not write like this."
"He has today."
Georgiana touched the paper.
Someone with whom you may be unhappy without first reassuring them.
She had no such person. Not really. Mrs. Annesley was kind, but employed. Darcy loved her, but Georgiana had spent months pretending she had recovered because his pain frightened her.
She took up her pen.
Fitzwilliam,
Then stopped.
Usually she wrote Dear Brother.
She left his name.
Yes. I have been lonely.
She stared at the words.
Then kept writing.
The days between Georgiana's first reply and Darcy's next visit to Longbourn were not idle.
Elizabeth discovered that foreknowledge did not spare her the ordinary inconveniences of family life.
Lydia still borrowed her ribbons. Kitty still repeated Lydia's opinions five minutes after declaring them her own.
Mary still chose the precise moment everyone wished for silence to explain a moral principle.
Mrs. Bennet still announced Bingley's annual income to visitors who had not asked.
What changed was Elizabeth's response.
One morning Mary entered breakfast carrying a sheet of music and announced that she meant to play a new piece after dinner.
Lydia groaned before Mary finished the sentence.
Kitty laughed. Mr. Bennet lowered his newspaper with the expression Elizabeth knew too well: he had thought of something clever and was about to offer it at Mary's expense.
Elizabeth spoke first. "Will you show it to me after breakfast?"
Mary stopped. "Why?"
"Because you chose it. I should like to know what you heard in it."
Mr. Bennet's eyes moved toward Elizabeth.
Mary sat slowly. "The middle section is difficult."
"Then perhaps that is the interesting part."
The conversation remained awkward. Mary did not suddenly become charming, and Lydia interrupted twice. But Mr. Bennet's joke went unsaid.
Later Elizabeth found him in the library.
"You rescued Mary," he observed.
Elizabeth leaned against the desk. "From whom?"
Her father smiled. "From me, apparently."
She did not smile back quickly enough.
His expression shifted.
"Lizzy?"
"Nothing, Papa."
"That answer is usually a declaration that something is very much the matter."
Elizabeth looked toward the shelves. "Perhaps I am beginning to think being amused is not always the same as being kind."
Mr. Bennet stared at her.
"Good heavens," he said at last. "Mr. Darcy has made you solemn."
This time she laughed. "No one could accomplish that."
But the remark followed her from the room.
At Netherfield, Darcy was experiencing his own smaller corrections.
He had always thought himself a good landlord and a responsible brother, and by most standards he had been.
Elizabeth had spent decades teaching him that responsibility without warmth sometimes left people grateful and lonely at once.
So when Bingley wanted to ride to a tenant farm whose roof had been damaged by wind, Darcy went with him instead of remaining behind with estate papers.
When an elderly tenant spoke for fifteen minutes about a grandson's apprenticeship, Darcy asked the boy's name.
When Caroline laughed at a local gentleman's accent after he left, Darcy said simply, "He was our guest."
Caroline stared.
Bingley stared harder.
On the ride back Bingley finally asked, "Did someone scold you?"
Darcy nearly fell from his horse. "What?"
"You behave like a man who has recently been given a list of faults and is determined to defeat it."
Darcy looked ahead. "Perhaps I noticed a few myself."
Bingley was quiet for several yards. "I like this version of you."
Darcy swallowed unexpectedly. "Do you?"
"Mostly. You are still terrifying when you frown."
"Good."
Bingley laughed and urged his horse ahead.
Darcy watched him go and thought of Elizabeth telling him, many years into marriage, that kindness did not make a man smaller. It merely made him easier to approach.
He had believed her then.
It was stranger to practice the lesson before she had taught it.