Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"OH," SAID MISS Darcy, spinning round in the middle of the entrance of Pemberley, "I'm so relieved. Everything is precisely the same." She stopped moving and fixed Elizabeth with a wide smile. "Here I was, frightened that you would change everything, but you've done nothing of the sort."

"Well, there was no need for improvement," said Elizabeth with a little shrug.

Miss Darcy and her brother had just recently arrived from London. There had been no letter preceding their arrival, so no one had been ready to receive them, but they were here nonetheless.

"I see," said Miss Darcy. She came for Elizabeth and seized both of her hands. "I don't entirely agree, but it is reassuring. If you want to know what I would do if I could redecorate, I am happy to tell you. But you don't have to listen to anything I say, of course. I suppose you have to tolerate it, though. Listen in that sense, but not in any other sense. Am I talking too much?" She glanced over her shoulder at her brother. "He says I talk too much, and usually when I meet people, I have such a worry over it that I say nothing at all. And then it comes out that everyone thinks I'm shy or even arrogant. I am neither of these things." She considered. "Well, maybe arrogant, only a little, but deservedly so, really." She squeezed Elizabeth's fingers. "We're sisters."

Elizabeth licked her lips, rather taken aback, for it was true that during their last meeting, Miss Darcy had said very little.

"Let go of her, Georgiana," said Mr. Darcy, who seemed preoccupied as he swept into the house, going back one of the hallways. "You'll scare her, I think."

"This," said Miss Darcy, pointedly not letting go of Elizabeth. "This is exactly the sort of thing you do. You're very dismissive and critical of me, Fitz!"

"Mmm," said Mr. Darcy, disappearing into the house.

Miss Darcy sighed. "I can call you Elizabeth, right? Or do you like nicknames? I adore nicknames, myself, and I think everyone should have a shortened version of their name. I'm partial to Gigi, if you'd like. I think it fits the effervescent nature of my very soul. You may call me that, or Georgiana, if you wish."

"Well," Elizabeth ventured, "I am sometimes called Lizzy, by my family."

"And we are family now," said Georgiana, squeezing her fingers. "All right, let's go to the sitting room." She let go of Elizabeth's hands, raising her voice. "Are there any lemon squares made up? I should adore some lemon squares, really and truly." Without waiting for a response to that, she made her way to the sitting room.

Elizabeth looked into the wake of her husband and then followed Georgiana to another part of the house.

Inside the sitting room, Georgiana flung herself down on a couch and picked up her legs. She tucked them under her skirt and perched there. "He's here somewhere, isn't he? I think Fitz is going to look for him. I don't know if I want to talk to him. You must tell me everything that passed between him and you, if you would. Don't worry. I shall never breathe a word of it to my brother. It is all safe with me. I know exactly how he is, you see? I would not blame you, I swear it on the soul of my departed mother and father."

Elizabeth was standing up in the middle of the room. "I'm ever so sorry, Miss Darcy—Gigi—but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Georgie Wickham, of course!" Georgiana gestured at the couch opposite her. "Oh, do sit down, Lizzy. We have ever so much talking to do. I hope there are lemon tarts, though. It'll be better with lemon tarts. Everything always is."

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. She hesitated for a moment, and then, unable to help herself, she sat down and began to speak furtively. "What really happened at Ramsgate? I don't understand anything. You can't trust his version, of course. He's such a liar."

"Oh, Lord," said Georgiana, shaking her head. "Well, it's a long story, really. And who knows, because he's so changeable. One minute, he's one way, and the next, he says, ‘Oh, I was only jesting.'" She rolled her eyes.

Elizabeth nodded slowly. "I see."

"Here is the truth of it, Lizzy," said Georgiana, sitting up very straight and speaking in a very grave voice. "I used to be in love with him."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

"However, I suppose I was only ten years old. Too young to understand love, not truly. But I thought the sun rose and set in him. When he would come home, he would let me follow him around and he would help me climb trees and he would play games with me, and he would pretend to be the husband and I would pretend to be the wife, and he let me sit on his lap and—"

"Oh, heavens!" said Elizabeth.

"Well, it wasn't like that." Georgiana dismissed this. Then, she furrowed her brow. "I don't think it was. Oh, Lord protect us, was he…?" She shook her head, deciding. "No, it couldn't have been. Anyway, so when I was fifteen, I still felt as if I, you know, sort of fancied him. But not really. Just pretend. I can't marry the son of the steward, you know. That's preposterous. I wouldn't do that. I would never do that."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. "I see."

"But he started talking about it," she said. "And I think he was serious. Except, I don't know, because he said he wasn't, and then when I thought about it, I couldn't see how he could have been serious, because he would have known I would never marry him. And furthermore, I knew that Mrs. Younge was in love with him—"

"What happened with Mrs. Younge?"

Georgiana raised her eyebrows. "Well, she shouldn't have gotten all tangled up with Mr. Wickham, I suppose. She defended him. She told me I was mistaken, that Mr. Wickham didn't mean it, that he couldn't have meant it. But, well, he would say anything to her, wouldn't he, if it meant that she thought well of him?"

"Yes, this is exactly what I'm saying. There's no supposition that what comes out of his mouth is the truth," said Elizabeth. "I think he was testing it. If you would have married him, he'd have gone through with it, but if you rejected it, he could pretend he never meant it."

"Yes!" Georgiana sighed heavily. "That is exactly the way it is with him. Now, tell me, did he ask you to marry him?"

"What? No, of course not," said Elizabeth.

"But the reason he's here is you," said Georgiana.

"Me?" said Elizabeth.

"Well, why else would he be here?" said Georgiana.

At this moment, the door opened and a servant came in.

"Yes?" said Georgiana. "What is it, Nan?"

"I'm afraid, Miss Darcy, ma'am, there are no lemon tarts."

"Oh," said Georgiana, frowning. "None at all?"

"Cook is going to make some, right away, but they won't be ready for some time. There are, however, some of the little peanut butter biscuits you are partial to."

"Oh, that will be just fine then," said Georgiana. "Will you bring those in? And tea? Or what about chocolate?" She turned to Elizabeth. "You like to drink chocolate, don't you?"

"Well, usually in the morning, I suppose," said Elizabeth.

"It's good in the afternoon, too," said Georgiana.

Elizabeth laughed.

"Truly, I suppose anything that's good in the morning is also good in the afternoon, but there are a number of things we only eat in the morning for whatever reason. What's more, it's not the same in other countries, either. They have different foods for breaking one's fast. It's all simply arbitrary, and that's the real truth of it. So, if I want chocolate, I shall have it."

"Very good, ma'am," said the servant. "I'll see to that for you."

"Thanks ever so!" said Georgiana sunnily, sighing as she relaxed into the couch. "What were we talking about?"

"I can't remember," lied Elizabeth.

"Oh, yes, he's here because of you," said Georgiana. "Mr. Wickham is trying to cuckold my brother."

"Heavens!" said Elizabeth, quite shocked.

"It's Mr. Wickham's villainy," said Georgiana. "It's only that he is charming, isn't he? If you were charmed, Lizzy, it would not be your fault."

"I am not!" said Elizabeth, horrified. "To accuse me—"

"No, it's him I accuse," said Georgiana.

"Well, he could do his worst, and I would be impervious," said Elizabeth.

"Because you're in love with my brother?"

"I…" Elizabeth squirmed. "Indeed." She nodded, deciding there was no need to get into all of that.

"Except you two don't seem very in love. He's been gone weeks and he came in, and he barely looked at you, you barely looked at him…? I don't know, but I simply don't see it. Everyone knows you were practically forced to marry each other."

"No one forced your brother," said Elizabeth.

Georgiana shrugged.

Elizabeth's face fell. "So, you think he was concerned that it would reflect badly on his reputation if he let me be ruined?"

"My brother is a very proper sort of person, you see," said Georgiana. "He has these notions about what's right and wrong, and he must do the right thing. So, it's like being forced. Sort of by God, in a way."

"Oh, wondrous," muttered Elizabeth. "God the matchmaker."

"Well, you shouldn't hold this against him, though. It's one of his more admirable qualities, in the end. He doesn't have very many of those, however, I'm afraid."

"On the contrary," objected Elizabeth. "Your brother has a number of very admirable qualities. He's really a very good man, a very, very good man." She sighed.

"Oh, then," said Georgiana. "Maybe you are in love with him. Well, that's lovely, then. I think everything is going to work out, after all."

The door to the sitting room opened and a servant wheeled in a tray with biscuits and a chocolate pot.

"Marvelous," said Georgiana, sighing. "I wish it was lemon tarts, of course, but this is just fine as a replacement. Do have some chocolate, Lizzy."

"Thank you, Miss Darcy."

"Gigi."

"Gigi," repeated Elizabeth.

"YOU KNOW YOU'RE not welcome here." Mr. Darcy was angry but he strove to sound bored.

"You came back awfully quickly, didn't you?" Wickham was lounging against the side of the stables, his jacket flung over one shoulder. He stood up straight, putting one arm back into his jacket. "You needn't have worried. You got to her, and she likes you better than me. So, if you're keeping score—"

"Score? What are you on about? Who likes me better than you?" Mr. Darcy was privately of the opinion that no one liked him better than Mr. Wickham, not even his younger sister.

"You win," said Wickham, shrugging insouciantly. "I suppose you've come here to boot me out of here, and you needn't bother, because I'm going. I'm going back to the regiment in Brighton."

"Will they take you back?"

"I've got the whole journey back to think of a good excuse for why I left." Wickham adjusted his cravat.

"Well, good, then. Go." Darcy folded his arms over his chest. "And don't come back, either. I hear your father doesn't even want to see you."

"Yes, see? He likes you better than me, too."

"Oh, he does not." Darcy glared at him.

"He does. He told me to steer clear of him, that I'm no son of his, a lot of very hurtful things, frankly. I don't deserve it. I really haven't done anything all that wrong, you know. I'm not… I'm not exactly a scheming sort of person, you know? I don't think it through and then it all gets away from me, that's all."

Darcy could believe this.

"I never meant to marry your sister, you know. Not really. I never thought that would actually happen. You have to believe me. It was not some plan. And you should really give Amelia back her job, and—"

"Mrs. Younge agreed that her behavior with you was less than proper, and that she wanted to quit the entire governess profession," said Mr. Darcy. "I think she expected things from you. You're the one who disappointed her."

"Whereas you never disappoint anyone, because you're so steady and you do exactly what you promise." Wickham's voice went mocking.

"You should try it sometime," Mr. Darcy said dryly.

"All right, I shall. Thank you ever so much for that very wise bit of advice. How have I managed without you all these years? Now, I shall simply turn my life around." Bitingly sarcastic, he sauntered off.

Mr. Darcy uncrossed his arms. He turned to watch Wickham go. "Georgie?"

Mr. Wickham kept walking.

"Who likes me better than you? Mrs. Reynolds?"

Mr. Wickham let out a long, long laugh and turned back around. "Really? You know who."

Mr. Darcy furrowed his brow. "So, Gigi was right, then? You are trying to cuckold me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. From the looks of the way she blushes at compliments, she's as virginal as if she'd never been touched. For all I know, you're just poking her while you're both entirely clothed or—"

"Stop it." His voice was a growl.

"It would be impossible," said Mr. Wickham. "You have poisoned her against me. Thank you for that."

"You're insulted that my wife isn't interested in you? Of all the entitled and mad sort of things to say—"

"Shut up. Let me go. I'm trying to go. I just want the last word and to walk off. Is that so hard? Really, can you give me nothing?"

Mr. Darcy sputtered.

Mr. Wickham turned back around, hands clenched in fists, and walked off.

Mr. Darcy folded his arms back over his chest. "Well, good riddance," he muttered under his breath.

Last word, his foot.