Chapter 37 Georgiana
Georgiana
It has been four days. In truth, I feel no better, but perhaps writing you will help me tame my flying thoughts. Let us resume where I broke off, in the dining room that first night.
Through sheer force of will I pushed the fog back and kept my feet.
Miss Darcy’s eyes stayed locked on mine.
Gone were the extravagant colors and wild patterns of her attire in former days.
Miss Darcy now wore a very simple white gown trimmed with the palest pale blue satin.
She could out-virgin the Virgin Mary in it, I thought woozily.
She looked extremely pretty in it, and rather younger than she had two years ago.
“Mrs. Bennet,” she said, “Miss Bennet, how do you do. May I present Mr. Arthur Bascombe, my fiancé?”
Fiancé?
Two years as a poor relation had prepared me to come through more trying social occasions than this. With a smile that felt like it was stretched over a tanner’s frame, I gave a curtsy. “Miss Darcy. Mr. Bascombe. I wish you both joy.”
I wish you both in a deep, dark hole.
My thoughts become somewhat overfree after blood loss.
“Ah! Bennets! Capital!” He hurried forward to pump our hands.
I stifled a wince. “Always Bennets and former Bennets about the place. I’ve developed quite a taste for ’em.
” He guffawed to himself. “Always a welcome addition to our little party, of course. Heard about you, naturally, from my beloved here. Play cards? Yes, yes, capital, we must have a game. Oop, second bell.” And with that, he bowed to my mother and to me, offered Miss Darcy his arm, and swept her in.
I watched in wonder as he dined with us.
This bit of posh fluff! Marry my Geo Miss Darcy?
Why, she would be bored stiff. I had spent only an hour in his company, and already I was sure that if he told me once more which of his hunting bitches he planned to cross with which hound to produce precisely what length of ear, I would seize the silver vase from the centerpiece and dash his brains in.
Surely Miss Darcy could not contemplate a lifetime of this sort of thing?
But it seemed she could. Even her brother, Mr. Darcy, seemed pained by Bascombe’s company, and Elizabeth looked like she might beat me to the vase, but they paid him all the courtesy a soon-to-be member of the family was owed.
As for Georgiana, she merely offered him quiet replies to his queries and smiled at his loud guffaws.
Once, while he was saying something particularly stupid, my eyes caught Georgiana’s. She flushed a light pink, which made me ache to press my hand to hers, and quickly looked away.
Those few words outside the door remain the only ones we have exchanged since my arrival at Pemberley.
Since then she is like the moon—usually visible, but utterly remote.
If there are cards, she is at another table.
If there are walks, she is on someone else’s arm.
And if I go to her sitting room directly, to beg a quiet word, she is not feeling well, thank you, miss, you’d best try another time.
I shall have to change my tactics. I must speak to her. It will be tomorrow night. I’ve a plan.
28 April, 18--
There was a ball tonight, a sort of unofficial engagement ball for Miss Darcy and him .
How I loathe him! Gossip at the ball told me that he has ten thousand a year, that he comes of a family even older than the Darcys, and that he is popular belowstairs, too, for he tips liberally and cuts a fine figure as a hunter.
I’d like to cut him a fine figure, all right.
I wonder how he would feel about being dissected and then dissolved down to his bones in a vat of acid?
Ugh. Listen to me. Rest assured, Harry, I know what a monster I sound, and I never let such bile spill forth to anyone but you. He is not a bad sort, really. Quite kind, in his bluff, stupid way. I want to drop him off a cliff.
There I go again. I assure you, Mr. Bascombe is quite safe from my machinations.
Well, as safe as anyone can be when I am about. Death does tend to dog my steps.
He and Miss Darcy opened the dance, of course, and it happened to be the country dance I once danced with her in the sitting room at Longbourn, and for a moment I was miserably certain she’d chosen it to torment me.
Nonsense, of course. My monstrous conceit making itself known again.
How loathsome I can be. I am sure it was pure coincidence.
I made no little sensation myself when I entered the hall.
Over Mamma’s strenuous objections, I had borrowed a pair of shears this afternoon and restored my hair to its à la guillotine style.
I doubt very much if anyone else would have done such a thing, for it is now long out of style, but I am so far past the possibility of pleasing that I may as well try to shock.
It worked, I saw grimly. When Miss Darcy caught sight of me she stumbled in the middle of a step, and she would have fallen had her partner not hauled her along bodily like a sack of potatoes.
I could not even have a moment to fancy that she’d been struck by my beauty, for in turning away, I caught sight of myself in one of the french windows.
Shorn, pale, and gaunt, in an unfashionably scarlet dress with gauchely long sleeves—I looked more like a vengeful spirit than a girl.
Perhaps I am more revenge than woman now.
Still, she managed to avoid me. I felt her eyes upon me all evening, as we circled opposite ends of the room, repelling like two magnets. Once or twice I danced—it could not be avoided—and saw her face in the whirl. One-two-three- her , one-two-three- there .
She was not the only one who stared, either. My mother’s pained gaze met mine more than once. I turned away. What did it matter? She had married all her other daughters off, and obviously no one would marry me, so why keep trying to pass off dirt as diamonds?
I expected Lizzy would be livid. She just looked puzzled and sad.
At last, though, I cornered my quarry. Somehow, despite the perfection of a Darcy party, a series of twisted ankles left us light on gentlemen. That was my chance, and I seized it.
“Excuse me, may I have this dance?”
Miss Darcy turned to me in astonishment. The girl she was conversing with, some distant Darcy cousin, tittered behind her fan. My cheeks burned, but I did not drop my gaze.
“You… want to dance with me , Miss Bennet?” Miss Darcy asked.
“If you would be so kind. I know we are too old to stand up together, but we are all friends here, and I should hate for you to miss this dance due to the scarcity of gentlemen. I know how well you dance it.”
She colored at that. It was the same dance she had opened with. So she did remember it, after all.
Her friend’s mouth was hanging open at my daring. However, the good thing about such a bold and eccentric request was there was no graceful way to say no. Young ladies are taught to meet gentle ripostes with parries. There is no provision for a cannon blast.
I held out my arm, as a gentleman would. I am a cannon.
“What are you doing ?” she hissed under her breath, her hand resting lightly in mine. She looked every inch the lady, but her gloved fingers trembled a little.
“I had to talk to you,” I returned calmly. I led her over to the side of the floor, where several other young girls had also paired off with each other. I almost wished they had not. In my strange humor, I wanted full credit for my eccentricity.
“I have made it quite clear,” she said, as the movements began, “I have no wish to talk to you . Really, Mary, your behavior is shocking. How dare you be so rude under my brother’s roof.”
The dance drew us apart for various twirls and dips. Under the strange calm that had overtaken me, I had the feeling that I had never danced so well. Apparently all it took was a willingness to destroy all the goodwill in the room.
When we were together again, I slid my arm a little farther around her waist than the steps demanded. “How dare I?” I whispered. “How dare you act so prissy? Have you forgotten the things I have seen you do? The things we’ve done together?”
A flash of hurt crossed her face. I had been referring to things like electrocuting the skull of her ancestor, but it was clear from her face that that was not what she was remembering when I said things we’ve done together . “Georgiana—”
She nearly threw my hand from hers as she turned to curtsy to the others. I bowed, as I was dancing the gentleman’s part. “Speak, then,” she said, “if you are so determined to ignore my feelings. Speak and get it over with.”
I had limited time and a great deal to get through. I knew I ought to divulge the plan immediately. Instead I found myself asking, “Why are you marrying him?”
“Because I love him.”
“ Ha! ” My scornful laughter was so loud that the musicians missed a beat. Miss Darcy, through a frozen smile, gave a genteel trill of laughter as though we were sharing a joke.
“All right,” she whispered. “Because he is kind, and rich, and will never embarrass me.” Her eyes were daggers on mine. “Such friends are to be treasured. One meets so many who are the opposite.”
“Oh, please. That’s not it, either.”
“All right ,” she hissed. “His father has a similar… affliction to mine. His family will understand. Apparently this kind of thing is not unheard of in old families. He and I can… shelter each other.” She looked so tired suddenly that I almost let her go.
“Is that why you accosted me? Everyone in this ballroom is frightened of you, you know. You look like a fallen angel or something.”
“No,” I said. “I need your help.”
Something I couldn’t parse flickered in her gaze. “Help with research?”
“I would not ask you for that. I am sure you are busy preparing for your nuptials. I need money.”
Her eyes had gone flat and tired again. “Ah. Of course.”