Chapter 11

October 1812, London

Unfortunately, Darcy’s expectation that his family would regard his attachment to Elizabeth more favourably the next day was not fulfilled. Lady Romsley visited and sat with Georgiana, afterwards telling Darcy to leave his sister alone for a day or two.

“I am afraid your presence, even if you do not mention that girl’s name, will be too much for her.”

Darcy sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“You must be patient with her,” his aunt reminded him.

“I understand that, and I shall be.”

She regarded him for a long moment before saying, “There is an easy way to resolve the present…difficulty.”

“You, my uncle, my cousins, and Georgiana—even Lady Catherine—can trust that I know what I am about in settling on Elizabeth.” He suppressed a surge of annoyance.

Lady Romsley gave him a pitying look. “I understand you feel some affection for her, but there are other young ladies, ones who would make much better matches for you and who would meet with your family’s approval.”

She refused to continue the conversation, encouraging him to reflect on the matter carefully and not be guided by sentiment, then departed.

That afternoon, Darcy’s cousins called, and the three men sat together in a small sitting room. Fitzwilliam was evidently still provoked.

“I thought I had better accompany him. I do not trust his present mood,” Bramwell said, which earned him a stormy glance from his brother.

“Whereas I believe he has no business here. You and I are Georgiana’s guardians,” Fitzwilliam said. “My brother is not. Darcy, we need to discuss this asinine idea of yours.”

Darcy muttered a curse before, through gritted teeth, saying, “It is not asinine. Must I remind you that you liked Elizabeth when you met her?”

“She was pleasant company, and I grant you, she is pretty enough, but you know as well as I do that a marriage to her would always have been frowned upon by my parents, amongst others.”

“Including you?” Darcy interjected. He could feel his ire beginning to build.

“Yes, including me!”

Bramwell made a noise of disgust, but before he could speak, Fitzwilliam continued.

“Relations in trade and her lack of fortune should have been more than enough to destroy any appeal she held for you. What were you thinking to allow yourself to grow so enamoured of her?”

“It does not exactly work like that, you idiot.”

Fitzwilliam rudely invited his brother to cease speaking or leave.

“It is my house. If anyone is going to throw someone out of it, it will be me.” Darcy gave Fitzwilliam a look meant to say he was at risk of being evicted.

Fitzwilliam appeared not to notice, or if he had, he was unconcerned. “The most important reason why you cannot marry Elizabeth Bennet is Georgiana. She should be your priority, the only person you are thinking of at present, not some girl of no account. How could you ever dream of such a thing? It goes against every expectation?—”

Bramwell barked out a curse. “Expectation! I am sick of the word. It is easy for you to say! You do not have to marry anyone or take their fortune into account if you choose not to.” His voice altered to roughly imitate Lord Romsley’s. “‘Do not waste your time with this lady. Her grandfather was so and so. This lady is better than that one. Her dowry is larger, her father has these connexions, her mother was this man’s daughter’.” In his usual tone, he went on, “I am sick to death of expectations constantly being thrown at me, and I assume Darcy is as well. What about whether one actually likes the lady or thinks they might be happy with her? Do not throw your expectations at our cousin!”

As much as Darcy agreed with the viscount, his words only made the situation worse. Fitzwilliam stood, his posture shouting his disgust as much as his words. “You might refuse to take her fortune and connexions into consideration, but you cannot disregard Georgiana. If you did this to her, Darcy, you would be no better than Wickham!”

Before he knew what he was doing, Darcy punched Fitzwilliam in the jaw, and the two were exchanging blows. Bramwell yelled at his brother that he had gone too far and, with some effort, managed to extricate Fitzwilliam from the tussle and drag him from the house.

No matter how hard Darcy attempted to find a way to convince his sister that she would remain safe from Wickham, and no matter how desperately he tried to convince his family to support him and join him in reassuring Georgiana, he failed again and again.

Georgiana became unsettled even at hearing Elizabeth’s name. While Fitzwilliam apologised for comparing him to Wickham, he continued to insist Darcy was being unconscionably irresponsible. The earl and countess informed him that despite the match being a poor one, they might have agreed to meet Elizabeth before deciding against offering their support, but since Georgiana hated the idea so much, they would not. Bramwell merely shrugged as though there was nothing he could do, which, in fairness, was almost certainly true.

And so, for his sister’s sake, Darcy gave up Elizabeth.

Two months later, sitting on the cold ground halfway between Netherfield and Longbourn, he still felt hopeless, remembering all that had happened.

After the conversation with Elizabeth, he could not remain at Netherfield, even though Bingley encouraged him to stay. It was a lonely journey back to town, but Darcy preferred that to company. It was full dark by the time he arrived at his town house, and only Georgiana greeted him. For that, he was thankful. He had half expected to find Fitzwilliam and perhaps the earl awaiting him to ensure he had not explained to Elizabeth why their connexion had to be broken, which they had deemed would be foolish. He would have, but Elizabeth had refused to listen. It might not have made a difference, but perhaps she would hate him a little less if she fully understood the situation. Selfishly, he wanted the comfort of speaking to her of everything that had happened; but that would mean burdening her with his sorrow, and that would be wrong. He did not blame her for hating him after how he had acted, and asking for her sympathy—as though that would excuse his behaviour—was too much.

He joined Georgiana in her private sitting room. She watched him cautiously, her lips pulled into her mouth and her body rigid as though waiting to hear bad news. He sat beside her on a settee.

“I hope my late return did not worry you.”

She shook her head and tentatively asked, “H-h-how was the wedding?”

Briefly, he pressed his eyes closed in an attempt to banish the image of Elizabeth standing by her sister’s side. She had given every appearance of feeling nothing other than pleasure at the happy occasion, but he had spent too many hours studying her to miss the signs of her underlying discomfort. Nevertheless, she was beautiful to his eyes, and he had not been able to keep himself from silently repeating the wedding vows to her as Bingley said them to his bride. Darcy genuinely doubted he would ever be able to marry another lady; his heart was committed to Elizabeth, and this had been a simple acknowledgement of that, a promise he could give to her, even if she never learnt of it.

Answering his sister’s question, he said, “It was everything it should be. Bingley did not stop grinning the whole morning, and Mrs Bingley was lovely.”

There was a long pause before Georgiana next spoke. “Did you see…her?”

Darcy slowly inclined his head once. “We did not speak, not more than was absolutely necessary.”

“I could not bear it if you and she… To think that I might see him?—”

“Do not, Georgiana,” he interjected, grasping her hand, which had reached for her neck, the fingers curled. He suspected she would try to scratch herself as she had done in the past, once leaving long welts on her forearms. “There is no need for your anxieties. You will never have to see him again, and Miss Bennet knows whatever there once was between us is at an end. It is all…over.”

Done. I have succeeded in making her hate me, and this time, there is nothing I can do to earn her forgiveness, unlike I was able to do last summer. If I were a better man, I would pray she forgets all about her affection for me and finds happiness with another. Perhaps in time, I shall be that generous, but for now, I cannot.

Georgiana rested her head against his shoulder, which lightened the heaviness of his heart, if only for the moment.

The next morning, his cousins came to call. After greeting them, Georgiana returned to her apartment. The gentlemen settled in the blue sitting room, and Darcy offered them coffee.

Bramwell slumped in a chair, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. He gave a large yawn, which Darcy interpreted as either a late night or an indication of his thoughts on the task his brother and he had likely been sent to undertake by their parents. Possibly, he had insisted on coming to prevent another battle between Fitzwilliam and Darcy.

The colonel asked about the wedding, almost exactly as Georgiana had the night before. Darcy gave a similar response.

“You saw Miss Bennet,” Fitzwilliam stated rather than asked.

Darcy nodded, and Bramwell said, “Of course he did. Knowing he would is why we are here so blasted early in the day, is it not?”

Fitzwilliam glared at him before directing his next remark to Darcy. “I hope it was not too difficult.”

Darcy shrugged. Fitzwilliam and he had always been close friends, and he did not want to lose that, especially when he had already lost so much. He had accepted his cousin’s apology for his horrible remark; nevertheless, their previous ease was still far from restored.

“I would wager it was awful,” Bramwell muttered.

Again, Darcy shrugged, this time to say his cousin was not wrong.

Fitzwilliam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, scratching his scalp a couple of times. “I am sorry about that, Darcy, but at least it is done. Now, you can…move on, find another lady. I have said it before—I liked Miss Bennet when we met at Easter. She is pretty and amusing, but you know she would never have been a great match for you. Neither would she be the best lady to help Georgiana enter society, as she must in the next few years. Miss Bennet might have been a good friend for Georgiana but never a sister.”

“My God, you are insufferable on this point!” Bramwell cried. “If I were closer, I would kick you for that alone.”

“I would prefer not to discuss it further,” Darcy insisted. “I went to Hertfordshire a single man, and I returned single still. It was what you and everyone else wanted, and it is done. Let us leave it at that.”

Bramwell yawned again, this time stretching his arms above his head; he then drained his cup of coffee and put it on the polished maple side table. Looking refreshed, he said, “I think the situation could have been managed. As my mother said, perhaps more time was needed to separate the younger sister’s marriage and your intention to propose to the older sister, but…” He gestured as though to say it did not matter. “You know what I think about Georgiana’s role in this. Allowing her to dictate whom you do or do not marry is giving her too much power. I do not believe it is to her benefit. If anything, having a sympathetic lady or two in her family would do her good.”

“She has my mother,” Fitzwilliam interjected.

“Yes, yes, Mother is very good to her,” Bramwell conceded. “But I meant one closer to Georgiana’s own age. Not a mother but a friend.”

“My cousin Rebecca has done her best to befriend Georgiana in the past,” Darcy said. “It has been difficult, given Georgiana’s diffidence.”

“A closer connexion with Rebecca would be excellent for Georgiana. It would help if she—or whichever lady we suggest Georgiana befriend, such as Darcy’s eventual wife—is aware of her…special circumstances,” Bramwell said.

“You ought to call her Miss Reed. She is not your relation.” Darcy frowned at the viscount.

At the same time, Fitzwilliam said, “We are not going to share such personal information about Georgiana with anyone.”

Except I did tell Elizabeth—part of it, at least. I would have disclosed the rest, once we were engaged.

In his musings, he evidently missed some of the conversation, because Fitzwilliam was facing his brother, the hardness of his features denoting a growing frustration.

“Then why do you not marry a sympathetic lady who can be trusted with the truth, giving Georgiana a cousin whom she could safely befriend and saving her from Darcy and me and our vicious oversight?” Bramwell’s tone was biting.

Darcy did not involve himself in the brothers’ bickering; instead, he contemplated Bramwell, who had mentioned Rebecca’s name several times lately. Does he have intentions towards her?

“I still think Georgiana would have—on balance—benefited from Darcy marrying a lady even you admit was admirable,” said Bramwell.

Shaking his head, Fitzwilliam argued, “The risk was too great. You did not see Georgiana much immediately after Ramsgate. You do not understand how severe her disorder can be.” Bramwell had been in Scotland at the time, seeing to the management of one of Lord Romsley’s estates.

Bramwell’s countenance sobered. “Seeing her now, I can only imagine. But perhaps I can view the situation with more clarity than you two do precisely because I was not there when it happened. I do not say we should overlook her distress or tell her we do not care that she is unhappy, but?—”

Abruptly, Darcy stood. He could not bear to continue the conversation, not at present. He had a sudden vision of Elizabeth, angry and hurt, when he explained that he could not propose to her because his family was against the match. The pain was too new, too raw to make the current discussion anything but agony.

“When I next see Rebecca, I shall suggest she calls on Georgiana. Until then, I hope the forthcoming Christmas festivities will be what my sister needs to cheer her. I really should…attend to some notes sent to me by my steward.”

Bramwell and Fitzwilliam took the hint and departed.