Chapter Nineteen

I n the days that followed the eventful evening at the theatre, Darcy found himself drawn into a whirlwind of social engagements with his family as well as the Carlisles. While he generally preferred to avoid such constant activity, he could not deny the pleasure he felt in seeing Georgiana truly happy. She was at Carlisle House nearly every other day, the friendships that had appeared so promising growing into true affection on all sides. The unnaturally high demands on his time for social excursions to demonstrate the friendship between the Darcy, Matlock, and Carlisle families were therefore more easily borne.

As the ladies endeavoured to quell any remaining gossip through their demonstrations of normalcy, Darcy joined his uncle, male cousins, and Lord Carlisle in frequenting their clubs to create a show of solidarity in the face of those who might still seek to tarnish the reputations of either Miss Elizabeth or Georgiana and their families. He and Fitz had also dragged Milton to Angelo's a few times while Lords Carlisle and Matlock smoked cigars and drank brandy with their colleagues in the House of Lords.

And though Darcy reminded himself that his concern must be for his sister, his thoughts invariably drifted to Miss Elizabeth. Was she truly well or only hiding her concerns? She was particularly skilled at pretending she was content.

He had initially assumed that once the worst of the gossip had subsided, he would withdraw from the constant company of the Carlisles and allow Georgiana to continue her visits independently. He had his own business matters to attend to, after all, and it was not as though he could claim any particular attachment to Miss Elizabeth beyond gratitude for her role in protecting Georgiana from both physical and emotional harm. But every moment in her company made him return to the thought that he would like to court her.

He did not have that many items of business just now. His uncle had been determined he would make himself available for selecting a bride this season, and Darcy had dutifully completed a great deal of his work in the weeks before the festive season.

It was not even that he wished to withdraw. He simply did not know how to approach her, having so grievously insulted her at their first meeting and then taking so long to realise he had never properly apologised. Would she even believe that his feelings had changed?

Each time they met in company now, and they did meet frequently although always amidst a family party, he found himself increasingly drawn to her. Her lively wit and keen intellect were tempered by a seriousness that resonated with his own understanding of life's complexities. In the few moments they were able to share, whether in brief conversation or even companionable silence, he had begun to recognise a kindred spirit, one who navigated an often-uncaring world with an admirable sort of resilient grace.

It was during one such meeting at Carlisle House, a fortnight after their show of power at the theatre, that Darcy found himself watching Miss Elizabeth as she sat at the pianoforte with Georgiana, their heads bent together in conspiratorial whispers and barely suppressed giggles. The unusually bright winter sunlight streamed into the room as it moved between clouds, one moment gloomy, the next casting a golden glow upon her mahogany curls, the melodic sound of her laughter filling the room with a warmth that defeated the damp winter chill he had brought in with him.

"Brother!" Georgiana exclaimed when her gaze fell on him. "I had no idea it was so late. Forgive me. May I go upstairs to bid farewell to Jane and Amelia?"

He nodded. "Of course."

Georgiana smiled at Elizabeth who waved her off with a smile of her own. "We shall see you on Monday, then?"

"I would not miss it," Georgiana replied, and fairly floated out of the room.

Just like that, he found himself in a room alone with Miss Elizabeth. The door was open, to be sure, but he took advantage of their comparative privacy to approach the instrument, where she was gathering up the music they had used and carefully organizing the sheets.

"Miss Elizabeth," he inquired gently. "I hope you can forgive me for broaching what may be a delicate subject, and you must tell me if you wish me to desist, but . . ." He trailed off, not knowing precisely how to continue.

"You may ask me any manner of question if you wish, Mr. Darcy," she said. She sounded certain, but he noted the way that she held the music sheets to her chest, a symbolic shield against intrusion.

"You said something, that night at the theatre, after Mr. Loughty was rightly put in his place."

"And what was that, Mr. Darcy? "

He hesitated. Would it be ruder to ask the question or ruder not to ask, now that he had piqued her curiosity?

This was Miss Elizabeth—she would find it more irritating if he stopped.

"When you thanked me for taking Mr. Loughty to task, you mentioned that you were not used to being defended in such a way. I confess, I cannot imagine that your parents, at least, would not provide protection for their daughters, especially one as remarkable as you."

What he really wanted was to ascertain that she was well, but he could not seem to bring himself around to asking it. He was making a muddle of the thing, and she would rightly believe him forward.

Instead, Miss Elizabeth took a deep breath. "It is complicated, Mr. Darcy. My family situation is not one I speak of very often."

"I understand," Darcy said quickly. "And I would not expect that you do so with me. Only, please know that you can trust me, Miss Elizabeth, should you ever wish to speak of it. Even the bravest among us must have someone in whom they can confide. You have your sister, of course, but sometimes it is difficult to burden a sibling with our own fears."

"Jane often knows my fears without my speaking of them," Miss Elizabeth said with a sad attempt at a smile. "But I do not like to dwell on them. She denies it, but I know they distress her."

"There is no need for you to take me into your confidence," he said. "But I hope you know I would never betray it or think less of you for any hardship you may have endured."

Miss Elizabeth gazed at him for a long moment, then motioned to a pair of comfortable chairs. When they sat, she took a deep breath. "The truth is, Mr. Darcy, that my parents do not particularly care for me. My father, you see, ceded his authority over Jane and me when we were young, and when it suddenly became advantageous, he wished for it back. "

"But you did not allow it," Darcy guessed.

"I suppose you know enough of my headstrong ways to understand that. Please know that my parents were never physically cruel, but they were a curious mixture of resentment and indifference."

Darcy had not known what to expect, but it had not been this. "I cannot fathom parents being indifferent to such an extraordinary woman."

"Perhaps they wished their daughter was less extraordinary and more complying." She sighed. "I expect that Lord Matlock informed you of the origin of our fortunes?"

"He did, to some extent." Darcy confessed. "He also said that you insisted on sharing the funds with your sister and that the amount you came to town with exceeded what you were given. He believed you had invested well."

"Yes, with the help of my uncle who is in trade here in town. His business acumen is well-known and respected. Unfortunately, he is also one of those relations that would have fallen from the branches of my family tree were it shaken too hard," she said.

Darcy winced, but there was a faint smile on her lips and no acrimony in the statement.

"Papa was at first furious that I had the audacity to stay and alert the other girls of the fire, for all of his investments in me might have literally gone up in smoke," she said wryly. "When he and Mamma learned I had also run across the house to alert the girls from more prominent families, they hoped that I might have made a fortunate alliance. Months passed, however, and we heard nothing from anyone, so they were vocally displeased with me. Amelia began to write, but they did not know then that she was family to the Carlisles."

Darcy felt a surge of indignation on her behalf. "What made them so resentful?"

She stared directly ahead of her, at nothing, as she answered. "First, that his grand scheme to have us make highly placed friends and thus be introduced to their highly placed brothers had failed so grievously. It was easier to place that responsibility on us, you see, than it was to work hard on the estate and save any additional funds for the future of his wife and daughters." She clasped her hands together tightly. "There is an entail on Longbourn."

He made no reply. He already knew of the entail from Lady Henrietta.

"And then you were told that there was money?"

"A Mr. Gordon wrote from Gordon and Callister—they are solicitors—and asked Papa to bring me to London. It was about six months after the fire, and I had thought it was behind me. Apparently, it had taken that long to collect the funds and create all the legal documents, for the donors did not want Papa or Mamma to have access to any of it."

That was telling. "Surely your father understood the intentions behind the trust? The gratitude and esteem in which you were held for your bravery? That it was meant to accomplish the very purpose he sent you to school for in the first place?"

She shrugged a little, and finally placed the music down on a table next to her. "I did not argue on his behalf."

"It would not have mattered. It was a legal document and could not have been altered."

"But I did not even make the attempt. I think that bothered him the most. How could he have believed I would? That is what bothers me."

Miss Elizabeth paused for so long Darcy wondered if he should excuse himself. Just before he did so, she continued. "I did resent your cousin, sir. Lady Henrietta and Lady Penelope ruled the roost at Mrs. Buxton's school, and they were not fond of those of us without titles. Because we were such a small school, however, the two of them did not allow anyone without titled relatives to join them—they did not need to possess a title themselves. Daughters of mere gentlemen and no illustrious relations, however, were not to speak with them, not to sit in their chairs or share their table at meals. They were not even to walk down the hall in their wing of the house. As you can imagine, I spoke with whomever I chose, walked where I wished, and denounced any edicts I did not personally care for."

Darcy chuckled. "I can certainly imagine that."

"Lady Henrietta focused much of her anger on me, which made the other girls afraid to show me any friendship. My insistence on independence ruined my father's plans, but I could not do any less than be who I am."

He mumbled an incoherent assent.

"Papa's first show of displeasure was largely ignoring me when he arrived at the boarding house and again as I recovered at home. But after we went to London, he bore a grudge. Any funds required to prepare me for my season—masters, clothing, that sort of thing—would be handled by the solicitor's office. He would not supply those funds himself, although he did for Jane and my younger sisters. I suspect that word of my father's purpose in sending us to school or even my mother's frivolous use of their funds was bandied about somehow. Mrs. Buxton knew of it, for she had met them both. However it occurred, the families who had donated the funds put stringent restrictions upon the use of them. My one request—demand, really—was that I be allowed to share it with Jane. She was my partner that night, walking the first group of girls out of the house as well as rousing the teachers, who then roused the servants. I would not leave her behind at Longbourn."

"I see." And he did. Miss Elizabeth had been the subject of rather unfair familial expectations long before the fire. Fathers were meant to protect their daughters, not require that they do the work of improving the family's situation all on their own. "How old were you when you went to school?"

"I was ten."

He could not imagine sending his sister away at such an early age, but Lady Henrietta had not been much older. Georgiana had spent one year at school when she had just turned fourteen and begged him not to send her back.

Darcy did something then that was reckless, but he could not help himself. He reached out to place his hand over hers. "Miss Elizabeth, I am heartily sorry for the pain your father's neglect has caused. But you should know that his bitterness is in no way a reflection of your worth. You are an exemplary woman."

"As Amelia would say, that is doing it a bit brown," Miss Elizabeth said, quietly amused. But there was something in her eyes that softened, and Darcy hoped his reassurance had done it.

"I mean what I say."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Your willingness to be a confidant means a good deal to me, for I rarely speak of my parents. It is too hard."

Every child wanted to know that he or she was loved. It bothered him immensely that Miss Elizabeth had been made to feel herself unworthy of that basic emotion. The fault was clearly in her parents, not her.

"I am honoured that you would trust me with something so important," he said. "And I promise you, Miss Elizabeth, that I will do everything I can to ensure that you never feel unprotected or unvalued again."

Her expression was more confused than he would like, but he heard footsteps in the hall and removed his hand from hers. Miss Elizabeth stared at where it had been.

"I am ready, Brother!" Georgiana called. "I shall see you in a few days, Lizzy. Please practice your flute? "

Miss Elizabeth chuckled. "I promise, I promise."

As Darcy turned to follow his sister, he caught Miss Elizabeth's gaze, and though she still seemed to regard him with a puzzled expression, there was something poignant in the air between them. She had confided in him when she did so with almost no one else. It was a treasure she had given him—her trust—and he felt all the weight of it.

As the ripples from the theatre incident spread though the ton, the focus of the gossip began to shift. Whispers of Miss Darcy's weak nerves and Mr. Darcy's uncommon care for Miss Elizabeth gradually gave way to murmurs of incredulity at the crassness of Miss Amberley and the temerity of Mr. Loughty. In some drawing rooms, there was even talk of how cruel Lady Henrietta had been, and to her own cousin.

"To think, driving a young girl to such distress with their callous remarks," one lady clucked to her companion as Elizabeth and Cordelia strolled behind the two matrons in Hyde Park one unusually warm March morning. "And with their family friendship! What a betrayal. It is a wonder that Miss Darcy did not suffer a complete collapse, poor thing!"

Cordelia smiled at Elizabeth.

The lady's friend nodded sagely. "All due to some petty slight or imagined rivalry, I suppose. They never have liked Miss Elizabeth, though her sponsorship by the Carlisles speaks highly of her."

"Shameful behaviour, truly."

Elizabeth was tired of hearing about it. She wished people would find something new to speak of. As much as she did not care for Lady Henrietta, she was a Fitzwilliam, and she did not wish for that family's reputation to suffer to protect her own. And Georgiana's, of course .

She was accompanying Georgiana at a musical soirée when two ladies sidled up to the girl with sly smiles. Elizabeth was half-listening as Colonel Fitzwilliam and Cordelia conversed with great energy about her falcons. She had spoken politely to several men she had danced with or been introduced to in the past weeks while she watched for the return of Mr. Bingley, Jane, and Amelia. However, she did not miss her friend's fleeting grimace.

"Miss Bingley, Mrs. Hurst," Georgiana said.

"Georgiana, dear," Miss Bingley crooned.

Elizabeth glanced over. Mr. Bingley was an amiable man and always very well dressed, but part of that was due to him choosing items that were flattering to him in colour and style.

His sisters had evidently not received the message that fashion was meant to be altered to the individual and not the other way around. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were indeed fashionably attired, but in a manner that prioritized ostentation over true elegance. Their gowns were made of very fine silk, but the woman Georgiana had greeted as Miss Bingley had chosen such a vivid shade of orange it was almost painful to look at directly. She recalled Amelia's book with the illustration of a pumpkin and marvelled at how apt the comparison had been. The bodice was adorned with ruffles and lace to the point where it was difficult to discern between them, which made Elizabeth think briefly of her mother. Both women would likely be insulted by the comparison.

Not to be outdone, Mrs. Hurst was wearing a gown of an equally eye-watering hue, a green that reminded one less of nature and more of the sort of mould that grew on old vegetables. Her neck and shoulders were rather too exposed for a daytime musical recital, and the jewels that adorned her throat were as gaudy as the spoils of a fantastical pirate raid .

Both had fixed cunning little caps atop perfectly coiffed hair, but then had festooned them with such an array of feathers that it was a miracle they could keep their heads up under the weight.

Together, they resembled a pair of tropical birds that had somehow found themselves trapped in an English drawing room.

Despite her amusement, it occurred to Elizabeth that Miss Bingley was rather forward to call the girl by her Christian name. She had not thought, from Georgiana's mention of them, that they were in any way intimate, and her protective instincts were engaged.

"It is wonderful to see you out and about," Miss Bingley said, kissing the air on either side of Georgiana's cheeks. "We were concerned for you after hearing of your ordeal."

Mrs. Hurst nodded, her eyes wide with clearly feigned sympathy. "It must have been so distressing for you."

Georgiana simply lifted her chin, her expression calm and self-assured. "I am quite well, I assure you. You ought not credit such gossip, for the entire incident has been wildly exaggerated." She turned to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet, may I introduce Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst? They are sisters to Mr. Bingley."

The women blinked, startled to have been given lesser precedence than Elizabeth. Surely they were aware that as a gentleman's daughter and a guest of the Carlisles', Georgiana had the right of it.

"My goodness, the famous Miss Elizabeth," Miss Bingley said, though her voice was now rather strained. "How fortunate a meeting."

"I am well acquainted with your brother. He is an amiable man," Elizabeth replied, thinking that Mr. Bingley was the only conversational topic she could use with them—they seemed to be just the sort of women she did not wish to know .

"He is, he is—and so very fond of our young friend here," Mrs. Hurst simpered.

Georgiana's mouth twisted into a frown. "I am afraid you are mistaken, Mrs. Hurst," she said. "I am very rarely in company with your brother, and only when he is visiting my brother. And, as you know, Mr. Bingley is courting Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth's sister."

Elizabeth was torn. She now wished that this new, more confident Georgiana had not relayed that information but left it to Mr. Bingley to inform his sisters. She was becoming a good deal like Amelia. Ah well.

"I do not believe there is anything so formal as of yet," she warned Georgiana quietly.

"I beg your pardon," Georgiana said, truly chagrined, but fortunately not crushed by the correction. "Do you think Jane will mind my having said?"

"It is nothing but the truth, Georgiana," Elizabeth murmured.

"I assure you that there is nothing formal," Miss Bingley said, bristling at the informal address, her eyes darting between Georgiana and Elizabeth. "Our brother would have asked for our blessing if such was the case."

"Of course," Elizabeth remarked drily. "Most brothers do request the blessing of their sisters when determining who they will wed."

The Bingley sisters shared a glance.

"It was wonderful to see you again, Georgiana," Miss Bingley said, lightly touching Georgiana's forearm with her fingers before turning away with her sister.

"I fear this is not good news for Jane," Georgiana said ruefully.

"Jane can hold her own," Elizabeth replied, watching the women as they bustled off in search of their brother. "What is truly at issue is whether Mr. Bingley can do the same."