Chapter 28 #3
Her father looked from Elizabeth to Georgiana, then to Darcy.
His face remained grave, and when he spoke, his usual careless irony was absent.
“Mr. Darcy, I am not fond of impropriety, whatever my family may lead you to believe by long practice. But I am less fond of cruelty. If Elizabeth’s presence is needed, she may remain. I will send Susie to attend her.”
“Do not trouble her,” Elizabeth protested. “Netherfield has a very competent staff. Besides, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst are here.”
Mr. Bennet considered this, then nodded.
“Thank you, sir,” Darcy said.
Mr. Bennet’s gaze sharpened. “You will remember that she remains under your protection as well as mine.”
Darcy rose slowly, and though he did not bow deeply, there was a solemnity in him that made the gesture feel almost like a vow. “I will treat Miss Elizabeth with the same honor and care I would demand of any man entrusted with Georgiana.”
For a moment, father and future son-in-law looked at one another in complete seriousness. Elizabeth felt the weight of it pass between them, and for the first time in her life, she wondered whether her father might yet surprise her in the ways that mattered.
Mr. Bennet gave one short nod. “Is there anything more I can do that would be of service?”
“Might Mr. Philips be sent for?” Elizabeth asked.
Mr. Bennet nodded, but Mr. Bingley, seeming relieved by any practical direction, stepped forward. “Do not trouble yourself,” he said, motioning to a footman. “I shall send for him at once.”
Mr. Bennet began ushering his family out the door.
Mrs. Bennet looked prepared to object again, but Jane touched her arm and said something softly that drew her away at last. Lydia, subdued now, left without another remark.
Kitty followed close behind her. Mary paused just long enough to look at Georgiana with compassion rather than judgment, then went after the others.
Jane came to Elizabeth and kissed her cheek.
“Send for me if you need me,” she whispered.
“I will.”
Jane’s hand brushed Georgiana’s shoulder in a gentle farewell before she departed.
“Louisa, my dear, I think that is a signal for us to retire as well,” Mr. Hurst said, rising to his feet.
“Yes, quite right,” Mrs. Hurst agreed. “Come, Caroline.”
Miss Bingley followed.
Mrs. Nicholls hurried into the room, summoned by the footman. She took in the somber atmosphere with a glance and stepped forward. “There is a bedchamber prepared, miss. Next to Miss Darcy, and I shall post someone in the passage.”
“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. “And will you send for a soothing tea? Perhaps with a little brandy. And—” She hesitated only a moment. “If there is laudanum in the house...”
Mrs. Nicholls gave one sharp nod. “I shall see to it.”
Elizabeth looked down at Georgiana, whose breathing was still uneven and quick. “Come. Let us get you settled somewhere quiet.”
“I cannot go upstairs,” Georgiana whispered. “I cannot—if he comes back—”
“He will not reach you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Not in this house. Not through your brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bingley, my uncle, and half the servants. And certainly not through me.”
That won the faintest flicker of attention through Georgiana’s tears.
Elizabeth helped Georgiana from the room.
The girl leaned upon her heavily, though she was taller than Elizabeth had first realized, her body made clumsy by shock.
They moved slowly up the stairs, a maid following with candles though it was not yet so late that they were needed.
Netherfield’s halls, so full of celebration an hour earlier, seemed changed now, every shadow lengthened by fear.
In the bedchamber, Elizabeth guided Georgiana to a chair by the fire.
Georgiana’s maid, pale and frightened, entered moments later, and together they helped her out of her gown and into a nightdress and wrapper.
Georgiana obeyed without seeming to understand any of it.
Her tears came and went, sometimes silent, sometimes bursting forth again whenever some new thought struck her.
“He will take me,” she whispered once. “He always gets what he wants.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, kneeling before her and taking both her hands. “He has frightened you. That is not the same as having power over you.”
“But the paper—”
“May be false. May be void. May be many things besides what he claims. Your brother and cousin will not rest until they know.”
Georgiana’s chin trembled. “If they must give him my dowry—”
“Then it will be a villain taking money, not a husband taking you. There is all the difference in the world.”
At that, Georgiana began to cry again, but less violently. Elizabeth settled her into bed, propped the pillows, and sat beside her.
Mrs. Nicholls entered with a tray. The brandy’s scent rose sharp and warm from the cup. The laudanum made Elizabeth uneasy, but the dose was very small. Georgiana drank only because Elizabeth held the cup and coaxed her through each swallow.
“There,” Elizabeth murmured. “That is well done.”
“I am sorry,” Georgiana whispered. “I am ruining everything.”
“No.” Elizabeth stroked the hair back from her damp temple. “You have ruined nothing.”
“But tonight was to be happy. For you and my brother.”
“It still is.”
Georgiana’s eyes opened, confused and wet.
Elizabeth smiled gently. “Happiness does not cease to exist because wicked people attempt to frighten it away. It may have to sit quietly for a little while, but it remains.”
A tremulous breath escaped Georgiana. “You truly will be my sister?”
“Yes.”
“I always wanted one.”
“So did I,” Elizabeth said, though she had four already. Somehow, the answer was still true.
Georgiana’s hand found hers beneath the coverlet and held tight.
Elizabeth remained beside her, speaking softly of ordinary things because ordinary things seemed to calm her: the walking paths around Longbourn, the music she liked best, the Bennet girls, Jane’s kindness, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s ridiculous observations, the likelihood that Lydia would one day terrify every officer in England.
Once or twice Georgiana almost smiled. More often, she cried until the laudanum, the tears, and sheer exhaustion began to pull her under.
Her breathing slowed at last. Her fingers loosened around Elizabeth’s. A final hiccupping sob shook her, then another smaller one, and then she slept.
Elizabeth stayed a few minutes longer, stroking her hair until she was certain the sleep held.
Only then did she rise.
Georgiana’s maid sat near the fire, hands folded tightly in her lap. Elizabeth crossed to her and spoke in a whisper. “If she wakes, send for me at once. Not Mr. Darcy first, not Mrs. Nicholls, me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, miss.”
“And keep the door closed. No one enters unless it is Mrs. Nicholls, Mr. Darcy, or myself.“
“Yes, miss.”
Elizabeth looked once more at the bed. Georgiana lay curled beneath the blankets, her face too pale, her lashes dark with tears. She looked heartbreakingly young.
Anger rose in Elizabeth then—not the sharp embarrassment of Meryton, nor the wounded anger of Darcy’s silence, but something colder and steadier.
This man Wickham—whoever he was—had come into a room full of people and tried to claim a frightened girl as though she were property left in a will.
He had smiled while doing it. He had enjoyed her terror.
No.
Whatever paper he held, whatever signature stained it, he would not have Georgiana.
Not while I draw breath.
Elizabeth left the room quietly and moved down the passage toward the stairs.
She had no idea what legal arguments awaited in Mr. Bingley’s study.
She did not know whether the document was genuine, forged, binding, void, or merely dangerous enough to cause scandal.
But she knew one thing with absolute certainty: she would not be kept from the room where decisions were made.
Georgiana had clung to her as a sister.
Elizabeth would go now and act like one.