Bittersweet Farewells
Georgiana had come to say goodbye before he left.
“Sometimes I think…” She broke off, biting her lip.
“What do you think, dearest?”
“Sometimes I think you are carrying some great burden alone,” she said. “Ever since Papa died, you have grown so serious, so withdrawn. If I could help…”
“You help by being exactly who you are,” Darcy said. “My thoughtful, loving sister who worries too much about her younger brother.”
She smiled at that, though her eyes remained troubled. “Someone must worry about you, since you take so little care for yourself.” She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Go then, if you must. But remember you have a family who love you dearly, and will always have a place in our hearts.”
Darcy kissed the top of her head and let her go.
After she left, he stood a long moment holding Wickham’s unopened letter.
He had survived the curricle wheel, the bridge, and what had been done to Caesar.
Now Miller had found Wicked’s girth worked nearly loose.
He had allowed it might be wear. Darcy no longer believed in accidents.
He tucked the letter unread into his coat.
Whatever it contained could wait until there were miles between him and Pemberley.
Leaving Wickham unsupervised carried its own risks, even with Miller and Mrs Reynolds watching. But staying meant making no move without Wickham’s knowledge. In London he could consult his solicitors freely. Perhaps, before his birthday, he could find some legal means of protecting the estate.
The sun was cresting the hills as he stood beside Mercury in the stable yard. Miller held the horse steady.
“I have checked him over myself this morning, sir,” the old groom said quietly. “He will see you safe to London.”
“Thank you, Miller. Keep watch while I am gone?”
“Aye, sir.” Miller’s grip on the bridle tightened. “And I’ll keep an eye on more than the horses.”
The carriage was pulling away from the door as Darcy mounted, exactly as arranged. Wicked had gone with the luggage, led behind the carriage where any watcher would expect to see Darcy’s own horse.
He turned Mercury towards the gates and did not look back. Three days’ hard riding lay between him and London. Behind him, Pemberley’s windows blazed gold in the rising sun. He touched his heels to Mercury’s flanks, and they set off down the long drive, mist swirling about them.
* * *
Little George had finally been settled for his nap, and Anne was at her lessons with her governess.
Georgiana’s fingers moved over the pianoforte keys, playing without hearing the music.
Her thoughts were on the London road, on how far the carriage might have travelled, and whether the rain had reached it.
“Such a melancholy tune, my dear.”
She startled. Her husband had come in without her hearing him; he had changed out of his riding clothes, though she had not known he was back from Lambton.
“I was just thinking of Fitzwilliam,” she admitted. “I worry about him travelling in such weather.”
“Ah, yes.” George crossed to stand behind her, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. “I confess I am concerned as well. He seemed unsettled this morning. I had hoped my letter might reassure him about the estate matters, but…” He sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if I have failed him somehow.”
“Failed him?” Georgiana turned to look up at George. “How could you think that?”
“I know how difficult these years since your father’s death have been for him.
Perhaps I should have done more to ease him into his responsibilities, rather than trying to shield him.
” George sat down beside her on the bench.
“He is so like your father sometimes. Determined to shoulder every burden alone.”
Georgiana had made almost the same comparison to Fitzwilliam the night before.
“Papa was the same way, was he not? Always insisting he could manage everything himself.”
“Indeed.” George’s smile was fond. “Though at least your father had years of experience to draw upon. I worry that Fitzwilliam feels he must prove himself too quickly.”
“He is so young still,” Georgiana said, tracing the edge of a key. “Sometimes I forget it. He seems so serious, so determined to be master of Pemberley already.”
“As is natural, my dear. The estate will be his responsibility soon enough.” George covered her hand with his own. “Though I confess, I had hoped these years of guardianship might bring us closer. That he might come to see me as more than his sister’s husband.”
“He does value your guidance, George. I am sure of it.”
Even as she spoke, something passed through her, swift and gone before she could name it. There was a space between George and Fitzwilliam that she could feel but never reach. “Perhaps this time away will help. A change of scene, some fresh perspective.”
“I hope you are right.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her hand.
“Though I wish he had chosen to confide in me about his plans. When I heard from the stables, after Fitzwilliam left, that he had taken Mercury rather than the carriage…” He shook his head.
“I would have advised against travelling alone in such weather.”
Georgiana stilled. “He took Mercury?”
“Oh.” George frowned. “I assumed you knew. I was told that Fitzwilliam planned to ride Mercury to London rather than take the carriage.” He squeezed her hand. “I am sure he had his reasons for not telling you. He would not want you to worry.”
“But in this weather…” Georgiana half-rose from the bench; George’s hand on hers kept her seated. “Why would he not tell me?”
“My dear, you must not distress yourself.” His voice was soothing, reasonable. “Your brother is an excellent horseman, and Miller assured me he checked Mercury himself this morning.” He paused. “Though after that frightening business with the north bridge…”
Georgiana’s fingers tightened on the keys.
She remembered how pale Fitzwilliam had been when he returned that day, and how he had brushed aside her concern with talk of rotted timber.
“The bridge has been repaired now,” she said quietly.
“Though I still do not understand how it could have weakened so suddenly.”
“Indeed.” George’s thumb resumed its gentle circles. “It is strange how many accidents seem to gather around him lately.”
“Perhaps I should write to him at Netherfield. To make sure he arrives safely.”
“My dear, why do I not ride down to see him myself in a few weeks?” George offered. “I have business matters that could use attention in town, and I could ensure he is settled properly at Netherfield.”
Georgiana hesitated. “Would you? I know he says he is perfectly capable of managing on his own, but he is still so young.”
“Of course. What kind of guardian would I be if I did not keep watch over him?” George smiled warmly. “Though perhaps we should keep my plans to ourselves for now. You know how he can be about appearing independent.”
He rose from the bench and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Now, I should see to those estate matters your brother was so concerned about. Try not to worry too much, my dear. I am sure he will write as soon as he reaches London.”
Georgiana watched him leave, her hands resting on the silent keys. The music room had often been her refuge these past years. She had taught Anne her scales here, and Fitzwilliam had read in his chair by the window through a hundred afternoons. That chair stood empty now.
She should be grateful, she told herself, for a husband who cared so deeply for her family. They were all she had left of it; surely, given time, they could learn to understand one another.
Her fingers found the keys again. Instead of her usual cheerful pieces, she found herself playing one of the melancholy songs their mother had loved. The familiar notes filled the room. Outside, the rain had begun.