Chapter Twelve
Georgiana Comes to Hertfordshire
Georgiana's second letter changed Darcy's plans.
I would like to see you.
Simple.
Devastating.
He showed the line to Elizabeth during a brief call at Longbourn. She understood at once. "Go to her."
"You will be all right?"
Elizabeth laughed. "I survived twenty years before meeting you."
"Barely."
"Arrogant."
Darcy kissed her hand while Mrs. Bennet was fortunately occupied across the room. "I shall return as quickly as I can."
"Do not rush her."
"I know."
Elizabeth's expression softened. "Yes. You do now."
He left for London the next morning.
Georgiana met him in the music room. She was sixteen.
Darcy nearly forgot how young she had been.
Her hands twisted together. "Fitzwilliam."
He crossed the room.
She expected a formal greeting. Instead he hugged her.
Georgiana froze, then clung to him.
Darcy closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."
She drew back. "For what?"
"For making you believe Ramsgate was yours to be ashamed of."
Her face whitened. "Fitzwilliam--"
"No." Darcy took her hands. "You were deceived."
"I knew better."
"You were fifteen."
"I lied to you."
"Because you were frightened."
Tears filled her eyes. Darcy remembered Elizabeth telling him years later that Georgiana had spent the first years of their marriage watching him for signs of disappointment. He had not known.
"I was angry," he said. "But not at you. I should have made that clear."
Georgiana cried.
He let her.
No instructions. No insistence that she calm herself. No hurried attempt to erase emotion because it made him uncomfortable.
When she finally sat, he remained beside her.
"Would you like to leave London?" he asked.
She looked up. "Where?"
"Hertfordshire."
Her expression changed. "With you?"
"Yes."
"Is Miss Bingley there?"
Darcy almost laughed. "Unfortunately."
Georgiana smiled faintly. "Would I be a burden?"
The question hurt more than he expected.
"No."
"Truly?"
"Georgiana, if you ever ask me that again, I shall blame myself."
She studied him. "You are different."
"So everyone informs me."
"What happened?"
Darcy thought of dying beside Elizabeth, of waking young, of finding her beneath an oak. "I realized I had wasted time."
Georgiana nodded slowly. "I would like to come."
So she did.
Elizabeth met Georgiana at Netherfield.
The meeting nearly broke her.
Young Georgiana. Shy. Beautiful. Looking at the floor.
Elizabeth remembered the confident woman she would become: the aunt who taught Margaret pianoforte, the grandmother who cheated outrageously at cards, the woman who laughed so loudly at one of Richard's stories that Lady Catherine once left a room in disgust.
Elizabeth wanted to embrace her.
Instead she curtseyed. "Miss Darcy."
Georgiana looked up. "Miss Elizabeth. My brother has mentioned you."
Darcy coughed.
Elizabeth looked at him. "Has he?"
Georgiana's smile grew. "Frequently."
"Georgiana."
"What?"
Bingley laughed. Caroline did not.
Elizabeth sat beside Georgiana and spoke of music, books, and Derbyshire, carefully avoiding knowledge she ought not to possess.
Then Georgiana mentioned she preferred playing early in the morning.
Elizabeth said automatically, "When the house is quiet."
Georgiana smiled. "Yes. Exactly."
Darcy looked at Elizabeth.
She saw affection in his eyes. And gratitude.
Later Georgiana whispered to her brother, "I like her."
Darcy's response came too quickly. "So do I."
Georgiana laughed.
Darcy stared.
She covered her mouth. "I am sorry."
"No, you are not."
"No."
That delighted him.
Elizabeth watched from across the room.
This was already different.
Good.
The journey from London brought Georgiana into a neighborhood far noisier than she had expected. Longbourn alone seemed to contain more voices than Darcy's entire London house.
At first she tired quickly.
Darcy noticed before she said so. The old version of him would have ordered rest. This one asked.
"Would you like to return to Netherfield?"
Georgiana glanced toward Lydia and Kitty, who were arguing over whether a military sash would improve a blue gown. "Not yet."
"You need not remain for politeness."
"I know."
That answer pleased him.
Elizabeth saw the exchange from across the room and waited until Georgiana had gone to the window with Jane before approaching Darcy.
"Better," she murmured.
"What is?"
"You asked."
Darcy looked toward his sister. "I used to order."
"You were frightened."
"That does not make it less tiring for the person being ordered."
Elizabeth smiled. "You have been listening."
"For fifty years."
"Not yet."
Darcy's eyes narrowed. "You enjoy that far too much."
"Immensely."
Georgiana's presence also changed Mary. The two began writing after discovering shared interests in music.
Mary wrote long letters full of quotations.
Georgiana answered more simply. Instead of being offended, Mary gradually imitated the brevity because Georgiana responded most warmly to the parts where Mary wrote plainly of herself.
One afternoon Elizabeth found Mary revising a letter.
"You crossed out half a page."
Mary looked defensive. "It was unnecessary."
"What was it?"
"A passage from Fordyce."
Elizabeth sat opposite. "And what are you writing instead?"
Mary hesitated. "That I was angry when Lydia interrupted my practice."
Elizabeth smiled. "That sounds more useful."
Mary frowned. "It is less elevated."
"Perhaps Miss Darcy already owns books if she wants elevated thoughts."
Mary considered this so seriously that Elizabeth had to look away to hide her smile.
At Netherfield Georgiana received the revised letter and laughed aloud at Mary's description of Lydia attempting to dance during a scale exercise.
Darcy heard from the hall.
He stopped.
Bingley nearly walked into him. "Why are we stopping?"
Darcy listened to his sister laugh again.
"No reason."
Bingley followed the sound and smiled. "She likes Hertfordshire."
"Yes."
"You should bring her here more often."
Darcy nodded.
He had intended to protect Georgiana by keeping the world small.
Perhaps healing required letting it become larger.