4. Chapter Four #2
Darcy’s jaw stiffened. From the sitting room, such things had appeared trivial. Female management. Conversation. The ordinary frictions of social life. Spoken in Georgiana’s voice, they became something else altogether.
“Why did you not tell me?” he asked.
Her shoulders drew inward. Too sharp. The question had struck poorly.
Darcy exhaled and forced his tone lower. “Forgive me. That was badly said.”
Georgiana lifted her head then, startled.
He rarely said such things so plainly. Perhaps he ought to have done so more often. “I should have seen it,” he added.
She shook her head quickly. “No. I ought to be more grateful for her attention. She has known me for years, and I know I am awkward. I never know what to say. It is easier when someone else speaks.”
“Easier for whom?”
Georgiana stared at the rosebush. One faded petal clung to a thorn, trembling in the breeze. “For everyone at first,” she said. “Then, afterward, I feel smaller.”
Darcy closed his eyes for a brief moment. Smaller. The word was simple enough. It exposed more than accusation would have done.
He had allowed this. Not out of malice. That was insufficient comfort. Carelessness in a brother could injure as surely as cruelty in a stranger if repeated often enough.
“I thought you liked Miss Bingley’s company,” he said.
“I tried to like it.”
“And when you were silent, I mistook it for contentment.”
Georgiana’s eyes filled, though she averted her face before the tears could fall. “I did not want to disappoint you.”
“Disappoint me?”
“You admire Mr. Bingley. His sisters are always with us. Miss Bingley speaks in such a way…” She faltered, then swallowed. “She behaves like she belongs where we are.”
He fixed his attention on the path, his hands clasped behind his back, because if he continued looking at Georgiana’s pale face he might return to the inn and say far more than civility permitted.
Miss Bingley had cultivated assumptions. He had dismissed them because he did not share them.
Another failure of perception.
Elizabeth Bennet would have called it exactly what it was. She would have named it plainly.
Elizabeth.
He had spent months trying not to think of her and failing with humiliating regularity. At first, his thoughts lingered upon Hunsford with anger. Then shame. Then something more difficult: memory freed from self-defense.
Her face when he had spoken of inferiority. The disbelief in her eyes. The way she had stood, trembling with indignation, and still addressed him with more honesty than anyone outside his family had dared offer in years.
Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.
He had recoiled from the words at the time.
Now they followed him. He had mistaken many things for good conduct: reserve for dignity and discomfort for superiority.
Control replaced virtue. Lack of protest was mistaken for consent and agreement.
He had called his interference in Bingley’s affairs prudence.
He had called his manner toward Elizabeth honesty because the emotion beneath it had been sincere.
Sincerity had not made him kind.
Georgiana shifted beside him, drawing him back.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
Darcy protested. “No. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But I have made everything inconvenient.”
“You have made nothing inconvenient.” He corrected himself before the answer could sound like dismissal. “Or rather, even if inconvenience follows, it is mine to bear. Not yours.”
She gave a shaky little laugh. “That sounds very severe.”
“I am severe.”
“Not always.”
He glanced at her, and this time she gave him a small, uncertain smile. It pierced him more than tears might have done.
Darcy drew a breath and made the decision before he could dress it in excuses. “You will not travel with Miss Bingley tomorrow.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened. “But your steward—”
“I must go ahead. You will come with me.”
“With you?” She sounded unsure.
“Yes. We will ride.”
Her face changed so swiftly he almost smiled. “Ride to Pemberley?”
“If the weather holds.”
“What of the carriage?” Her eagerness was palpable.
“The Hursts and Bingleys may follow as arranged,” Darcy reasoned.
“And Miss Bingley?”
He shrugged indifferently. “She may answer for herself.”
Georgiana pressed her lips together, but a laugh escaped anyway.
The sound was not loud. It held some surprise, almost like laughter had come upon her before she granted it permission.
Darcy felt the tension in his chest ease.
“I do not know whether I am equal to a long ride,” she admitted.
“We need not go recklessly. We will take the road in stages and stop when required. I shall send a note ahead for fresh horses where needed.”
“And you truly do not mind?”
“I should have offered it sooner.”
She looked away again, but this time not from distress. “I should like it very much.”
“Then it is settled.”
They resumed walking, slower now. Georgiana’s steps beside his had lost some of their restraint.
Near the garden gate, she touched one rose with the tip of her gloved finger. “Fitzwilliam?”
“Yes?”
“Are you angry with Miss Bingley?”
Darcy’s attention shifted to the inn windows. A curtain stirred, then fell back into place. He did not need to guess who stood behind it. “I am displeased with myself,” he said after a moment.
Georgiana frowned. “With yourself?”
“I allowed another person to impose upon you because her conduct inconvenienced me less than objecting to it. That is not a flattering admission.”
“You could not know everything.”
“No.” He opened the gate and held it for her. “But I might have asked.”
Georgiana passed through, then waited for him beyond the wall. “You are asking now.”
The words were offered as comfort. Darcy accepted them as forgiveness he had not earned.
Upon reentering the sitting room, Miss Bingley had arranged herself at the small pianoforte in the inn’s parlor, though she was not playing. Bingley stood at the window. Hurst had finally decided to sleep without pretending otherwise. Mrs. Hurst leafed past another unread page.
Miss Bingley looked up with bright animation. “There you are. We had begun to fear the garden had claimed you. Dear Georgiana, you seem quite recovered. Walking was just the thing.”
Georgiana met Darcy’s eyes, then took the chair beside the small writing table instead of the one Miss Bingley had clearly saved beside herself.
Darcy noticed.
So did Miss Bingley.
“Bingley,” he said, addressing his friend, “there has been a change of plan.”
Miss Bingley’s fingers stilled over the keys. “Oh?”
“Georgiana will ride ahead with me this afternoon.”
The brightness in her face faltered. “Ride?”
“Yes.”
She appeared utterly dismayed. “But surely that is too fatiguing for her.”
Georgiana’s hand moved upon the arm of her chair, but she answered before Darcy could. “I should like to ride.”
Miss Bingley stared at her.
Bingley responded to them from the window with a pleased expression. “Excellent! I daresay the air will do you both good.”
“But Georgiana,” Miss Bingley pressed, recovering enough to make her tone affectionate, “you must consider whether such exertion is wise. You are not accustomed to long journeys on horseback.”
Georgiana’s fingers tightened once, then relaxed. “My brother says we may stop when I require it.”
Darcy peered at his sister. She did not look at him for rescue.
Good.
Miss Bingley’s smile thinned. “Of course, if Mr. Darcy has determined it, I have nothing to say.”
Hurst muttered without opening his eyes, “First sensible thing anyone has said all morning.”
Louisa gave him a sharp look.
Bingley cajoled her. “Come, Caroline, we shall follow tomorrow and arrive in comfort. Darcy will have all his troublesome business settled and be ready to entertain us.”
“That is exactly the purpose,” Darcy said. “I wish to give my guests my undivided attention during their stay.”
Miss Bingley’s expression smoothed at that, perhaps finding in the statement some satisfaction for herself. “How very considerate.”
Darcy did not correct her.
Georgiana met his gaze, amusement brightening her eyes.
An hour later, they departed. The inn yard was damp but busy, the air full of harness sounds, shouted instructions, and the smell of horses.
Darcy mounted first, then waited while the groom brought Georgiana’s mare.
She accepted assistance into the saddle with a little stiffness, settled her skirts, and gathered the reins.
Miss Bingley stood beneath the inn doorway with her shawl drawn close around her shoulders. “Do take care, dear Georgiana. Do not let your brother persuade you into too swift a pace.”
Georgiana inclined her head from the saddle. “I shall take care.”
Darcy adjusted his gloves and addressed Bingley. “We shall expect you tomorrow.”
Bingley raised one hand in farewell. “Do not let Harding bury you in accounts before we arrive.”
“I shall attempt survival.”
Hurst, from somewhere inside the doorway, called, “Tell your cook to expect hungry men.”
Mrs. Hurst sighed audibly.
Darcy directed his horse toward the road, and Georgiana followed.
For the first mile they rode at an easy pace through country still shining from rain. The clouds moved in torn white patches overhead, leaving sunlight to break unexpectedly across fields and hedgerows. Georgiana sat a little stiffly at first, but her seat improved as the road opened before them.
Darcy kept his horse beside hers.
At length, she spoke to him. “This is much better than the carriage.”
“I thought it might be.”
His sister wrinkled her nose. “The carriage smells of Miss Bingley’s scent.”
Darcy was silent for a moment.
Georgiana fixed her attention on the road ahead, though color touched her cheeks. Then Darcy chuckled. It surprised them both.
Georgiana’s answering smile came freer than any he had seen from her that morning. “It does.”
“I did not contradict you.”
“You laughed.” She sounded perplexed.
“A different form of agreement.” Did he not laugh often enough to set his own sister at ease? No, certainly not since last summer.