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Part I

Posted on Sunday, 19 November 2006

Chapter One

Georgiana Darcy's fingers trembled as she buttoned her pelisse.

‘Good heavens, Georgy.' Her cousin Diana sprang to her feet and managed the buttons in her usual decided way. ‘There.'

‘Thank you,' Georgiana murmured, fixing her eyes on the floor. Milton and Diana had been so kind to her that she had no right to feel anything so ungrateful as irritation, not at a trivial nickname. They had let her look after the children -- not that they needed any looking-after, Miss Lee was perfectly capable -- but she was so fond of them, and it let her away from Lady Ancaster a little.

Of course, she was fond of her aunt too, but Lady Ancaster could be sometimes a little dull, and Georgiana had never liked dogs, especially the little ones that yipped at her whenever she so much as twitched.

‘Must you go so soon, dear?' Lady Ancaster asked, exerting herself so far as to open her colourless eyes. ‘You are such a comfort to me.'

Georgiana felt a pang of remorse, as much for her unkind thoughts as her eagerness to leave. ‘Oh aunt, I -- '

‘Mother!' Richard, her favourite cousin, declared. ‘She must return home.'

‘But surely your brother could spare you another week? They are so newly married, after all.'

Georgiana looked up, horrified, at her uncle.

‘Eleanor,' Lord Ancaster said sternly, ‘there is no need to distress Georgiana at the very moment she is preparing to leave.'

She opened her eyes very wide. ‘Distress Georgiana? Why, whatever do you mean? Georgiana, darling, are you distressed? Of course you are not distressed.'

‘I -- '

‘Eleanor.' The earl's tone brooked no disagreement.

‘Oh, very well; if you insist, Georgiana is distressed. You must forgive me.' She blinked and smiled. ‘Give me a kiss, darling, and then you must go. Your brother will be wanting you and if you put it off much longer he will fret, you know he always does.'

Georgiana did not try to understand the workings of her aunt's mind. She dutifully kissed her cheek and then looked at the others. Oh, moments like this were so awkward. In just a moment, she would say something -- another moment, if nobody else did --

‘I expect you to correspond regularly,' said her grandmother, ‘and not one of those crossed scrawls of yours either, they will ruin my eyes. A lady should have a fair and flowing hand.'

‘Yes, ma'am,' said Georgiana meekly.

Milton gave her a quick smile. ‘Would you mind passing this letter to Darcy?'

‘Of course not.'

‘And my regards, of course. I will see you in spring, Georgy.'

Her dark eyes jerked up. ‘Spring?'

‘You must have a Season, of course, and we will certainly be in town.'

‘You cannot let your brother hide you away in the country, a girl deserves to be seen,' Diana added.

Eleanor took her hand and said, ‘Fitzwilliam will not make you do anything you do not wish and you know he is not fond of society. Goodbye, Georgiana.'

Cecily alone of her cousins embraced her. ‘You must tell me all the news, I will miss your good sense, cousin. Give Fitzwilliam and Lizzy all my love.'

Georgiana nodded, a little tearfully. She was a little afraid of what she would find when she returned. Her brother, her home, her life, they would never be the same again. For so long it had only been she and Fitzwilliam; now that he had Miss Bennet, would he even want her at all? Would she be only a weight and a duty, thirty thousand pounds to be married to the best man who would have her?

No. Fitzwilliam would never think like that. But she was frightened that he would be changed. He had been so different, all this year, since Ramsgate. Of course he couldn't trust her any more, but more than anything she wanted things to be like they used to be. She wanted him to be like he used to be. But of course, nothing was going to be like that again.

‘Goodbye, sir.' She heard her own voice, her gloved hand extending to her uncle, who gravely shook it. ‘Thank you for your generosity in offering your hospitality for such a short stay.'

‘It was nothing, my dear, not for family,' he said. ‘I hope you will be a credit to your brother -- and your sister, of course.'

‘As do I,' she said nervously.

‘Mrs Annesley? Miss Darcy is ready.' He handed both women into the coach. Georgiana shivered and her companion fussed over her wraps, and then they began the journey to Pemberley.

Georgiana stepped out of the carriage, snow crunching beneath her boots. She smiled to herself as she looked at her home; she always felt more at peace here.

The servants fussed over her. Miss Darcy should not travel so much in this weather, and Miss Darcy should have a better escort (what was his lordship thinking?), and Miss Darcy must be cold and exhausted. Georgiana almost laughed-- but there was no burden to being Miss Darcy to them. She was never more at ease than here, where she knew exactly what her place was and exactly what everyone thought of her.

‘Mrs Reynolds, are you -- Georgiana?'

‘Fitzwilliam!' Her face lit up as she saw her brother, standing alone. It could have been any of her homecomings, and she artlessly hurried towards him, holding out her hands. ‘I am so pleased to be home, brother,' she said, taking his arm.

‘Was it that dreadful?'

‘Oh no! My family is always very kind and generous, but . . .' She looked down. ‘It is not the same.'

‘No, it is not -- nowhere is.'

‘Yes, exactly,' she said fervently, and he laughed, as she had scarcely heard him laugh since Ramsgate. For that alone she was fully prepared to love Miss Bennet-- no, Mrs Darcy. Besides, if Fitzwilliam had admired her enough to marry her then she must be remarkable. She had seemed so nice last summer, and then the few times they had met before the wedding, as charming and amiable as he had said she was -- of course -- though Georgiana was not certain what to think of so much vivacity. At school they always said young ladies should be demure and sedate, and that reading too much, especially masculine things, could make one barren.

Of course, when she told Fitzwilliam all the things the teachers were saying, and how unhappy she was, he had taken her out immediately, so he didn't approve, so it couldn't possibly be true. But her family said --

‘Elizabeth is eager to see you again,' Fitzwilliam said. Georgiana smiled bravely.

‘And I to see her.' She had been so kind before, but things were different now. Perhaps she just wanted Fitzwilliam and would convince him to send her back to school. Georgiana's hands went clammy at the thought. They always said that men in love did anything their wives asked (allowing that their wives were the women they were in love with). She found it difficult to imagine Fitzwilliam being so complaisant, but love changed things, everybody said so, and everybody at Houghton had said it was more important to be on Mrs Darcy's good side than her brother's. Maybe she didn't want an awkward gangly girl about, especially once they had children.

That calmed her. There would be children, her own nephews and nieces. Georgiana smiled at the thought. That would be nice, and she could be useful then, not simply a burden on her brother. She had always had a hand with children, even Diana (who almost never praised anyone) said so.

‘Like your brother,' said her uncle fondly. Georgiana was not entirely sure what it was about her brother that inspired such devotion, especially in gay, lively people, and children, people usually nothing like him. But the thought of being like that herself warmed her.

She would make them proud of her.

Somehow.

Her fears seemed foolish and unreasonable as soon as soon as she set eyes on her new sister. Mrs Darcy hurried towards her, affectionately kissing Georgiana's cheek. She hardly knew what to think at such an effusion.

‘My dear Georgiana, you must be exhausted. I can hardly believe you managed the journey in such a short time.'

‘I -- I wished to be home,' said Georgiana falteringly, looking for reassurance at her brother. He smiled and gently clasped her hand before returning to his wife's side.

‘Of course you did,' Mrs Darcy replied. ‘I have longed to be here for months and I never set eyes on it before last summer -- I can hardly imagine how it is for you. And I am sure Houghton must be rather -- cold.' Her eyes danced and Georgiana knew exactly what was meant.

‘I -- yes, a little.' Georgiana looked down at her traveling clothes. ‘I had better change, forgive me --'

‘You need not stand on ceremony with us,' Mrs Darcy assured her. ‘Do not hurry, we can occupy for ourselves as long as you need.' She slanted a rather odd look at Fitzwilliam. He cleared his throat.

‘Are you very tired, Georgiana? You may go straight to bed if you like, there would not be the slightest objection.'

Georgiana could think of nothing she would prefer. ‘You do not mind, truly?'

‘Of course not,' Mrs Darcy said warmly.

‘It has been enough of a pleasure to see you here safe,' Fitzwilliam added, and she gave a quiet sigh of relief, kissing them back. She looked back once; her brother held one of Mrs Darcy's hands on his arm, his dark head bent over hers as they talked softly together. They looked striking, handsome, and happy together; Georgiana smiled to herself and hummed a little as her maid helped her undress.

‘'Tis very nice to have you back home, Miss Darcy,' Kate blurted out, flushing at her own impudence. Georgiana stilled, startled but by no means displeased.

‘It is very nice to be home,' she said.

Chapter Two

Posted on Saturday, 25 November 2006

Georgiana could hear her brother and sister-in-law's voices as she stepped downstairs. She paused in the hall.

‘I cannot reconcile it,' Fitzwilliam was saying.

‘There is nothing to reconcile. You believed you were doing right; and when you ceased to believe yourself right, you ceased doing it. It is quite humbling, I assure you. I shall become a languid insipid wife who breathlessly and adoringly hangs on your every word if you are not careful to check your goodness.'

Georgiana took a deep breath and walked into the room, hesitating. A dependent sister was quite different from mistress of the household, no matter how ineptly she had fulfilled her duties; she did not know where to sit.

‘Good morning, dear.'

‘Please, sit down,' Mrs Darcy said graciously, gesturing at the place to Fitzwilliam's left. She herself was not in the mistress' seat at the foot, but at Fitzwilliam's right hand. Of course there were only the three of them, they might as well. ‘Have you had the opportunity to practise on the beautiful pianoforte I saw last summer?'

Georgiana instantly brightened. ‘Oh yes. I have never heard a finer one, it sounds so beautiful.'

‘Nothing is too good for you,' said Fitzwilliam. ‘Could you pass the marmalade?'

‘Your brother,' said Mrs Darcy, ‘is determined to spoil everyone in his life, I think.'

Georgiana shot a quick, nervous look at her brother, but he did not look remotely discomposed. ‘I seem to have failed then,' he said in a tone that could only be called amiable, and Georgiana blushed.

‘I -- I understand you play, Mrs Darcy? I hope you will allow us the pleasure of hearing you,' she said.

‘Whether it is a pleasure I will leave to you to decide,' her sister-in-law said merrily. ‘But did you not promise to use my name? I shall hold you to it, you will see.'

‘Oh! I am dreadfully sorry,' Georgiana cried, blushing furiously. ‘Please forgive me.'

Mrs Darcy laughed. ‘I was only teasing you a little, Georgiana. You may call me whatever you wish, though I would prefer Elizabeth.'

‘Then Elizabeth it shall be,' Georgiana said, with as decided a tone as she dared.

‘I hope you left your uncle in good health?'

‘Oh yes, he always enjoys excellent health-- oh! I forgot, there is a letter for you, Fitzwilliam.'

He smiled at her, then told Mrs Darcy, ‘You will discover soon enough, my dear, that you have for family two of the most absent minded people in the world; is it not so, Georgiana?'

‘Yes,' she said ruefully, ‘I am terribly forgetful, I have to everything organised just so or I can never find anything.'

Mrs Darcy chuckled. ‘Now I know why are you so particular, dearest. Georgiana, your brother is constantly tidying up after me. Well, since there is a good reason, I shall permit you to continue.'

Georgiana's good breeding was just sufficient to keep her from staring. When had anybody permitted Fitzwilliam to do anything? Even Father--

Mrs Darcy was everything lovely and amiable, Georgiana decided, but a very strange creature by way of a wife.

‘The letter is from Milton,' she said awkwardly. Fitzwilliam's expression instantly closed. As a child she had disliked that look; now she knew better than to think he was necessarily displeased with her. She knew exactly whom he was really displeased with.

Georgiana remembered the whispered tales at school, and how Miss Grantley's brothers went off drinking and gambling and visiting Ladies of the Night, and above all poor Laura, and couldn't help agreeing with him.

‘Forgive us for not calling sooner,' Lady Cardwell said briskly. ‘Lord Cardwell was indisposed.'

Georgiana glanced at the unprepossessing baron. She rather thought that his indisposition had not entirely passed.

‘Of course,' Mrs Darcy replied, with the half-smile that Georgiana had seen a great deal of in the last few days, though only in front of others -- it was as if she could not keep her good humour entirely at bay, but her basic politeness restrained it somewhat. ‘I hope your health is improved, sir.'

Lord Cardwell grunted. ‘Tolerably.'

She looked at Fitzwilliam, her eyes dancing, and her smile widened a little before she returned her attention to the Cardwells. Georgiana was astonished to see her brother blush.

‘Ah -- is Mr Cardwell in town for the winter?' Fitzwilliam asked.

‘He was expected last week,' Lady Cardwell replied. ‘Now he says he should be here by Christmas. He is in Scotland; apparently the weather is something terrible there. I am quite vexed.'

Georgiana looked wistfully out the window. Her brother had said it would be a cold winter, and of course, he was right. The flakes were falling more heavily than she remembered ever before,-- she had only been here over the summer for years, of course, but even as a young girl, when she would sometimes sneak out with Fitzwilliam to play in the snow, it had never been like this. The Cardwells were their closest neighbours, but she could scarcely believe even they had dared the journey. How much colder would it be so far to the north?

‘-- with Miss Darcy.'

Georgiana started, glancing fearfully from one to another. She was a little easier with the Cardwells, whom she had known all her life, but even with them she hated hearing her name, the prospect of the smallest attention.

‘I had not thought to attend,' Fitzwilliam began. ‘The weather is so inclement -- '

‘Nonsense. The worst shall be past by then, I am sure of it -- the ball would have been postponed otherwise, I am certain.'

‘Oh, I do hope we will be able to go,' Elizabeth said, her eyes alight. ‘My uncle and aunt are expected by then -- on Saturday -- so it would be very pleasant for all of us.'

‘If we do,' Fitzwilliam said,‘Mr Cardwell, of course, may ask Miss Darcy's hand, as may any gentleman in attendance.'

Georgiana swallowed.

‘I hope you will do my son the honour, Miss Darcy,' said Lady Cardwell, ‘he is very much looking forward to seeing you again.'

Georgiana dropped her eyes, her fingers plucking at her skirt. ‘I, er, I hope to, to, I hope his journey is pleasant and safe.' She looked fearfully at her brother, who moved to the back of her chair and set his hand on her shoulder. It was only a light weight, but she knew how strong he was and she felt reassured. Fitzwilliam would not let anyone take advantage of her. He had rescued her from That Man, after all. No matter how idle and vain and ignorant she was, he would always take care of her.

And Mrs Darcy . . . she was so brilliant and witty and sparkling that she could not be much interested in a tediously dull sister-in-law like Georgiana, but for Fitzwilliam's sake she would do her best to look after her. Georgiana smiled, much relieved.

‘Mrs Darcy,' declared Lady Cardwell, ‘the announcement of your marriage took me quite by surprise. We had not a word of it. Where are your people from?'

Georgiana would have fled, or burst into tears, under such scrutiny; Mrs Darcy said without hesitation, ‘Hertfordshire, ma'am.'

‘And your home, what is it called?'

Was that a twitch in her jaw? ‘Longbourn.'

‘Never heard of it,' muttered Lord Cardwell.

‘I would be very surprised if you had.'

Lady Cardwell's chins wobbled as she almost gaped at Mrs Darcy. ‘Bennet, Bennet. I am certain I know the name. Ah! The Earls of Arlington, of course -- '

‘I regret to inform your ladyship that there is no connection whatsoever.'

‘No connection? Then who are you?'

Even Georgiana could see the mischief gleaming in her sister's dark eyes. ‘I assure you that I am entirely without grand connections, and before my marriage, I was in all respects a person of little significance in the world.'

‘How very singular,' pronounced Lady Cardwell, with a doubtful look at Mrs Darcy. Then her eyes widened in horror. ‘Your father is a gentleman, at the very least?'

‘Yes.'

She heaved an expansive sigh of relief. ‘That is something. Well-- ' she raised her lorgnette -- ‘you seem a pleasant, prettyish sort of girl. I daresay you, sir, are no more of a fool than you have ever been.'

Mrs Darcy said graciously, ‘Thank you, ma'am.' Fitzwilliam's hand, which had tightened painfully on Georgiana's shoulder, relaxed a little.

‘I am very pleased you think so,' he said.

Georgiana was deeply relieved when they were gone. Mrs Darcy instantly began laughing. ‘Oh! I was sure I could not keep my countenance. Has she always been so impertinent?'

Georgiana nodded fervently.

‘Yes, without a doubt.' Fitzwilliam stepped away from Georgiana's side and she smiled affectionately at him. He might be in love, and some people said he was a fool for love, but that was nonsense; he could not be foolish if his life depended on it, and he was as kind and careful a guardian as he had ever been. ‘My mother could scarcely tolerate her, but always just managed it. She is too influential to simply disregard as one might others of her type-- and still worse, a connection of ours.'

‘Oh? Perhaps she is not quite so bad as I thought.' Mrs Darcy's eyes crinkled up. ‘And I was so certain I had finally sorted out your family.'

‘Impossible,' said Fitzwilliam, actually laughing. That was twice in less than a week! ‘I have not yet managed it myself. We are all interrelated somehow, I am certain of it.'

‘You do not know?' She looked startled.

‘She's Laura's mother,' Georgiana blurted out, then flushed and looked at her hands.

‘Laura?'

‘Laura married James-- the clergyman, he was at the wedding.'

‘Oh! Sophia's father.'

Georgiana felt a wave of misery wash over her, though she loved Sophia as dearly as any of the children.

‘Laura was Sophia's mother, at any rate,' Fitzwilliam said, with a rather forbidding edge to his voice. Mrs Darcy's brows rose, but she smoothly changed the subject.

Chapter Three

Posted on Tuesday, 28 November 2006

Of course thinking about Laura made her think about Wickham, and that made her think about all the silly, wrong-headed, abhorrently adolescent things she had thought and said and done. She was sure she would never pick up another novel as long as she lived, she would never have been so fooled if she had not lived on a steady diet of novels all those horrible years at school.

When Fitzwilliam left on some business, Georgiana was terrified that her sister would ask about Laura, but she didn't.

‘Come, Georgiana,' she said, with a merry smile. ‘We are sisters and we have hardly spoken five words together.'

Timidly, Georgiana accepted her arm, and they walked. She could not think of anything to say, but fortunately the silence was soon broken.

‘My uncle and aunt could never settle on an age for the house, but of course, you would know.'

It was the easiest subject in the world to speak on. Georgiana forgot her shyness in the flush of pride. ‘Oh, it is rather complicated. It was originally a fortified manor. Family legend goes that our ancestor, Sir Alain d'Arcy, was a brave knight who fought at the Battle of Hastings and saved the Conqueror's life. He was given most of the property and the manor, though it was in shambles by then -- there is something about a fire -- and it wasn't properly finished until the 1100s, by his great-great-grandson, I think. Of course, that's only part of Pemberley today, -- though I know the chapel dates from then. The banqueting hall was added in the fourteenth century, if I remember correctly. The Long Gallery, where all the portraits are, is of course Elizabethan,-- so is the northwest tower. And -- oh.' She remembered herself. ‘I hope I am not boring you. I can get very dull when I talk about family history.'

‘My dear Georgiana, Pemberley is my home now; your family is mine. Nothing could interest me more -- except your brother, and on that subject I can get unbearably tedious, so let us return to Pemberley. The chapel is really that old?'

‘Ye-es, though I think the extra wing was added later.' Georgiana gathered her courage. ‘We don't use it any more, it's too small, but I could show you, if you'd like. Nobody has been there for years but I know where it is.'

Mrs Darcy's face lit up. ‘I should love to see it. Is it really over six hundred years old?' She looked like a child with a new toy, and Georgiana could scarcely keep herself from smiling.

‘Come, I'll take you there, and you can see for yourself.'

The ancient chapel was cluttered with paintings, furniture, and even statues. Nearly everything was covered in a layer of dust. Mrs Darcy sneezed.

‘You were quite right that nobody has been here,' she said, with a rueful smile. ‘What a beautiful glass.' She carefully wound her way through the room to look at it more closely. ‘Oh, look at these books!'

‘Books?' Georgiana glanced at them. ‘Why, Fitzwilliam must not know these are here. He is so scrupulous about his library.'

‘Anyone includes even Fitzwilliam, he must not have been here either,' said Mrs Darcy with a smile. ‘Why are these portraits not in the gallery?'

‘They are probably not very good,' Georgiana said. ‘Or perhaps they are safer here, if they are very old. I think there's a tapestry-- there it is, do you see it?'

Mrs Darcy glanced up at it, looking disappointed. ‘It isn't very bright, is it?'

‘Yes,' Georgiana said excitedly, ‘it's supposed to be hundreds and hundreds of years old. I daren't even touch it.'

‘I almost wonder how you live with all of this,' her sister-in-law said. Georgiana blinked. ‘The weight of -- of knowing all that has gone before, of being responsible for it.'

‘Well, that's mostly Fitzwilliam. But it's-- well, I always think it's rather wonderful.' She bit her lip. She liked Elizabeth, she really did, but she was practically a stranger and it was impossible to be entirely at ease.

‘Oh, there's that too. Might I look at the paintings?'

Georgiana blinked. Was Mrs Darcy-- the mistress of Pemberley -- asking her permission? ‘They're as much yours as mine,' she said awkwardly.

She stood a little aside as Mrs Darcy exclaimed over the various paintings, then tilted her head as she heard a peculiar noise. Leaving her sister to her raptures, she followed the soft mewing, until she ended up near one of the pews.

‘Oh!' It was a cat, or rather a kitten, black and scrawny, almost emaciated. Georgiana promptly forgot all else and knelt on the dusty floor, gently picking it up in her hands. It tried to defend itself, but only managed a limp bite. Georgiana, scarcely knowing what to do, patted its head until it calmed. ‘Elizabeth!'

Her sister didn't say anything. She was standing motionless in front of one of the portraits, her look very un-Elizabeth-like, even given Georgiana's short acquaintance with her.

‘Elizabeth, is something wrong?'

Georgiana herself froze in place when her eyes went to the portrait. It was not poorly executed, and it was not old.

‘Why, that is my mother!' she cried.

Indeed it was-- though a mother older and wearier than in any image Georgiana had ever seen of her. A dark haired boy stood behind her, and though she had never seen any representation of her brother as a child, and of course could not remember him as such, she knew it must be him.

‘I thought all the other paintings had been destroyed, Fitzwilliam said -- '

‘He must not know-- nor your mother's family.' She turned, her eyes resting on the pitiful creature in Georgiana's hand. ‘Why-- did you find that here?'

‘Yes, under one of the pews. He looks so hungry-- do you think there is anything we can do for him? I'm sure it isn't proper but I don't think Fitzwilliam will be angry-- '

‘Oh!' Mrs Darcy laughed, ‘he won't be, I assure you.'

Georgiana was trembling as she, Mrs Darcy, and the kitten stood outside the study. There had always been a clear division in her mind between Fitzwilliam, the protective elder brother she loved and trusted, and the stern, forbidding Master of Pemberley, whom she held in such awe as to almost overcome her affection. She had rarely dared intrude upon him here, not when he was occupied with important estate business, though he was never cross on the few times that she had interrupted him. But he was never cross at all so that hardly signified.

She held the kitten protectively in her hand; it whimpered a little. She had long strong hands, but even so it was terribly distressing to see him fit in her palm.

‘Come in,' said Fitzwilliam. Georgiana's head snapped up and she kept her fingers curled steadily around the cat as they entered the room, her brother glancing up at them. ‘Excuse me, Fairfax.' He set his pen down and joined the two women. ‘Is something wrong?'

Georgiana bit her lip. Mrs Darcy said, without the slightest trace of anxiety,

‘In a manner of speaking. There is this little difficulty we require your advice on.'

Fitzwilliam's eyes dropped to Georgiana's hand. Astonishingly, he smiled for a moment, catching his wife's eye briefly. ‘I see. You found this pathetic creature, Georgiana?'

‘Yes, sir.' She gathered her courage. ‘We were in the chapel because Elizabeth wanted to see it and when she was looking at the portrait I heard it and went over and it was under the pew all alone.' She blushed, feeling like a very small, heedless child.

‘I see. Well, what do you intend to do?'

‘I -- I beg your pardon, sir?' She stared at him a moment. ‘I -- I do not know. I had to take him out of the chapel. He might have died.'

‘And he -- it -- might very well still do so,' he said coolly. ‘Carrying it about will not provide the poor thing any nourishment.'

Mrs Darcy frowned at him. He kept his eyes on his sister. ‘It must eat, then,' Georgiana said, and bravely added, ‘what do I do, brother?'

‘We had better go to the kitchens. Fairfax, I should return in an half-hour.' He opened the door. ‘Ladies?'

Georgiana offered him a shy smile, Mrs Darcy an arch look, and they proceeded out.

‘Buttermilk,' Fitzwilliam said decidedly.

‘Sir?' The housekeeper stared at him.

‘We need buttermilk and some rags.'

She blinked. ‘Yes, sir -- '

‘And have the house searched for a cat with kittens.'

She hesitated only a moment. ‘Yes, sir,' she said, and bustled off.

Elizabeth was smiling, her look both fond and amused. Georgiana gazed at her brother. ‘What are you going to do?'

‘The question should be what you are going to do, Georgiana,' he told her. ‘I did not find this creature; you have taken on its care, you are responsible for it.'

His tone was very stern, but when she dared to meet his eyes, she saw that they were a little crinkled at the corners. ‘You do not mind?' she asked.

His mouth twitched. ‘Of course not.' More gravely, he added, ‘I will never disapprove of an act of kindness, my dear, provided you consider the ramifications and carry it through to the end. Never leave such an endeavour half-done, however; it is better to do nothing at all than to raise hopes and then dash them, particularly when the recipient of such kindness has no other dependence than on your good will.'

‘Yes, sir.' She looked at the kitten soberly, then up at her brother. ‘What am I going to do, then?'

‘It is too young to eat proper food, even if it had not been half starved. It needs a mother's milk.'

‘Oh! Now I understand.' She chewed her lip. ‘How do I . . . oh, Mrs Reynolds.'

The housekeeper seemed rather less bewildered than before. ‘I'm afraid the mother and others are dead, sir,' she said, looking fixedly at the small black kitten. ‘You! John. Put that right here,-- right there, in front of Miss Darcy.'

‘Thank you, Reynolds,' Fitzwilliam said firmly. ‘That will be all.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Before she quite knew what had happened, Georgiana was dipping the rag into the milk, and trying to squeeze it into the kitten's mouth. Most dribbled out. Fitzwilliam held the kitten in his hand, as her own was trembling so violently that it did no good at all.

‘Like so -- do you see now?' he asked.

‘Yes, I think so.' Carefully, she rubbed the throat as he had done. ‘He swallowed! Did you see that? Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth, did you see?'

They smiled. Georgiana glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth, who stood a little away, watching them with the softest expression she had ever seen on her sister-in-law's face animated face. ‘Do you wish to -- ' she said awkwardly.

‘Oh no,' she said with a laugh. ‘I have no hand with animals; besides, you two make such a charming picture, I should rather admire than intrude.'

Georgiana blushed fiercely, her brother only a little less so. ‘It would be no intrusion,' she whispered, before returning to the kitten. After a few minutes of silence, Fitzwilliam's hand and both of hers sticky with spilt milk, he said,

‘That should be enough. H-- It cannot take very much at present.'

The small black creature, looking distinctly less unhappy, settled in Georgiana's hand with a soft contented purr. She smiled, enchanted. ‘Where shall we put him?'

Fitzwilliam sent for a basket and more rags. ‘That should be sufficient at present.'

‘But if he is not with me, I might not hear him when he gets hungry!'

‘You would not hear it anyway,' he said practically. ‘You sleep like the dead, Georgiana.'

This was true enough. She sighed and nodded.

‘You will take care of him?' she asked Mrs Reynolds anxiously.

‘Of course, miss. Don't you fret.'

Chapter Four

Posted on Friday, 1 December 2006

Georgiana could only stand very still amid the flurry of embraces, laughter, smiles, and chatter as her brother and sister acknowledged the Gardiners with all the enthusiasm their respective dispositions allowed. Even her shyness and reserve, however, could not stand against the unaffected warmth of Mrs Darcy's family. They were everything she could ever have wished in her own relations, with all of the warmth and none of the discord of the Bennets. Mr Gardiner was a merry, charming man, perhaps Milton's age, or a little older; despite his youth and black curls he reminded her of her father. Mrs Gardiner was just as agreeable, but much less gregarious; she was quiet, sensible, and yet there was something almost commanding underlying her sweetness of manner.

She also looked very fashionable; although slender, she was tall, and her heavy dark hair was worn in a beautiful arrangement Georgiana had never seen amidst the assorted turbans and feathers of her usual acquaintance. She surreptitiously eyed the older woman; her own hair was almost exactly like Mrs Gardiner's, and if she told Kate --

‘Good afternoon, Miss Darcy!' a small Gardiner said cheerfully. Georgiana, determined to be as amiable as she was capable of, knelt so as not to dwarf the girl.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Amelia,' she replied.

‘Is it always so pretty here?' Amelia stood on tiptoe. ‘I have never seen anything like it in my whole life.'

‘Nor I,' Georgiana confessed with a smile. ‘It is always beautiful here.'

‘My mama has been talking and talking about how wonderful it is here, especially in the winter. I have never seen so much snow anywhere. Does it always snow this much here? It took us hours and hours more to get here because of it. I do not know how anybody gets around.'

She laughed. ‘There is almost never this much; and it is only for a few weeks out of the year.'

‘Well, Mama wanted to take the feetun, but I think it is too cold to go outside. Papa is worried about her con-dish-en. That means I am going to have a brother or sister.'

‘I see.'

‘Are you going to have a brother or sister?'

‘No. My parents are dead.'

Amelia clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes turning enormous. ‘Oh, I am so so sorry Miss Darcy. I would rather anything than not have my mama and papa.'

When her father died, Georgiana wept tears of relief. It had been two and a half long years of excruciating illness for George Darcy. She had loved him dearly, certain that she felt all of his pain as her own. Yet, to this day, there were sudden sharp moments when she would give anything to hear his booming laughter or see his green eyes dance at some secret jest between the two of them, to simply enjoy their easy camaraderie.

Six years. Georgiana's eyes stung. Then she deliberately turned to Amelia with a warm smile. ‘Do not fret, Miss Amelia; they died a long time ago.'

‘Is that why your brother brought you up? I heard my mama say that he did, and I wondered why your papa didn't.'

She had not thought of her childhood in a long time; not since after Ramsgate, when she felt as if the gay innocence of that time had been stripped away, and every happy memory was tainted by him. She remembered playing with her father, Mr Darcy swinging her up on his broad shoulders as she screamed with laughter. She remembered running to her father with frogs and bows, beaming as he pronounced every accomplishment the most splendid thing she had ever seen. She also remembered that when she tumbled down the stairs, when she awoke from her childish nightmares, when she fell off her pony, she sought her brother. Her father would laugh her out of her fears, her brother would rescue her from them. Between the two of them, all was right with her world.

‘Miss Darcy?'

‘Oh! I beg your pardon,' she said, looking down at the girl.

‘You were lost,' said Amelia knowledgeably. ‘That's what my papa says my mama does when she is thinking.'

‘Yes, I'm afraid so.'

‘Are you going to be married? I love people getting married. It is great fun and I get to be pretty, and Margaret too, and there is lots of food. My aunt Bennet is very strange but it's always nice to eat at Longbourn.'

‘No, I am afraid not-- not yet, at any rate. I am far too young for that,' Georgiana said.

‘How old are you?'

‘Sixteen.'

‘That is ten years older than me.' Amelia chewed her lip. ‘But my cousin Lydia was married this year and she was just sixteen in June. Were you sixteen in June?'

Georgiana caught her breath. Lydia Wickham, a person she had never set eyes on, was a constant reminder of her own folly, and of how close she had come to such a dreadful fate. ‘Ye -- yes,' she stammered, disturbed at the trivial detail. ‘Yes, I was.'

‘My birthday is in June too!' She clapped her hands. ‘And that is not so far away. How many months? One--two--three-- '

‘Six,' Georgiana said with a smile.

‘I shall be seven. So I will only be one year younger than Margaret for a little while. Maaar-gret!'

‘Amelia!' The elder Miss Gardiner looked shocked. ‘This is Pemberley. You can't shout here.'

‘Miss Darcy's birthday is in June too. Isn't that nice?'

Margaret blinked over at her; Georgiana rose to her feet, wincing as her muscles cramped.

‘My mama says you are the same age as cousin Lydia,' she remarked, ‘but you look older. You look as old as cousin Lizzy, and she is one and twenty.'

It was impossible not to be pleased, even if she felt her want of experience and maturity at every turn. ‘Thank you.'

‘Georgiana!' Mrs Darcy, her face still alight with laughter, firmly took her by the arm. ‘Margaret, Amelia, you may not have her all to yourselves. Aunt-- uncle Gardiner-- you know my sister Miss Darcy of course.'

‘My dear Miss Darcy.' Mrs Gardiner kissed her cheek, Mr Gardiner shook her hand warmly. She scarcely knew what to do or say, murmuring a soft greeting.

‘I hope we are no imposition on your family party; you cannot have been home very long, Miss Darcy?' Mrs Gardiner inquired.

‘Only five days; but it is not an imposition, ma'am, not with family.' She felt a tugging at her skirts and looked down, surprised.

‘Up,' said John, the youngest of the family, though it was clear from Mrs Gardiner's appearance that he would not carry that distinction for long. He held up his arms.

She hesitated a moment before lifting him up. ‘Miz Dazzly,' he pronounced.

This tiny child, perhaps three or four years old, had remembered her. She laughed shakily as he tugged at one of the curls around her face. Then, utterly without warning, he lay his head on his shoulder and fell asleep.

‘It has been a very long journey,' Mrs Gardiner said apologetically. ‘It's just nerves keeping them going now.'

‘Oh, it must have been quite arduous; I hope it was not too difficult?' Georgiana asked, tentatively brushing some of the boy's hair out of his eyes. ‘Winters here can be -- oh, but you would know. You are one of us.'

Mrs Gardiner smiled one of the loveliest smiles she had ever seen, gracefully seating herself at Mrs Darcy's invitation. Georgiana joined her. ‘Yes, I have missed them. Winter in the south is very -- piano, though I would rather have my husband and children with me anywhere, than an hundred wild Derbyshire Christmases.'

Georgiana looked at them, Amelia chattering at Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth laughing gaily with Edward, while Margaret contentedly rested against her father.

‘If I had a family like yours, I should never want to be separated from them, not ever.' She heard her own voice, as through a fine silver mist, and coloured. ‘I beg your pardon -- I did not mean-- '

Mrs Gardiner patted her hand. ‘I shall tell you something, my dear, and I hope you do not think me terribly impertinent.' She paused, and Georgiana's brow furrowed.

‘Of course not, Mrs Gardiner.'

‘When we became acquainted with your brother in town, I thought the way he spoke of you was quite the most charming thing I had ever heard from such a man.'

She sat up straight. ‘Fitzwilliam talked of me -- to you?'

Mrs Gardiner's lips twitched. ‘I suspect he talks of you to his entire acquaintance. He is as proud of you as any father could be.'

‘Proud of me?' she echoed, feeling stupid and dull, but scarcely able to credit it. Fondness was one thing; she had always depended on his affectionate concern. Pride, though-- that was something altogether different. She had never, never imagined such a thing; never imagined how he could not feel her a burden and a duty, when he had given up his youth to be a proper guardian to her. And after what she had done at Ramsgate! what a trial she must be-- she was certain of it. ‘He said he was proud of me?'

‘Among many other things, yes.' Mrs Gardiner smiled at her astounded expression. ‘You need not doubt your brother's good opinion, Miss Darcy. You, too, are fortunate in your family; I might envy you yours, were I less happy in my life. I have no brothers or sisters, you see, and my parents died when I was too small to remember them; I always wanted a brother.'

Georgiana's head was spinning. She briefly rested her flaming cheek against John Gardiner's dark head. ‘My brother is the dearest person in the world to me. Thank you, ma'am; you cannot know what it means to know that perhaps he thinks well of me sometimes.'

‘Squeeze gently, Margaret,' said Georgiana.

She watched, smiling gently as the girl bent her dark head with a frown of concentration, painstakingly wringing a few drops of buttermilk into the kitten's throat. Today he swallowed of his own accord, purring when she permitted Amelia and Edward to pet his untidy black fur, curling up into a contented ball on her palm. It was easy to be calm and steady with the children.

‘Did I do it well?' Margaret asked, glancing up at Georgiana.

‘Yes, perfectly; he is only very tired. I am sure he would stay awake if he could, he is a vain creature and enjoys the attention.'

‘What is his name?'

‘Cat, at present,' Georgiana said with a laugh, ‘until I think up something fitting for him. Now we need to wash our hands -- it wouldn't do to have sticky fingers on Christmas Eve.'

Amelia clapped her hands. ‘I can't wait to see Mama's face,' she confided. ‘We got her a book. A very old book. Mama loves books. Papa bought it but we gave him our allowances, we all did, so really we got it for her. Papa says that Mama would fill the house with books if he let her, and she says he would fill the house with beggars.'

‘He would too,' Margaret added. After they washed their hands, Amelia said,

‘What are we to do now, Miss Darcy? Mama says we must mind you and behave very, very well. And Papa said that we might have very nice presents this evening if we are very good.' She smiled angelically.

Georgiana was briefly at a loss. It was still early, not yet noon, and all she could remember of her childish preferences was that she had disliked being laughed at.

‘I want to see the pictures,' Margaret said. ‘I like pretty things and Mama said Mr Darcy has some of the finest art she's ever seen.'

Edward wrinkled his nose. ‘Silly art, I want to play in the snow.' He threw a longing look out at the white courtyards.

‘They're pictures, not those odd people without eyes?'

Georgiana stifled a smile. ‘They are almost all paintings,' she assured Amelia gravely. ‘Edward, your mother said it is too cold to go outside for very long.'

He stuck his lower lip out. She was enough acquainted with children to recognise the danger.

‘So -- ' she consulted her watch -- ‘we will go to the gallery, and then go outside for a quarter-hour.'

He brightened. ‘That's-- ten-- no -- '

‘Fifteen minutes.'

The children, even Edward, were constantly twisting around to look at something new. Georgiana, who had always loved her home above any other place in the world, was enchanted anew; she discovered all the familiar, beloved sights through new eyes. The treasures, great and small, accumulated over the centuries, were all things of wonder, even as Margaret stood on tiptoe as they entered the gallery.

Georgiana was certain they would be bored within minutes, but they were shockingly well behaved children, and they were largely content for a very agreeable half-hour, though she kept a sharp eye on Edward. Margaret was particularly fascinated by the gallery.

‘Oh!' she cried, blinking from painting to painting. ‘Oh, Miss Darcy, tell me about him.'

The others chimed in, ‘What is that ugly thing around his neck?'

‘Why aren't there any boys there?'

‘Oh, that is Sir John Darcy and his family. He tried to put Mary, Queen of Scots on the throne and was locked away for the rest of his life. And, Master Edward, the two at the bottom, with the dog, are boys.'

‘They don't look like boys.' He examined it. ‘Why wasn't his head chopped off?' he demanded, disappointed.

Georgiana coloured. She could hardly tell this group of innocents that family legend had it he was a lover of Queen Elizabeth's, though even that would not have spared him had he not had such a minor role in the conspiracy.

‘Nobody knows for sure,' she said.

‘That's a pretty dress,' Amelia said, pointing to another. ‘Who is that?'

‘My great-aunt Fanny, Lady Alston.'

‘Did she always have that thing on her dress? I would trip over it all the time.'

‘I never knew her, I daresay she managed it well enough.'

‘I thought your great-aunt was Lady Darcy,' Margaret piped up.

Georgiana smiled. ‘This is another great-aunt. Lady Darcy is much younger than Lady Alston was.'

‘Is she here?'

Georgiana pointed to a painting a few places to the right.

‘She doesn't look like Lady Darcy,' Amelia said doubtfully.

‘This was quite awhile ago, you understand.' Georgiana was seized by a mischievous impulse for the first time in, quite literally, years. ‘People change -- why, look at that little girl.'

They obediently stared.

‘She looks normal' was Edward's judgment.

‘I think she looks nice.'

‘She was drawing, look.' Margaret pointed, mildly interested.

‘Her hair is the same colour as mine,' Amelia said triumphantly. ‘Is it Mama?'

‘Mama would not have a picture here, silly.'

‘Why not? She lived here!'

‘She lived in the village. She was just the doctor's niece.'

‘There's nothing wrong with that!'

Margaret gave a long suffering sigh. ‘I didn't say there was.'

Georgiana cleared her throat. The sisters instantly silenced.

‘Who is she, Miss Darcy?' Margaret asked more quietly. ‘It can't have been very long ago. There isn't all those odd veils and things.'

‘She was I.'

‘No!' Amelia's mouth dropped open. ‘How old were you?'

‘Eight.'

‘My age!' Margaret crowed. ‘You don't look the same at all, Miss Darcy.'

Georgiana had not wished to see this for a long time. It had been taken just after her father had first fallen ill, and everyone had thought he would die. She had nothing to do, was constantly underfoot, and until her brother and-- until her brother was sent for, she was terribly unhappy. She remembered drawing and drawing, unable to take any pleasure from singing or playing. She vaguely remembered the painter, a slim reedy man whom she had disliked, because he made her sit still when she felt almost wild.

Yet that was past, eight years past-- ‘I am not the same,' she said, then shook herself out of it. ‘Wilcox!' she said to one of the upper maids. ‘We need warm clothes for the children, and mine also.'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

The maid bustled off, and Georgiana deliberately turned away from herself.

‘You should get another,' Amelia told her. ‘So people know what you really look like.'

‘Perhaps, perhaps someday I shall, after Elizabeth does.'

‘Lizzy is going to be here!' she crowed.

‘Is she going to be as gloomy as all the rest?'

Georgiana thought of her merry sister in law. ‘I do not think she could be gloomy if her life depended on it.'

‘Oh look, it's Mr Darcy!' Amelia ran over heedlessly, tripping over the carpet. ‘He doesn't seem very different.'

‘My brother,' said Georgiana, ‘is always the same.'

‘He doesn't look so grim here. He's sort of smiling, a little. How old was he?'

‘Twenty. That was eight years ago, the same as mine. My father wanted to have us painted, before -- before he could not be with us anymore.'

‘He is very handsome,' Margaret said shyly. ‘Is he really so much older than you, Miss Darcy?'

‘Twelve years. Oh, there you are.' She instantly relieved the puffing maid of her burdens. ‘Edward, this must be yours-- and Amelia-- ' she shrugged into her own -- ‘Margaret.'

‘Can we go now?' Edward demanded, suddenly impatient. ‘I'm ready, Miss Darcy, see -- '

‘Your buttons are crooked.' Georgiana knelt down and fixed them, properly wrapped scarves around each head, and led them out to the courtyard.

The nice, well behaved children instantly turned into screaming laughing hellions who pelted each other and Georgiana with snow. At first rather disgruntled, she transformed the blinding chaos into a properly organised game, aiding Margaret against her siblings.

‘Very well, it's been twenty minutes,' she said presently.

‘But Miss Darcy!' Edward protested. ‘We're almost winning!'

‘I was not asking your permission,' she said, sounding for all the world like her aunt Lady Catherine. She laughed at the thought, while the children looked on in bewilderment. ‘Very well, come in, and stamp your feet at the door, get as much of the snow off as you can.'

Chapter Five

Posted on Monday, 4 December 2006

‘Do not gobble it up in one night,' Mrs Gardiner said, with a reproachful look at her son. Georgiana smiled contentedly. All was lit by firelight, the holly and the ivy decorating the portraits, the drawings she had given Mrs Gardiner and Elizabeth, all the faces alight with laughter or pleasure.

‘Say thank you to Miss Darcy,' Mr Gardiner added.

The children chorused, ‘Thank you, Miss Darcy!' Edward nibbled at his sweetmeat.

‘Not any more until morning, Edward,' his mother said. Georgiana bit her lip and looked down. Elizabeth had given her folders of music she longed to play; a new Beethoven sonata she had never seen or heard before, and it would be the first music she would play for the first time on her new pianoforte.

In her lap lay the greatest gift of all, which she did not dare wear but could not stop herself from reverently touching. It was beautiful, the most beautiful thing she owned, and she was certain beyond price. The band of garnets was cold against the tips of her fingers, and every time the reddish pink flash caught her eye, she could not help but stare at the jewels, and then look up at her brother with tears glimmering in her eyes.

‘Should it not go to Elizabeth, brother?' Georgiana had whispered.

‘I want you to have it,' he said, and hardly able to countenance her own daring, she had taken it out of his hand, fascinated by the sensation of the stones slipping through her fingers. ‘It was Grandmother's -- Lady Alexandra's -- not Mother's. I thought it would suit you better than the other jewels.'

Georgiana looked at what seemed hundreds of sparkling stones, then at her brother. He thought it suited her -- that she was worthy of her grandmother's prettiest jewels. There were others more grand, but she didn't like those, she would look ridiculous in them.

Trying not to cry, she said, ‘It is so beautiful, Fitzwilliam . . . I shall feel so pretty in it. I don't have anything like it.'

Something about his face softened, and she could see that he had been -- anxious? Had he thought she might not like it?

Men were very strange creatures. She was suddenly, unreasonably, so happy she could scarcely think. She flung her arms about his neck, as she had when she was a little girl, and kissed his cheek.

Still in a state of high euphoria, the party separated late that night, long after the children had been sent off to bed. Even the prospect of the ball could not affect her mood. She clutched the garnets in one hand and her music in the other, humming a little to herself.

‘Georgiana? May I walk with you?'

She smiled tentatively. ‘Of course, Fitzwilliam.'

For a few moments, brother and sister were silent. ‘I -- we have not had much opportunity to talk, with -- everything,' he said.

‘No,' she said, ‘but the Gardiners are such a delight.'

‘Yes, they are.' He paused. ‘You are happy, Georgiana?'

She lifted up her eyes, astonished. ‘Yes, of course.'

‘Of course?'

She tried to gather her thoughts. It was so much easier to express herself on paper! ‘I was afraid,' she said slowly, ‘that you and Elizabeth, that you would not . . . want me. That there might be school again, or, or -- something.'

‘Georgiana!' He sounded horrified.

‘Or that Elizabeth would not like me, or would only put up with me for your sake, or that I would just be a weight and a burden, a duty.'

‘Georgiana, I . . .' He paused. ‘It is difficult to say. Yet there are things that must be said. It is easier on paper!'

Laughter bubbled out of her throat. ‘I was just thinking that!'

He laughed too, softly. ‘Perhaps we are more alike than we know, you and I.' He paused. ‘Georgiana, I want you to listen carefully to me. You are a duty -- as is Elizabeth, and any children we may have, and all the Pemberley properties, and the servants and tenants and all of our family connections.' She had only heard him speak so, with that quiet, intense note in his voice, on a very few occasions. She listened. ‘People speak a good deal of nonsense about duty, as if any sort of moral obligation must be disagreeable, or that one only does one's duty because it is one's duty. Believe me when I say that that sort of thing is nonsense. I would be miserable without duty; and my duty to you has been my only consolation these many years, and particularly this last year.'

She started. ‘This year? But -- how can you -- after what happened -- '

She heard him catch his breath. Then he said, in measured tones, ‘We had better go to the library. I believe there is a discussion between us long overdue.'

As soon as they were comfortably seated before the fire, the two siblings began to speak.

‘Fitzwilliam, I -- '

‘Georgiana, there are -- '

They looked at one another and smiled, then laughed. Both gladly stretched their long legs a moment. ‘You said there was something you wished to discuss with me?' she asked tentatively, holding the garnets against her for reassurance.

‘Yes.' He took a slow, deep breath. ‘It has come to my attention that -- that there are some things -- that it seems you have misapprehended my -- ' He turned his head a little away, staring into the fire as he searched for words. ‘You have misapprehended some of my opinions.'

She said nothing, simply gazing at him, not certain whether to be fearful or curious.

‘I would ask that you listen very carefully to what I say, and do not dismiss it as reflecting anything other than my true opinion. Do you understand?'

‘Yes.' The firelight flickered in the garnets, along the harsh clean lines of his face; he turned to look at her squarely. She met his eyes; she was always most comforted to see them. Though they were alike, she was round where he was lean, delicate where he was strong, timid where he was outspoken. Of all their shared features, only their eyes were truly identical, and whenever she really looked at his, she felt anew the force of the connection between them, so often overlooked in her awe and respect and admiration.

‘I am very proud of you,' he said, almost carelessly. ‘You are admirable in every possible respect.'

She could not stop herself. ‘Even after what I did?'

Her brother's eyes froze, and she just kept herself from recoiling at his expression. ‘I am not angry at you,' he said after a moment. At her incredulous look, he added, ‘I am, however, so angry at him that I can scarcely think.'

‘I would -- I would like to blame him,' she said, hardly noticing the garnets digging against her tight grip. ‘But I cannot. I must take responsibility for my own part in it. I was so foolish, brother, I -- '

‘You were fifteen; he took advantage of your youth and innocence,' he said.

Georgiana gathered her courage and met his eyes. ‘I was young, but I was not deficient, and I knew better, the whole while I knew, I knew it was wrong. I do not know how you can forgive such gross imprudence on my part.'

‘If I am not mistaken, you did not believe I had.'

She shook her head.

‘Georgiana.' He looked away, slowly exhaled, then returned his gaze to hers. ‘Georgiana, very well. You were imprudent, not so much in attaching yourself to someone so far beneath you, but in consenting to an action you felt to be wrong.' She had always known it, had said so, but it hurt all the same; her eyes burned. ‘You were fifteen years old. You trusted the judgment of your companion, you had no reason to distrust Mr Wickham, and the only reason you had any doubts was because of your own good sense and good principles.'

‘I should have known better,' Georgiana repeated.

‘You did know better.' She nearly wept at the fierce expression on his face, certain that somehow, at this late date, she had lost his good opinion forever. ‘You knew better, you knew it was wrong, and that is why you were uneasy, that is why the influence of those you had placed your faith in failed -- '

‘It didn't fail! I agreed to elope, I would have -- '

‘That is why,' he went on inexorably, ‘you told me everything. You knew I would not approve, did not you? You knew I would forbid it? You knew that, at your age, I would forbid any marriage?'

She nodded, utterly miserable.

‘And yet you told me. What did you think I would do?'

‘I don't know, I didn't know, I only knew you would take care of everything, and I couldn't bear to disappoint you, and that would be defying you and -- ' Tears poured freely down her face, and she shook her head. ‘I couldn't do it. Oh, how I wanted you! But I didn't dare write, or ask -- I didn't dare anything --' Blindly, she held out both hands to him. She heard him stand up, felt the strong grip of their fingers twisted together, and she buried her face against his shoulder, dropping one of his hands. ‘I am sorry,' she gasped, through harsh, wracking sobs. ‘Fitzwilliam, I am so sorry.'

‘I never doubted your penitence, Georgiana.' He gently stroked her hair, as he had when she was a child running to him after a bad dream. ‘And . . . and I am sorry, also, that I did not take better care of you.'

This extraordinary pronouncement jarred her out of her misery. ‘I beg your pardon?'

‘My dear Georgiana, you cannot think I did not feel it. I hired Mrs Younge, I failed to recognise her true character, I sent her to Ramsgate with you. I failed to tell you what Wickham was. I failed to warn you against fortune hunters.'

‘No!' she cried. ‘No, if anyone is not to blame, it is you. You are the only reason I am not in poor Lydia Bennet's situation right now.'

‘Not I -- you. I could have done nothing if you had not confided in me. Do you understand, Georgiana, that you do not owe your -- your deliverance to Richard, or Kate, or me, or any other person, before yourself? And that is where the difference between the two of you lies. I tried to keep her from marrying him. It could have been arranged. She would not leave him. She did not want anyone's help. She cared nothing for her family, her friends, her reputation. You were befuddled and vulnerable, and far, far more innocent than Lydia Wickham ever was. I am not only your brother, Georgiana, I am your guardian, and it is there that I failed you. You would never have been in that situation had I taken adequate precautions.'

Georgiana was incredulous and horrified and obscurely comforted. She had thought he could not forgive her; she could not forgive herself, and he was so good, of course he would not understand the depth of her regret. Yet he did, more than anybody, for she could hear the self disgust in his voice, as clearly as she felt it whenever she thought of that horrible summer. It seemed impossible, ridiculous, that he might blame himself for her folly, and yet he was Fitzwilliam, so stubborn and proud and . . . and so always right, what could she say?

After a short silence, she said, ‘Did Mrs Wickham tell anyone? Before -- before they went off together?'

‘There were hints in letters to one of her sisters -- Catherine. She left a note for the friend she was staying with.' His voice gentled. ‘Georgiana, the similarities in situation between the two of you are all the more astonishing because two more dissimilar young ladies surely never existed. She did not wish anyone to know. She wanted to go off with him. She did not care sixpence for her family. She told me as much herself.'

Georgiana felt a rush of revulsion at the thought, the sort of feeling that shamed her and that she would never dream of mentioning aloud. Loyalty to her family had been first, before affection, before all other duties, for so long that the very idea of any sort of estrangement was abhorrent to her. How could anyone, a girl of her own age, Elizabeth's sister, simply not care? She had thought, that summer, that freedom from responsibility and obligation and deference would be -- liberating, somehow. And yet, when she allowed herself to face the prospect of a future without the shackles of duty, she felt as if the very earth had crumbled beneath her feet.

‘It wasn't your fault,' she said, more strongly, taking a step backwards and wiping her eyes. ‘You did everything you could, and when I needed you, you were there, like a -- a miracle. I did know you would not let the engagement persist.' She felt her eyes widen. ‘I knew it, when I told you -- I just knew that you would know what to do. I trusted you.'

He stared at her keenly, then his face lightened. ‘Then I did something right,' he said softly, ‘since that trust enabled us to avert such a tragedy.'

‘You do everything right. Sometimes I wonder how you can care for me -- I do not doubt you, but . . .' She shrugged. ‘I make so many mistakes. You and Elizabeth are so . . . decisive.'

‘I assure you, Georgiana, my decisiveness has caused far more mistakes, and more grievous ones, than all your caution.'

She shook her head. Logically, of course, her brother must have made mistakes -- he was human, imperfect -- but she had never seen them. ‘And Elizabeth?' she inquired sadly. ‘Surely she has never misjudged anyone like I did?'

Something, some emotion she could not identify, flashed across his face. Fitzwilliam turned his head away, biting his lip. ‘You will have to speak to her about that,' he said, after a pause. ‘As for the . . . other, I cannot simply command you to forgive yourself, any more than you can do the same for me. However, you need to understand that I do not blame you, and that I will never love anyone as I do you.' He cupped her chin in his hand, and briskly wiped her tears away. ‘Do you understand?'

‘But -- you love Elizabeth as much, I am sure of it!'

‘Yes, as much, but not in the same way. My feelings for her are not remotely brotherly; she certainly does not feel for me what she does for Mrs Bingley. And you are my only sister, Georgiana, you have been -- for so many years, you were all that I had.'

‘That is what you meant? When you said your duty to me was your consolation?'

‘Yes. No matter how -- difficult -- everything was, you were always there, and you always needed me. Whenever I felt that I could not bear anything any more, that it was not worthwhile even to try, my duty to you kept my resolve firm. You were all that I had, and your affection was always so . . . unconditional. For so many years, you and I were alone and had only each other. Nothing can ever wholly replace that, do you understand?'

Georgiana felt as if her head were stuffed, she had heard and discovered so much, most of which had never entered her mind before. She took a deep breath, something in her steadying, as if for the first time in years, she had something solid in herself to cling to. And the last bit of fear slipped away. She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘I understand,' she said, awash in contentment. ‘Thank you, it is so . . . so . . .'

‘Sometimes, my dear, there are no words.' He ruffled her hair, as he had when she was a child. ‘Now, it is very late; you should go to sleep. It is Christmas tomorrow, or rather, today.'

‘Good night, Fitzwilliam.'

‘Good night, Georgiana.'

Chapter Six

Posted on Thursday, 7 December 2006

‘Christians, awake, salute the happy morn

Whereon the Saviour of the world was born

Rise to adore the mystery of love

Which hosts of angels chanted from above,

With them the joyful tidings first begun

Of God incarnate and the virgin's Son.'

‘Wha -- ?' Mrs Gardiner sat upright. Her husband mumbled something and buried his head under the pillow.

‘Papa, wake up!' chirped Edward.

‘Up!' said John, who did not know the words but substituted happy la la las instead.

‘Merry Christmas, Mama,' said Margaret with dignity. She spared a look at her father, then took a deep breath. ‘Then to the watchful shepherds it was told -- '

‘Who heard th'angelic herald's voice -- ' bawled Amelia. Georgiana winced. It had seemed a good idea at the time --

‘Merry Christmas,' Mrs Gardiner said, coming to the door and looking at her children. ‘Why, Miss Darcy!'

‘Merry Christmas,' Georgiana said shyly.

‘How charming -- was this your idea?'

She nodded. ‘When I was a child . . . well, I have not been here for Christmas for a long time, but at our house in town, and whenever we are with my family . . .'

‘Of course. Edward.' She turned to her husband. ‘Edward, get up! The children came to wish us a merry Christmas -- or perhaps merely to announce it.'

Georgiana did not dare laugh as Mrs Darcy's uncle mumbled under her breath, but he seemed cheerful enough by the time he got to the door. ‘Merry Christmas, Miss Darcy -- girls, Edward. What a charming surprise.'

She bit her lip, thinking, a little sadly, that even this year she was almost too old, and it was probably the last time. She would never be a child at Christmas again.

‘La!'

Mr Gardiner laughed, swinging his younger son up into his arms. ‘And John, you little miscreant.'

‘Appy Kissmas,' said John.

Amelia giggled. Margaret said, ‘Shall we sing to cousin Lizzy and Mr Darcy now?'

Georgiana hesitated. ‘Well -- usually one only sings to guests.'

‘Oh no,' Mr Gardiner said firmly, ‘there are so few guests, I am sure it would be acceptable -- indeed, it would be very unfair to exclude them from such a delightful awakening.' Georgiana didn't know whether he was serious or not; his look was perfectly sober, but there was something in his voice -- she waited as the children kissed their parents, then Amelia tugged at her hand.

‘I want to sing some more!'

‘We shall just be getting dressed then . . .' murmured Mrs Gardiner.

Georgiana nodded, and allowed the four small Gardiners to pull at her skirts and hands. ‘Where is their room?' Margaret asked, eyes wide.

‘Well, there are two . . .'

‘Whatever for?' demanded Amelia. ‘Mama and Papa use only one.'

‘Shh!' said Margaret. ‘Rich people are different.'

‘Indeed,' said Georgiana, taking a deep breath as she stood outside her brother's chambers. Amelia, fearless as ever, knocked loudly on the door. After a moment, she heard Fitzwilliam's distinctive tread, and he opened the door, looking alert and composed despite the fact that he was still in his dressing gown. To her quickly concealed astonishment, Elizabeth was there also, lying sprawled across Fitzwilliam's bed with her black hair loose and tangled about her shoulders, resting her head against her hand.

‘Christians, awake, salute the happy morn,' all five began, Georgiana's voice trembling a little. Her brother's expression instantly softened, a slow smile crossing his face. Elizabeth, who had appeared rather sleepy, instantly sat up, and as soon as they were done, clapped her hands enthusiastically, nearly leaping up to join her husband at the door.

‘How wonderful! It has been years since I have seen it. Have you already been to my aunt and uncle?'

‘Yes. We were . . . we were going to go to your room . . .' She twisted her fingers together, then determinedly separated them.

‘Ah. Well, you will generally have more luck finding me here,' Elizabeth said, with a brief, lingering look at Fitzwilliam, who was kneeling down to face the children properly. He glanced over his shoulder at her, and their eyes held for a moment before he coloured and looked away, a curious half smile on his lips.

Georgiana blushed furiously.

‘It was my idea to come to you too,' Margaret said.

‘And a very good one it was,' Elizabeth replied, smiling fondly.

‘We spent hours and hours learnting it,' said Edward. ‘John didn't, though.'

‘La la la!'

Everyone laughed. ‘Very well, run downstairs,' said Fitzwilliam. ‘We shan't be very long.'

‘Merry Christmas, Mr Darcy!' Amelia piped up.

‘Merry Christmas, Amelia,' he replied, very gravely, pushing a wayward strand of hair back into her long plait. ‘Now, all of you run along, we shan't be more than a few minutes.'

As they walked away, Georgiana heard Fitzwilliam's voice, and then Elizabeth's laughter, and she smiled contentedly. She was certain it would be a wonderful Christmas, the happiest for years.

It was. They went to the villages, distributing all the traditional gifts, and Georgiana joined the children for the last carols in the servants' hall. After they were shipped off to bed, she hesitated awkwardly, looking from place to place. It was only a moment before Mrs Darcy hurried out, then stopped.

‘Georgiana, why are you not eating with us?'

‘I have never . . .' She blushed. ‘I wasn't sure if I was -- allowed.'

‘Oh, nonsense. You are of age and you are out. Come along.' With a bright smile, she pulled her into the dining hall. ‘My love, here she is!'

Fitzwilliam, looking especially content in his quiet way, rose and held out his hand to her. ‘You must stay with us, Georgiana. You are a young lady now.'

She blushed, feeling how unworthy she was of his regard, but very pleased to have it all the same. She went and sat in the empty chair at his right hand. Everyone greeted her, and Mr Gardiner said,

‘Miss Darcy, we were speaking of accomplishments. Or rather, my wife and niece, and your brother, were; I know when to hold my tongue.'

Georgiana smiled shyly.

‘Mr Darcy , you do not truly think so ill of educated women?' said Mrs Gardiner. Georgiana's eyes widened. Outside of her family, she had never heard any lady speak so -- so, so boldly -- to her brother.

Fitzwilliam smiled. ‘I fear you misunderstand me. If I may give an example, a lady who enjoys music for its own sake, who plays for her own pleasure and not for mere display -- she is one whom I admire. And I confess, I do think ill of the education that is offered most ladies. I find that most women with truly well-educated minds possess them despite their educations, not because of them.'

‘What, then, do you think a lady's education should consist of?' Mrs Gardiner inquired.

‘Books, before teachers or masters or tutors,' he said promptly. ‘And I do not speak of those melodramatic horrors that my cousins so enjoyed. It is all well and good to enjoy the advantages of hearing what others have to offer from their own knowledge and experience, but anything learnt from another person is filtered through his own prejudices and limitations. Men and women alike should be taught to think.'

Georgiana looked down at her venison. She was still glad that her brother had taken her out of that school, despite everything that had happened after. The other girls were so unpleasant, even those who simpered and flattered her to her face, and it wasn't as if she learnt anything of value. Even at her most despairing, she looked forward to lessons with her masters, and then discussions with her brother.

‘We do not all have that luxury,' Mrs Darcy said suddenly. ‘Marriage is the only honourable occupation for a well bred lady. Is it any surprise that all of her powers are directed towards acquiring a husband?'

‘Lizzy, you and I both know that is not so,' Mrs Gardiner interjected. ‘Young ladies, even those without fortune, are not without choice or conscience.'

Mrs Darcy smiled. ‘Yes, I know. Yet many are driven to desperation by circumstances beyond their control. I do not approve, but I cannot blame. So many women are judged only by their fortunes and beauty, or lack of them.'

‘Such young ladies, certainly, are to be pitied,' said Fitzwilliam, ‘even when they turn around and judge men as little more than so many hundreds or thousands a year,as -- to use your word -- acquisitions.' He had never spoken so before Georgiana, and there was a note in his voice that seemed very strange to her.

‘It is one of the greatest failings of modern society, I think, that marriage is so often such a businesslike affair. Some affection is expected, but how often is it truly present?' Mrs Gardiner shook her head. ‘It does, at least, increase one's sense of gratitude.'

‘Indeed!' exclaimed Mrs Darcy. ‘I believe we may all agree about that.' She looked across the table and met Fitzwilliam's gaze, and the vibrant laughter in her face softened briefly to a look that, to Georgiana's eyes, had less of vivacity and more of tenderness. Within moments, the conversation had gained its usual animation, but that brief moment remained more vividly in Georgiana's memory than any other thus far. She admired Elizabeth's spirit and liveliness, of course, but somewhere, somehow, she had cherished the fear that such a bright, sparkling creature could not possibly be well suited to Fitzwilliam. Georgiana had known people like that, people whose company was always delightful, whose manners were charming, and whose affections, while passionate, were as transient and mobile as quicksilver. Fitzwilliam's feelings, though little displayed, were fervent, and above all of her many fears for herself, she had feared for him, feared the worst sort of unequal marriage. When she saw in Elizabeth a capacity for a gentler, deeper affection -- an affection that could be trusted -- she felt a tightness in her chest dissolve, leaving her spirits lighter than they had been for a very long time.

Continued in Next Section