Beginning, Section II, Section III

Chapter Seven

Posted on Thursday, 11 January 2007

Georgiana did not like dancing. She never had. She was always terrified of making mistakes, of course, but that was not the real reason for the instinctive recoil of revulsion. The real reason was that she loathed dancing.

The girls at school, of course, had thought such sentiments unwomanly, vulgar, indelicate. Yet she was a lady. There was no getting out of it, really. After all, Fitzwilliam danced -- a little -- sometimes -- and he disliked it as much as she could do.

The weather had subsided enough that Fitzwilliam resignedly consented to the entire Pemberley party attending the Twelfth Night ball. Elizabeth and her relations were delighted; Georgiana, as the days slowly passed, looked forward to the Ponsonbys' celebrations with increasing dread.

She distracted herself with the kitten, who grew healthier and vainer over the days after Christmas. He basked not only in her own attention, but that of the three eldest Gardiner children, the servants, her brother and sister-in-law, and anyone else who happened to pass by the basket where he spent most of his time. He also seemed very loyal to Georgiana, appearing whenever she was upset, and attacking anyone nearby.

‘What are you calling it?' her brother asked one evening, after she had gone to his study to discuss the novel she was reading. This time, Mrs Darcy was with her relations; Georgiana was not certain whether she regretted her sister-in-law's absence or not. Her wit and brilliancy was generally delightful, but it could be exhausting too; after the vicissitudes of Georgiana's daily life, sometimes it was pleasant to feel only the quiet serenity that pervaded her companionship with her brother, without worrying about the alarm, bewilderment, and admiration that suffused her when she observed Mrs Darcy.

She met his quizzical expression, and was jolted back to the moment. ‘Narcissus,' she said.

‘How very appropriate,' he replied with a smile, and she returned it.

‘I thought so. He is not the . . . sweetest natured animal . . . nor the humblest . . .'

‘It is the nature of cats to be ill tempered and conceited,' Fitzwilliam said, looking amused. ‘Particularly, I daresay, Pemberley ones.'

‘Elizabeth told me that you had a cat once,' she said, startled at her own daring. Her brother's childhood had, somehow, always been an unspoken subject at Pemberley. She had never known why, or really known anything beyond the vague impression of unhappiness. Not hers, she had been very happy until her father's last illness -- but when she cast her mind back and tried to recall anything very early, she could not think of anything, except missing Fitzwilliam sometimes when he was away at university.

His expression turned as surprised as her own. ‘I never mentioned her?'

Georgiana shook her head.

‘She died when I was sixteen, though she had so many litters, I daresay some of her descendants are still around. Your Narcissus is probably one, we had hardly any mousers before I found her.'

‘You found her? Like I did Narcissus?' Georgiana's lips curved as she met his eyes squarely.

‘Very like. She . . .' He paused, and she knew that he was determining what to say and what not to. Wickham, she thought. ‘She fell into the river the summer that I was four. I went in to save her, and she scratched my face.' He smiled reminiscently. ‘She was very attached to me after I got her out, though I doubt if she cared for another human being.'

‘Did she look like Narcissus?'

‘No . . . well, she was very thin, very small, but she was grey, not black. I called her Alfred.'

Georgiana giggled. ‘I'm glad you had someone to look after you,' she said. His brows knitted slightly, then his expression cleared.

‘Thank you, dear.' He hesitated a moment. ‘There's a sketch of her, over on Elizabeth's table. She was looking at it.'

Georgiana walked over at his gesture, and smiled to herself. Where Fitzwilliam's papers were perfectly orderly, Elizabeth's were scattered in messy piles. On the very top was a drawing of a creature that might have been a cat, a small ball of fluffy fur dwarfed by its enormous eyes and ears.

At the same time that she laughed upon the sight of her brother's pet, she glanced down at the letter which slipped out when she picked up the picture. She just caught the signature -- Lydia Wickham. Before she could think on it, she turned away and focused all of her attention on the small picture of the cat, on the image she instantly constructed of the solemn boy in her mother's portrait with this laughable creature--

Her mother's portrait! They had never told him. ‘Oh! Fitzwilliam,' she cried. ‘I only now remembered.'

‘Remember what, Georgiana?'

‘The portrait -- we found, that is, Elizabeth found Mother's, when we were in the chapel.'

‘The chapel?' He frowned. ‘Mother's portrait isn't there -- it was hung the day after Elizabeth and I arrived.'

‘No, not that one -- another -- '

‘Another? Impossible, Father had them destr-- ' He stopped, paling, and looking steadily ahead at some point over her shoulder. Then, with the sort of sudden, unexpected movement she had not often seen in him since they were both quite young, he sprang up. ‘The chapel? The old one?'

‘Yes -- ' she eyed him-- ‘you are not angry?'

‘Angry? I?' He laughed rather queerly. ‘No, no, of course not. Come, you must show me where it is.'

The idea of Fitzwilliam requiring directions was so laughable that she could scarcely help an incredulous look from overtaking her face, but she nodded and obeyed.

‘You are in it, too,' she said presently. ‘It was just a few years before I was born, I think; you don't look twelve, but Mother is much older than the other.'

‘I remember that,' he said, sounding almost breathless, like a child. The child in that portrait -- she opened the door, and with quick long steps, they approached the painting. It had been partly re-covered, but by someone too short to do it properly. Georgiana easily pulled the sheet off.

For a moment, brother and sister gazed at the painting. Then Georgiana glanced back at Fitzwilliam. He was so different now! She could only see bare hints of the boy he had been amid the sharp angles of his face -- the eyes, of course, and perhaps the mouth. His hair and skin were both a little lighter now.

‘Yes, this is the one,' he said. He reached out a hand, then dropped it again. The other paintings seemed to surround them like old ghosts; with as little warning as before, he spun and revealed, one after another, all the nearest paintings.

‘Good God!' she cried.

An absent ‘Georgiana' was her only reprimand. He seemed almost as shocked as she was. Five, six, seven -- her mother's face looked out at them from eight different paintings. Three must have been taken when she was quite young -- in the first, she looked only a year or two older than Georgiana was now. In the last of the three, there was an infant in her arms, but with tufts of fair hair, not dark.

‘Fitzwilliam, who is that?'

‘Alexandra.'

Georgiana took a fascinated step forward. The sister who had died before Fitzwilliam was even born -- she had known, of course, but Alexandra had never been real to her. Just one like all the others who had died, some still in her mother's womb, some immediately afterwards, some living to see several weeks, but all of them dead in the end.

Mr Darcy, Lady Anne, and Alexandra were all three in the next portrait. The latter, a tall, pretty girl of about six or seven, stood by her --their -- father. Together, father and daughter looked happy, almost idyllically so -- Lady Anne, dark and coldly sedate, seemed almost separate from them, and yet her expression had as much contentment to it as serenity.

By the next, everything had changed. Alexandra was gone; Mr Darcy was nearly as severe as his wife; there was a sort of defiant pride to Lady Anne's sombre face. She was much thinner, the elegant planes of her features harsh and fierce. Both were in black.

‘That was about eight months before I was born,' Fitzwilliam said, startling her. ‘It was only just after Alexandra died. Father insisted upon a portrait being taken; Mother never understood why. She said she wanted to forget it all.'

‘I see,' Georgiana replied. These people were her parents? Her family? She almost felt that she did not like them very much. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth are my family, she thought firmly, and smiled a little.

The sixth was yet again different. Mr Darcy seemed even more distressed; he was still in mourning. Lady Anne's grey gown was almost blue, and she looked almost exactly as she had in the painting with the baby Alexandra, except happier.

‘That is you?' Georgiana asked, pointing at the child her mother held.

He only nodded, searching their parents' flat painted eyes, as if they contained the secrets of the universe. The next was the one Elizabeth had already discovered, and last --

‘Is that I?'

Fitzwilliam took her arm. ‘Yes.'

Lady Anne, even wearier and thinner than in Elizabeth's, held the third and last child in her arms. Georgiana stared at herself. She had been a plump, healthy baby, with wide dark eyes looking all around and plenty of dark hair. She was laughing while her mother smiled down at her. Fitzwilliam was a little taller and much thinner, his eyes marked by deep shadows under them. There was little expression on his face, but he looked not detached but protective, one hand resting on Lady Anne's shoulder.

‘Where was Father?'

‘I do not remember,' Fitzwilliam replied. ‘He was often gone on matters of business.'

She took a step closer, pulling him with her. ‘When -- when did she die? I mean, how long after this?'

‘This was in the autumn, about four months after your first birthday. She died in December, so -- two months.'

‘Oh!' Yes, her face was pale and waxen, her form far too light, but she seemed so happy. Georgiana blinked tears away. ‘I wish I had known her. I can't remember her at all.'

‘I often wished that for you,' he said. ‘Men make very poor mothers.'

She laughed shakily. ‘So do many women. You were much better at it than -- ' she thought, with a brief flicker of horror, of Elizabeth's mother, and hastily amended -- ‘Lady Ancaster. She had scarcely anything to do with them -- did she even teach them to read?'

He, too, laughed. ‘I do not recall. I am the youngest, you remember.--Certainly she makes a fine lady of leisure, and could not manage anything more.'

Georgiana looked up. ‘I could not do it, Fitzwilliam. I could not be like her.'

‘Of course you could not. I certainly hope I raised you better than that.'

Relieved, she smiled. ‘Yes, you did.'

‘Fitzwilliam? Georgiana?' Mrs Darcy's voice rang out in the musty room. ‘Molly said I might find you here. Did you find -- '

She stopped dead, her quick gaze flicking from painting to painting. ‘Why -- your cousin said -- '

‘Perhaps we might speak with Mrs Reynolds,' Fitzwilliam said calmly. ‘Would you mind sending for her, dear?'

Within moments, the housekeeper had appeared, looking even frailer than usual. ‘Mr Darcy, sir, is there . . .' she swallowed -- ‘something I can do for you?'

‘I had thought that all the paintings of my mother were destroyed; I am quite certain my father ordered it done.'

‘Yes, sir, my Jack, he was the one who . . .' At his expression, the words quickly tumbled out. ‘Jack didn't mean any harm, sir. It was just that when your poor mother died, and your father told my Jack, he told him that all the paintings were to be destroyed,-- well, he was so odd then, if you understand me, sir, Jack was sure he could not be quite well, and you and Miss Darcy were so young that we thought you couldn't understand what was happening and surely you would want them when you were older . . . and nobody ever came in here, especially Mr Darcy, so . . . well, for your mother's sake and yours and Miss Darcy's, we thought . . .'

‘I see,' said Fitzwilliam. ‘And why did not you inform me of this, after my father died?'

‘Well, sir, we thought it through and . . . well, he was the master and we had disobeyed him, and if you thought us usually disobedient, you might . . .'

‘Ah.' He studied her a moment, then smiled. ‘I am very grateful, Mrs Reynolds. Please give your nephew my thanks.'

Mrs Reynolds blushed like a girl. ‘Oh, Mr Darcy . . .' She blinked rapidly at the floor. ‘We are honoured to serve, sir.' Then, she turned her usual pragmatic self. ‘That Jenny will be bothering Mess'r Renaud again. I had better . . .'

‘Of course; you are dismissed.' When she was gone, the entire family turned, as one, to look at the portraits again.

‘Why Fitzwilliam, is that you?' Mrs Darcy inquired, peering at one of them. ‘What a pretty baby you were, my love.'

Fitzwilliam winced.

Georgiana walked alone, past the study where her brother, as often as not accompanied by his wife, spent so much of his time. He was not there, the children were asleep, and all of the adults were in the blue sitting room-- she could just hear the mingled laughter of Elizabeth and the Gardiners.

The letter, Mrs Wickham's letter, sprang into her mind. The unacknowledged flame of curiosity surged up in her again. Fitzwilliam, he didn't know that Mrs Darcy was corresponding with her sister-- not that she oughtn't, but-- well, he didn't approve of her, did he? Yet Georgiana, knowing as she did how close she had been to becoming Mrs Wickham herself, she could not help feeling a sort of odd kinship with the other girl. And she had heard him say that Mrs Darcy and Mrs Wickham did not correspond.

It's my duty, to protect Fitzwilliam. Now that Wickham is his . . . our . . . brother, who knows what he might be planning? She firmly quelled the uprising of conscience and slipped into the study. Mrs Darcy's table was, if possible, even more chaotic than it had been the day before, but she found Mrs Wickham's letter easily enough. With a nervous, guilty look over her shoulder, she quickly read the brief, scrawling lines:

My dear Lizzy,

I wish you joy. If you love Mr Darcy half as well as I do my dear Wickham, you must be very happy. It is a great comfort to have you so rich, and when you have nothing else to do, I hope you will think of us. I am sure Wickham would like a place at court very much, and I do not think we shall have quite money enough to live upon without some help. Any place would do, of about three or four hundred a year; but however, do not speak to Mr. Darcy about it, if you had rather not.

Georgiana stared at it, horrified. Then she heard footsteps and without thinking, pushed it away.

‘Georgiana?'

She summoned up a smile when she set eyes on her brother, the last person in the world she wished to see at the moment. ‘Good evening, sir,' she said nervously, her heart pounding in her ears, ‘I was looking for the picture of Alfred, I wanted to draw Narcissus and couldn't get it quite right.'

He only said, ‘You need only have asked, Georgiana; it is on my desk, on the third pile from the right. I shall give it to you later; we were wondering if you would care to join us.'

Overwhelmed with relief, she nodded eager assent, and leaned on his arm as they went to the drawing room, her mind racing.

What should she do?

Chapter Eight

Posted on Friday, 19 January 2007

The horrible stolen knowledge seemed almost to burn in her chest, even days later. Georgiana hardly knew what to think. Fitzwilliam buy an estate for Mr Wickham! He would never do such a thing; she remembered when he had explained about the living, how he could not countenance Mr Wickham as a clergyman, such a man having the authority over others that his position would have permitted him. What he might do as a master, even of such a small estate--

She thought over the short, flippant note once more, almost hearing a good humoured, selfish voice prattling away, do not speak to Mr Darcy about it if you would rather not. When had it come? She remembered that day, when the letters for Mrs Darcy had come-- how had she looked? Cheerful, gay, very much her usual self, except more so.

But it was clear, now, that Mr Wickham meant to press his connection to the Darcys as far as it would go. He would be uncle to Georgiana's own nieces and nephews. She suppressed a twitch of revulsion at the thought. Everything that she had heard when with her relations, before the marriage and after-- the discontented murmurs that silenced when she walked into the room, the dinner at her uncle's house in town when they had seemed so unjustifiably cold to poor Elizabeth, and then actual snippets of conversation she had overheard--

‘What is he thinking?'

‘I like her.'

‘He has not lost his senses, Father, he knows what he is doing --'

‘she is very amiable, but --'

‘she is a gentleman's daughter'

‘she cares for him, anyone with eyes can see that-- '

‘She may be a good influence on him. If she is at all ambitious --'

‘Anne's grandchildren to have relations in trade!'

‘She is clever and charming, she could be taught.'

‘She is Wickham's sister!'

Georgiana shut her eyes. Her head ached. She liked Elizabeth, she did, and Elizabeth loved Fitzwilliam which was all that really mattered-- except it didn't, she had learnt that with Wickham. Miss Darcy marry Mr Wickham? The idea of disapproval had, at first, tantalised her, the sheer forbiddenness of it, but when she truly thought of the disappointment she would face from all those who had cared for her all her life, it was unutterably bad. Fitzwilliam had talked of Miss Elizabeth, as she had been then, in his letters, but nothing to arouse her suspicion. She had never dreamed -- and what had he thought? He said it was immoral and degrading to marry without any degree of affection, he said it was important to marry one's equal in every sense, in birth, in character, in genius, in fortune.

Oh, she was a good choice, of course she was, Fitzwilliam and Mrs Darcy were so happy together, and why shouldn't they be? Mrs Darcy was a gentleman's daughter, after all, perhaps a country squire's with connections to make Georgiana's own stop and stare, but respectably born still.

Yet her entire family, unquestionably fond of her brother, had meant a great match for him, and she had always assumed that he meant one for himself, if he found someone suitable he held enough affection for. Instead he had married for inclination alone, and the family's chances for even mildly prosperous alliances were quickly dwindling. Eleanor, she was Fitzwilliam's age, nearly nine and twenty and after that thirty, Cecily was engaged to Mr Hammond now, James still mourned his faithless wife, Richard would marry anyone's daughter as long as she had an amiable temper and thirty thousand pounds at the very least, --and then Georgiana herself.

Thoughts crowded into her busy mind, images of Wickham barging into Pemberley, his thoughtless wife letting Georgiana's secret out (of course she must know now, husbands and wives always talked), the memory of her uncle and her brother walking side-by-side after her father died, Lord Ancaster watching Fitzwilliam with proud, solemn eyes,

Fitzwilliam said, No, if you marry without a settlement, you will have not a farthing--

and she understood with the most painful clarity in her life and could only sob in her brother's arms, and Richard said he would kill Wickham, and in that moment she wished he would--

Nobody will find out, will they? she asked, and Fitzwilliam said,

No, never--

and then, months later,

Miss Lydia Bennet, Miss Elizabeth's sister, they ran off together--

you made it right, though?

yes, of course I did, it is my responsibility,

and she stared at him and thought, But I asked you to keep it secret, it is not your fault but mine and poor Miss Lydia must pay for it with her life--

Mrs Wickham's letter, then, she heard, the few lines circling around and around in her head, and Mrs Darcy blithely saying that she was writing to Kitty who was so pleased to hear from her, and she hoped she would improve away from Lydia's influence--

Only I, I am the only one left -- and they would say I must marry doubly well to make up for Elizabeth-charming-as-she-is -- but what would Fitzwilliam say, and how could I possibly ask?

And, she knew suddenly, she did not want to be married, she was happy at Pemberley, in her way, and she wanted to stay with her brother and sister-in-law and be aunt to their children, and she didn't want to even think about love or matrimony at all.

Curled up on the window, she hardly noticed her fingers tightening until Narcissus mewed. ‘I am sorry, dear,' she murmured, stroking his silky black fur and staring at her fingers. They weren't at all ladylike, neither small nor plump; Cecily said she had a gentleman's hands (and Richard a spider's). More than once, she'd broken or damaged or hurt things, without ever meaning to. It was easy to forget how strong she was.

Georgiana rubbed her arm self-consciously, and looked down at her gown with a smile. She did not want to dance, but it was nice to wear beautiful clothes and look pretty. Of course the other ladies would be more fashionable, but she was sure their brothers and fathers were not half so generous. She had not yet had an opportunity to wear the pearls she had received on her sixteenth birthday, and she was half-afraid of some catastrophe befalling them, but Mrs Darcy had laughed and said that there wasn't much point in having beautiful jewelry if nobody ever saw it.

The days before the ball had confused her still more, as her sister-in-law had been perfectly herself, open, engaging, and affectionate with everybody, and in the best of spirits. Georgiana had never known anyone who laughed so much, and even her shyness and reserve could not stand against such unaffected good humour.

I shan't think about it tonight, she decided. There will be enough trouble without that.

‘Georgiana?'

‘Fitzwilliam!' Georgiana turned, enjoying the swish of her skirts against her ankles, and took a few cautious steps forward. ‘You look very handsome,' she said shyly.

‘As do you -- are those Mother's pearls?'

‘Yes, Elizabeth said . . .'

‘Of course.'

Brother and sister admired one another a moment. Fitzwilliam was always so elegant. She could only hope to present herself with half so much grace. But in exactly the same colours he always wore, the white scarves amid her piles of dark hair just like his immaculate neckcloth, she thought she did resemble him more closely than usual. ‘Are you looking forward to the ball?'

‘No,' said Fitzwilliam. ‘And you?'

‘No.'

They looked at one another and smiled, amusement crinkling both pairs of eyes. ‘You will be able to dance with Elizabeth. Shall that not be nice?'

‘Er, yes. Comparatively speaking.'

Georgiana laughed before she could stop herself. ‘Compared to whom, brother?'

‘Anyone else.' He took her arm and she opted to enjoy the peaceful respite while it lasted, though she could not lean her head on his shoulder as she had often done. ‘At least it is a masque ball.'

Georgiana sighed. ‘I suppose that is something; if I trip over my own feet, nobody will know it is me.'

‘You have not tripped over your feet since you were nine, Georgiana. Dancing is unpleasant enough without borrowing trouble.'

Georgiana toyed with the material of her dress, though she could not feel its texture through her long gloves. ‘Yes, of course you are right. Oh, why could not people be more sensible and not make such a fuss about prancing over the floor?'

‘They like it,' Fitzwilliam said, in the same frankly wondering tone he used to speak of the Chinese. ‘De gustibus non est disputandum*, I suppose.'

She felt a cloud of anxiety settling over her, and glancing at her watch. It was nearly time to go. ‘Fitzwilliam, do you think Eliz -- '

They could hear raised voices and hurried footsteps, and Mrs Darcy hurried down the steps, accompanied by Mr and Mrs Gardiner and the two eldest children. They hastily apologised.

‘I cannot help fussing, I am rather nervous,' Mrs Darcy said, without the slightest evidence of any such thing. ‘I am sure every woman in the room will hate me -- and with good reason.' She laughed, her dark eyes lingering on Fitzwilliam a moment. ‘Am I worthy of being seen in the company of Mr and Miss Darcy of Pemberley, do you think? It is a great honour, you know.'

Brother and sister both chorused their approval, to the great amusement of the Gardiners; though the daring neckline shocked Georgiana a little, Elizabeth, with her slim upright figure, was not nearly so exposed as most ladies who espoused the style.

‘You look very lovely, Georgiana,' Elizabeth said, ‘I quite envy your figure.'

Georgiana blushed, but could not keep from thinking that if Elizabeth were built on her own scale, Fitzwilliam would probably be wise not to let her out of the house in that gown. ‘Thank you,' she murmured, accepting her black cloak from Ellen.

The journey to the Ponsonbys' was uneventful, the children trying not to bounce on the seats as they looked around eagerly. ‘I've never been to a ball,' Margaret explained in a loud whisper.

‘This is a children's ball,' Georgiana told her. ‘I have gone every year since I was smaller than you are.'

‘Are you a child, Miss Darcy?' Amelia asked, wide eyed. ‘Cousin Lydia isn't.'

‘Not any more,' said Georgiana, and resolutely turned her head away, staring out the window into the darkness beyond.

When they arrived at Wakefield Hall, the ballroom was already full of people. Georgiana's throat closed a moment, she could not breathe -- but it was a masque ball, nobody recognised her any more than she recognised them, of course, and the feeling quickly passed. Amelia and Margaret were taken away to join the other children, the former uncharacteristically silent and the latter staring in astonishment.

‘I beg your pardon, madam,' a voice near her said, and Georgiana turned sharply. The owner of the voice, a blue-coated gentleman with a head full of reddish brown curls, bowed. ‘May I have the honour of the next dance?'

‘I -- I -- ' she glanced sideways at her brother, who nodded a little. Georgiana swallowed. ‘Of course, sir.'

After a moment of silence, the man spoke again. ‘Tell me, are you much acquainted with the Ponsonbys?'

‘Yes,' said Georgiana.

He chuckled. ‘Forgive me, I do not mean to be impertinent.'

‘I did not think you were.' Georgiana glanced down, making certain her feet were in the right place. It was not very difficult to dance, she'd had masters since she was a child, but being careful did no harm.

‘My father's estate is not far from here,' he persevered. ‘I have known them all my life.'

‘I daresay we are neighbours then,' Georgiana replied. With an effort she kept her fingers steady, she did not want to seem the sort of vapid miss who swooned at one look from a personable man. He would not understand that company, any company, was enough to make her tremble.

‘Oh? That narrows the field somewhat. Shall I try and guess? I must call you something, after all.'

‘If you like.' They were separated by the dance, but as soon as he took her hand again, he began,

‘Very well, if you are a neighbour of the Ponsonbys, you must be -- ' he thought a moment, then laughed, ‘oh, I could never keep track of all the daughters and sisters. A Miss Lindsay?'

Georgiana just caught the indignant retort which leapt to tongue. ‘I really cannot say, sir.'

‘Undoubtedly I will spend the next three weeks at Shiringham visitng every house for miles about, trying to discover the mysterious lady in white,' he said in a lively, even flirtatious, tone. Georgiana, faintly reminded of George Wickham, grew very cold, but then focussed on the information accidentally -- or perhaps not so accidentally -- dropped.

‘Shiringham? You must be Mr Cardwell!' She then thought he could simply be a guest, but the russet shade of his hair caught her eyes -- it was just the colour of Laura's.

‘Guilty as charged,' he said, smiling before they went back into the line of dancers. She frowned a little to herself. ‘I am very sorry to disappoint you.'

‘I am not disappointed, only startled,' said Georgiana. ‘Your mother said -- ' She stopped, blushing.

‘Ah! My poor dear mama is so eager for grandchildren, she rather too forward in regards to eligible young ladies.'

‘Yet she already has one, Sophy is -- '

‘You are acquainted with my little niece?' His smile softened with affection, and Georgiana could not help warming a little to him. ‘She is a lovely, sweet-natured child, I wish I could see more of her.'

‘Perhaps, if you spend more time in the country, you shall,' said Georgiana. ‘My-- Mr Fitzwilliam does not go to town.'

‘No, it does not suit him. For Sophia's sake I am glad, she was such a frail infant-- London might have ruined her constitution for ever.'

‘Yes -- it is better for everyone, I think, that he stays at Houghton.'

His lips twitched. ‘You must be a Fitzwilliam connection, then, to be so familiar with the family. Perhaps a Willoughby? Darcy? Leigh?'

‘I really cannot say,' she repeated.

‘It is quite unfair, miss -- or should it be your ladyship?'

Georgiana looked down. ‘Whichever you like.'

‘You are quite determined to protect your secret, I see.' She could not quite suppress a flinch, but he did not seem to notice. ‘Tell me, are you often in Derbyshire?'

‘Always in the summer months-- almost always,' she replied. She could hear the music coming to an end.

‘Then I hope I shall see you often, Lady Blanche*.' He clasped her hand and bowed, then left. Georgiana let out a sigh of relief. One set was over. She looked around for Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, but could not find either of them amid what seemed hundreds of people milling about. Even Fitzwilliam's height and Mrs Darcy's yellow gown were not enough to distinguish them from the crowd.

Georgiana bit her lip, feeling young, small, and lonely among so many people. ‘Excuse me, ma'am-- ' a man said.

Resigned, she turned to him. Though he had a handsome face, he was hardly taller than she was and seemed rather over-dressed, not an army man but in a scarlet coat all the same. ‘Yes, sir?'

‘Tell me, what do you think of Scott?'

She blinked. ‘I -- '

‘His lines on woman are simply delicious, do not you think so? They are never out of my thoughts. The man who could read them unmoved must have the nerves of an assassin! Heaven defend me from meeting such a man unarmed.'

All the beauty in the world, she decided, could not make up for such conversation. She smiled politely, searching for a dark head above the crowd or a glimpse of yellow.

‘-- it is the want of passion. Tender, elegant, descriptive -- but tame. The man who cannot do justice to the attributes of woman is my contempt. Sometimes indeed a flash of feeling seems to irradiate him -- '

‘I beg your pardon?' Another gentleman bowed, precisely the opposite of her present companion in every respect. He was tall, with a good figure, plain face, and wildly untidy red hair. ‘If you do not intend to dance with the young lady, I hope I may do so without inspiring undue contempt?'

‘Oh! of course, of course,' the literary gentleman replied; the other led her away with nary a by-your-leave.

‘I am Alistair Satterthwaite IV*,' he pronounced, then smiled crookedly. ‘I hope you forgive my boldness, Sir Edward is terribly long-winded.' He shifted his mask about. ‘Dashed uncomfortable things.'

‘I thank you, sir,' she replied, not certain what to think. ‘Sir Edward? Is his estate near here?'

‘No estate at all,' he muttered. ‘Poor as churchmice, the lot of them, until the old dowager dies, and no entail -- you know what that means.'

Not wishing to appear ignorant, she said, ‘Oh, of course.'

‘She might leave the whole bundle to the second footman, for all anyone can say.'

She was sure she was not imagining the glee in his voice at the thought. Georgiana sighed.

The last gentleman, one who lavished her with compliments and could not have been a day under fifty, finally departed after repeated kisses on her hand. She had never been so grateful for gloves and turned away, trying not to show her distaste. A small circle of men were not far from her, all talking in low, though animated voices; not for a year and a half had she been so happy to set eyes on her brother's black-clad figure.

‘Oh, there you are!' she cried, before thinking that she might be unwelcome. However he did not look at all displeased to see her, but instead smiled and took her arm.

‘Gentlemen, my sister.'

All murmured pleasant greetings. ‘Tell me, ma'am, what do you think of dancing?' one enquired.

Georgiana felt raw and exhausted. ‘I do not like it,' she said, and several chuckled.

‘I see that forthrightness is a family trait,' he replied, and another added,

‘And good sense!'

‘Do not let your wife hear that,' Fitzwilliam warned. ‘Speaking of which, I believe I have a duty to mine.'

Everyone laughed, and they walked away. ‘It was awful,' she said, ‘well, Mr Cardwell was pleasant, but then there was this dreadful baronet, practically a walking cliché, and Mr Satterthwaite was a malicious gossip, and Lord St Clair embarrassed me terribly, and . . .' She realised where she was and covered her mouth with a gasp. ‘Oh! I forgot myself, Fitzwilliam, I did not mean it . . .'

‘Oh, I think you did,' he said, looking at her expressively. Georgiana bit her lip. ‘Never lie to cover up an offence, Georgiana; apologise by all means, but do not retract the truth.'

‘I shan't,' she promised, and as she saw what looked like a familiar shock of red hair approaching, she clutched her brother's arm defensively. ‘That is Mr Satterthwaite,' she hissed.

‘Shall we make our escape then? I think I see Elizabeth -- yes, there she is.'

They vanished into a small crowd, thankfully losing sight of Mr Satterthwaite. Mrs Darcy, talking with a tall fair-haired couple and her uncle and aunt, did not see them at first; she first caught sight of Fitzwilliam and her face lit up. ‘I beg your pardon, my husband has been off gallivanting,' she cried, holding out a hand to him.

‘Hiding, rather,' Fitzwilliam replied, a bit ruefully, kissing her hand and bowing to the strangers. ‘I hope you have been adequately entertained, my dear.'

‘I believe we have had that honour,' said the lady; ‘your wife is exceptionally clever, sir.'

He started. ‘Dolly? Is that you? I had no idea --'

‘I said he would know me -- did not I?' she exclaimed, turning to her companions. The gentleman, the Gardiners, and Mrs Darcy all laughingly concurred. ‘Mr Darcy, I congratulate you on a very wise choice.'

‘Thank you,' he replied.

‘Why, is this little Georgiana, out of the schoolroom at last?' The woman scrutinised her. ‘I declare, you look eighteen at least. It must be your height.'

‘Really, you ought to show some consideration -- you are embarrassing her,' the gentleman said, correctly interpreting the flush on Georgiana's cheeks. This voice was more familiar, but she could not quite place it.

‘If I did, then I am sorry,' she said robustly, then said, ‘oh Lord, it's John. Who is that with him?'

‘Cannot you recognise your own father-in-law, dearest sister?'

‘What nonsense are you speaking of? I am your only sister, and Father is quite we-- ' Even in the dim light, it was easy to see her face turn white. ‘Not Sir Edward?'

Georgiana frowned, but the grey hair was certainly not that of the penniless baronet she knew.

‘The very man,' her brother responded. ‘Why, you do not seem quite eager -- '

‘Oh,' she cried, ‘will nobody ask me to dance?'

Her voice was loud enough to catch the attention of a neighbour. Accordingly he turned to her and said cheerfully, ‘If you are quite desperate, your ladyship, I hope you would be willing to dance a pair of sets with me.'

‘Yes, thank you,' she said, and positively fled on his arm. Georgiana wondered if this could be any worse than what she had already endured, but she was not to find out.

‘Will you do me the honour, Miss Darcy?' the fair-haired gentleman enquired. ‘Believe me, it is for your own good, though I understand you dislike dancing.'

She blushed and whispered her acquiescence in a barely audible voice. He was, however, rather gentler than she expected from his manner with his sister, and carried on a polite conversation almost unaided. The dance had only just ended when it was time to remove their masks; Georgiana could see Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth not far away. Apparently they, too, had fled the company of ‘John' and the other Sir Edward.

She looked up at him curiously, certain that she knew him.

‘Why, Lord Courtland!' she exclaimed, almost forgetting her own mask. ‘I thought your voice was familiar.' She knew him quite well; he was a Darcy relation, she did not how they were related exactly, but she knew he would have been Fitzwilliam's heir if the entailment had not been broken. In addition, he, Richard, and Fitzwilliam were companions from their youth, had gone to school and later university together, and were in general very close friends.

‘I am honoured, Miss Darcy,' he said with a pleasant smile. ‘I hope you will forgive Dorothea; she meant no offence.'

‘That was Lady Dorothea?' Her eyes widened. Well, of course it was; but she spent so much time in Ireland, and the rest in town, that Georgiana had not seen her since before Mr Darcy's death. ‘I -- oh, of course, I do not blame her for anything.'

‘I am sure she is very grateful,' he said; ‘Miss Darcy, do you know if your brother will be in town during the coming winter? As newly married as he is, I would not think so.'

‘I believe not,' Georgiana said.

‘Excellent. Excellent!'

‘What is excellent, Courtland?' Fitzwilliam asked, his voice amused. Georgiana whirled, startled to see both her brother and sister there.

‘Why, that I shall have the delight of your scintillating company, my friend,' Lord Courtland replied, laughing. ‘I am going to take the liberty of calling at Pemberley sometime this next week, if it is convenient for us both.'

‘Very kind of you, I am sure,' Fitzwilliam said. ‘Go rescue your sister, Courtland. Willoughby has her.'

‘Oh, Good God.' He rushed off with scarcely a bow.

‘You look exhausted, Georgiana,' Mrs Darcy said after one glance at her. ‘Do you think we may leave, Fitzwilliam?'

‘Oh! certainly,' he replied with quickly subdued enthusiasm. ‘I shall just fetch the Gardiners.'

They felt no anxiety to stay either, so the entire family quickly bade farewell to their hosts.

When they finally returned home, Georgiana would have gladly fallen into bed exactly as she was, but Kate, she knew, never stood for such behaviour. She felt her hair swing down with a sigh of relief and gladly abandoned the fine dress she had worn.

‘I hope your ball was nice, ma'am,' Kate offered, with an appearance of meekness that Georgiana knew was completely contrary to her real character.

She thought about ‘her' Sir Edward, about Mr Satterthwaite and Lord St Clair, and then of Mr Cardwell, Lord Courtland, of how happy little Amelia had been to be declared queen. Finally, she said,

‘It could have been much worse.'

*de gustibus non est disputandum: Latin, 'taste knows no argument'
*Blanche: French, 'white'
*Thanks and apologies to Ali for letting me borrow Alistair again!

Chapter Nine

Posted on Wednesday, 24 January 2007

The Gardiners and Darcys enjoyed a degree of tranquillity after the Twelfth Night ball. Margaret and Amelia were sleeping, exhausted from the evening before, while Mr Gardiner and Mrs Darcy played with the little boys; Georgiana and Mrs Gardiner sewed, and Fitzwilliam was contentedly absorbed in a new book.

For a little while, Georgiana felt utterly at peace, her fingers embroidering almost of their own volition, and a smile on her face as she watched the scene before her. Belatedly, she remembered what she had forced out of her mind the evening before -- Mrs Wickham's letter.

She pricked her finger. Georgiana surreptitiously wiped the blood off her finger, forcing herself to think. Fitzwilliam always says I have sense, she told herself. I shall prove him right. I will be rational. She took a breath.

She had seen the date, and she remembered when Mrs Darcy's letters had arrived. It was before she heard Mrs Gardiner ask if there had been any word from Lydia; Mrs Darcy was not there, but Fitzwilliam was, and he said that the sisters did not write. That meant that at least he believed they were not corresponding, and therefore he did not know about the letter.

Georgiana swallowed the lump in her throat, staring down at the sampler, her mind working faster than her hands could. Mrs Darcy could have any number of reasons to keep it secret from Fitzwilliam. It did not necessarily mean anything sinister. She had seen, seen with her own eyes, how strong Elizabeth's affection for Fitzwilliam was -- usually warm and lively, but with what seemed to Georgiana a slow growth of tenderness as well. No. Bad as it looked, it did not mark anything truly bad at heart. Perhaps she was simply embarrassed; if Georgiana had received such a letter, well -- well, she would tell Fitzwilliam, but that was different.

Why?

She wished she could quash the sharp, critical side of her mind. It was not ladylike at all. Georgiana chewed on her lip.

It could not be the same for Elizabeth, not really. Not after only a year's acquaintance, though he was her husband. After all, Georgiana had looked up to and trusted Fitzwilliam for sixteen years. She knew that he was trustworthy, even if nobody else was.

A new thought flashed into her mind. If she was trying to keep it secret from Fitzwilliam, she clearly did not mean to intercede on the Wickhams' behalf with him. Any aid would come from Mrs Darcy alone.

Fitzwilliam should know, she thought, but perhaps it is not so bad after all. Perhaps everything shall be well.

Georgiana smiled in Elizabeth's general direction and concentrated on her sampler once more.

They were interrupted not long afterwards by the arrival of the Cardwells. Mr Cardwell was properly introduced to Mrs Darcy and the Gardiners; ‘you know Mr and Miss Darcy, of course.'

‘Of course. It is an honour, sir, ma'am.' He bowed smartly to them both, and quickly made his way to Georgiana's side. She would have wished for a larger party if it had meant other eligible young women to distract him; her fingers shook so badly that she set her sampler down.

‘It has been rather a long time since I last saw you, Miss Darcy,' he remarked. ‘You were just a child in the schoolroom.'

‘Oh -- yes,' she stammered. ‘Yes, that was rather some time ago.'

‘You must be what, seventeen or eighteen by now?'

‘Sixteen,' Georgiana said meekly.

‘Sixteen!' he exclaimed. ‘Why, you are very -- tall for your age.' He laughed softly to himself. ‘You must have four or five inches at least on Mrs Darcy.'

‘Yes, Elizabeth has rather a small, slight build.'

‘They are a very striking couple,' he observed. ‘Your brother and his wife, I mean.'

‘I -- I suppose so.'

‘They are not at all alike, dark as they are.' He studied the couple with interest. They were carrying on what seemed a very dull conversation with Lord and Lady Cardwell. ‘Her skin is so brown, and she has such an air of healthy vigour, not at all the usual. Yes,' --he nodded his head decisively-- ‘I think she is very pretty, though not really handsome. Your brother is, of course -- I have seen statues in Rome that are exactly his likeness. What a remarkable couple.'

Georgiana smiled to herself. ‘Yes, they are.'

‘Their dispositions do not seem especially similar either.'

‘They are not so different, I do not think,' Georgiana said, feeling very brave.

‘Oh? In what respects?'

‘Well, they are both very clever and strong-willed and forthright.'

Mr Cardwell chuckled. ‘That seems quite true. Mrs Darcy rather startles my poor mother.'

Mrs Darcy rather startles me, Georgiana thought, but said nothing.

‘She, however, has such a lively, open manner -- your brother is many things, but I would not judge vivacity among them.'

‘No,' she agreed, ‘he is quiet.'

‘A family trait, I think?' He smiled at her with a touch of mischief. ‘Forgive me, I should not tease you, even though we are such old friends.'

Georgiana did not consider that tagging along behind Fitzwilliam and Richard and Courtland necessarily made him her friend; she really scarcely knew him. He was friendly, but that did not mean anything, except that he was friendly. Perhaps it was natural, or perhaps sheer calculation. She looked away.

‘Tell me,' he said, abruptly changing the subject, ‘how does my little niece? You were, I believe, at Houghton recently?'

‘Yes, to give Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth time alone.'

‘I can imagine,' he said; ‘they seem very . . . devoted, particularly she. I confess myself surprised.'

Georgiana, though her habitual reserve concealed it, was instantly indignant on her family's behalf. ‘Surprised? Whatever for?'

‘My dear Miss Darcy, when a man of your brother's consequence marries a girl with only her charms to recommend herself -- considerable though they may be -- one does not expect the affection to be mainly on her side.'

She lifted her chin. ‘I think you misread my brother. He is . . . very fond of his wife, I think he esteems her above anybody. That his feelings are not on display does not mean they do not exist.'

Mr Cardwell laughed. ‘Forgive me, madam, I am inapt. I meant no slight to your brother, only that such expressiveness on the part of a lady who makes a splendidly unequal match is quite a novelty.'

‘Unequal? Whatever do you mean?' She did not even notice that her clenched fingers were perfectly steady.

‘Oh, I did not mean character, only-- Your brother could have married an heiress of a hundred thousand pounds; instead, he chose a young lady without a farthing to her name.'

‘Yes,' Georgiana said, straightening her form and her eyes flashing as they met his, ‘yes, of course he could have traded our pedigree for a great fortune in trade -- I am certain that would have been a perfectly equal match for Mr Darcy of Pemberley, rather than a respectable gentleman's daughter who loves him.'

She could scarcely believe the words were her own; the moment they left her mouth, she actually gasped aloud, recoiling back, her cheeks burnt scarlet, and quite incapable of even looking towards him. What had she been thinking? She was so horrified, she felt almost physically ill; her head spun, her heart pounded, and she really thought she might faint on the spot.

Georgiana was never so pleased to see Ellis' plain homely face in her life. ‘Lady Aldborough, Lord Courtland, Lady Dorothea Willoughby, Mr Willoughby, and Miss Willoughby,' he announced.

Another round of introductions went about the party, the Willoughbys begged pardon for their intrusion and were promptly forgiven. Georgiana quailingly met her brother's eye from across the room, and he promptly walked over and commanded her to walk with him by the window, away from the others.

‘Georgiana? Are you unwell?'

She bent her head against his shoulder and took a shuddering breath. ‘No, I am perfectly well, thank you-- ' she clung to his arm, only then daring to lift her eyes to the landscape before her. It was as beautiful as ever, every tree, rock, and hill covered in a blanket of white, the stream frozen. The rapid pulse of her heart slowed, no longer burning from her fingertips to her chest, and she felt herself able to breathe properly again. Slowly she straightened her back, and smiled, soothed by the scene before her and her brother's silent, reassuring strength beside her. ‘Forgive me, sir, I did not mean . . .'

‘There is no need to apologise,' he replied; ‘did he do something to upset you?'

‘No -- yes -- it is my fault really,' she said incoherently. ‘I said something . . . intemperate. I only hope he is not horribly offended.'

‘Is that all?' He met her astonished gaze with a smile. ‘Intemperate remarks are the order of the day among family, Georgiana; I am certain it will be forgiven. Do you think you are recovered now?'

‘Yes, sir.' She managed a smile. ‘Thank you.'

‘Thank Elizabeth, not me,' he replied, to her astonishment, ‘she saw how distressed you looked before I did. You are certain you will be well?'

‘Yes, I think so.'

Bewildered but gratified, Georgiana followed him with every appearance of demure modesty, her eyes cast down, and felt almost herself when Fitzwilliam escorted her back to her seat, his forethought extending to a quiet word to Lady Aldborough.

The marchioness seated herself at Georgiana's side, with scarcely a glance for Cardwell. She was about sixty and peculiarly pretty, rather like a china doll. ‘Here you are, Miss Darcy. Why, I have scarcely set eyes on you since you were a child -- but you are only now out?'

‘Yes ma'am, since this last summer.'

Lady Aldborough nodded to herself. ‘I remember my first season-- I knew your mother then. Such a handsome girl -- you are very like her, though you have your father's eyes. You and your brother both.' She smiled. ‘I hope you take every opportunity of enjoying yourself, my dear. This time is for you and such a thing will never come again.'

‘I -- I shall try,' Georgiana said.

‘I am certain you shall. Your brother assures us that you are the most dutiful, sweet tempered girl in the world.'

Georgiana blushed scarlet.

‘Though you may have other cares than dances and young men before long.' Lady Aldborough gave a wispy sort of sigh. ‘Mr and Mrs Darcy seem very much in love -- they are really quite, quite charming together, one scarcely ever sees anything like it.'

Georgiana turned her eyes to Elizabeth, who sat with her usual easy elegance as she talked to Lady Dorothea and Lord Courtland. Fitzwilliam was standing behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder; during a brief pause in the conversation, his wife turned her head to smile affectionately at him, clasping his fingers before returning her attention to the others.

‘That is quite true,' Georgiana said. ‘Elizabeth, my sister Darcy, she is delightful. My brother has made an excellent choice, I think.'

‘Oh! Mr Cardwell!' Georgiana reached out her hand. ‘I am so terribly sorry about my behaviour earlier. I hope you may forgive me.'

He laughed. ‘My dear Miss Darcy, there is nothing to forgive; you are perfectly right to defend your family.'

‘Not like that,' she said, ‘I do not know what was wrong with me, but I assure you it was most unlike me and I shall never speak in such a manner again.'

‘Oh, "never" is a dangerous word, Miss Darcy.' He took her offered hand and kissed it. ‘I hope I shall have the pleasure of your company very soon.'

‘We have always seen a great deal of your mother and father, I daresay you shall.'

The Willoughbys and Cardwells left together; Georgiana, exhausted, received her brother's leave to retreat to her chambers, and she slept through the rest of the calls. The house was silent when she rose again.

‘Sarah,' she said, when she saw Mrs Darcy's maid, ‘where is everyone?'

‘Oh! Miss Darcy!' the girl exclaimed, turning white at the sight of her, and begged her pardon for not seeing her. ‘The master is in the library, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner retired about, oh, a half-hour ago. The mistress was in the chapel, the old one, the last I saw.'

Georgiana's brow furrowed, but she shrugged the matter off and softly made her way to the library. She knew she had to explain her behaviour to Fitzwilliam, and besides she wanted a new novel to read. She could just see the crack of light under the door when a slim figure in white passed by, taking no notice of her in the dimness; it was Mrs Darcy, humming a little to herself. She pushed the door open, leaving it ajar as she swiftly passed through, and Georgiana after a moment of hesitation approached it.

Elizabeth had slipped her arms around her husband, and was leaning against him, one of her hands tangled in his hair, whispering something in his ear. Georgiana instantly withdrew, a smile creeping over her face, and though she was not at all tired, she returned to her room.

She studied the letter she had been reading, then pulled out her own unfinished reply and concluded,

As for F. & E., believe me, they have no cause to repine; they are truly the happiest people I ever saw in the marriage system and if there is any earthly bliss superior to their's, I never saw it. I truly have nothing to wish for, except that I and my other cousins might enjoy a fraction of their good fortune.

I remain your affectionate cousin,

Georgiana Darcy

Chapter Ten

Posted on Friday, 2 February 2007

The Gardiners left on Saturday, and though Georgiana would not have said so for any thing, she was glad to see the family party restored to Darcys, and only Darcys. She was very fond of her sister's relations, of course, but it was simply not the same. She was always performing, always afraid of making some terrible, shameful mistake. With just the three of them, it was different. After all, Fitzwilliam was not even angry over Ramsgate, and nothing she did now could even begin to compare to that.

Now that she was less absorbed in her own fears, she was better able to observe her family, and quickly found herself settling into a pleasant sort of contentment.

Fitzwilliam was everything that was proper and restrained and subtle. His wife was always ‘Mrs Darcy' before company and to the servants, and except for a startled blush now and then, he had all his usual poise and composure. Yet there were little things -- he rarely addressed her with anything more familiar than Elizabeth, but occasionally, something in his voice turned the common name into an endearment. He always rested his hand against her back when they stood together, whether in company or not, and once or twice, Georgiana caught him pressing Elizabeth's fingers against his lips, with a look that made her shiver, even if it was only Fitzwilliam.

Mrs Darcy was, with her easy, affectionate disposition, almost shockingly demonstrative, her face lighting up with pleasure at the sight of her husband, holding his arm tightly against her when they walked together, stealing kisses to his astonishment as well as his sister's, and sometimes simply watching him with unreserved enjoyment, though only when he was oblivious to the attention. She seemed delighted by all those things which Georgiana had never known to be grateful for, often sang in her clear light voice without fear, enjoying what seemed the most imperturbable good humour imaginable. She was so happy, her usual conversation punctuated by gaiety and endearments. Georgiana, as she slowly grew accustomed to her sister's ways, found her own spirits lifted by the sparkling merriment of her sister-in-law's, and she realised that Fitzwilliam's moods, too, were lighter as well, though no less tranquil. And above all, Elizabeth was always, always laughing. Though usually it was the laughter of joy and happiness, Elizabeth also laughed at people -- not with that unpleasant sort of raillery that Georgiana sometimes heard, but genuine amusement and pleasure in folly and whimsicality -- even at Fitzwilliam.

On one early occasion, she knew she had not been quite able to hide her immediate, instinctive alarm.

‘Oh, I have shocked you,' Mrs Darcy said, her eyes dancing. ‘I hope you will forgive my impertinence, Georgiana.'

‘Oh, I . . . I . . .' She could see not the slightest hint of malice or displeasure (or penitence) in her sister-in-law's mobile face. ‘It is not for me to . . . I have no right-- ' she stammered. ‘Fitzwilliam does not mind,' she managed to say, more clearly, ‘and that is all that matters.'

Elizabeth looked at her more seriously, then set her work aside. ‘Come walk with me, Georgiana.'

Uncertainly, she acquiesced, knowing that she had no right to any special consideration on her sister-in-law's part. She shortened her step to match Elizabeth's, her head bent a little.

‘I think I am beginning to recover my sanity,' Elizabeth began. Georgiana blinked; the smaller woman laughed. ‘Forgive me-- what a beginning! I only meant . . .' Her eyes travelled about the hall, a trace of wonder still there. ‘I am afraid I have been terribly preoccupied, between Christmas, Pemberley, and . . .' a slow smile crept over her face -- ‘and your brother.'

Georgiana's brow contracted.

‘Do you know, you look exactly like him when you do that? It is quite uncanny. In any case, yes, your brother. I . . . oh,' a quick smile flashed across her face, ‘I have done everything backwards. I learnt to respect him, esteem him, love him, and then fell into infatuation. Truly, I have hardly been able to keep a thought in my head.'

Georgiana could not conceal her skepticism at such a description of her clever sister-in-law, who laughed.

‘Oh, very well-- but not many. I have been selfishly preoccupied with your brother and with my own happiness, and have not paid you the attention you deserve.'

Georgiana scarcely knew what to say. She turned her head away, a little.

‘And,' Elizabeth went on, her tone firming, ‘I would not wish you to be distressed in your own home. What your brother thinks is not quite all that matters here.'

‘I am not -- I was not distressed,' Georgiana said, finding her voice and courage. ‘I was only startled -- I cannot imagine speaking to Fitzwilliam as you do, not ever.'

‘I should hope not!' Elizabeth met her astonished gaze with a cheerful smile. ‘My dear Georgiana, Fitzwilliam would certainly never permit you to speak to him as I do -- and quite rightly so, might I add. He is your brother and your guardian; such behaviour would be completely inappropriate from you. You must understand -- a woman may take liberties with her husband that a man will not allow from a sister more than ten years younger than he is.'

Georgiana frowned, mulling this over.

‘At least, a woman well married may,' Elizabeth continued, her eyes drifting over the faces of Darcy men and women, fathers and sons and wives and sisters. ‘The first thing I admired about your brother -- after his eyes -- ' Georgiana giggled nervously -- ‘was that no matter how much I teased and challenged him -- and believe me, I did -- he never seemed remotely discomposed, let alone threatened. Well, it was infuriating, really, but also . . . pleasant.'

‘Infuriating? Whatever for?'

Elizabeth looked up at Lady Alexandra Darcy, Georgiana's grandmother. ‘I was always so clever,' she said slowly. ‘Cleverer than anybody, except my father, and I knew it perfectly well; he never attempted to hide his preference for me, or the reasons for it. I knew that nobody I had ever known was truly my equal. Then -- I met your brother.' She laughed again, this time with a rather sharp edge. ‘And he dismissed me out of hand, with scarcely a look. I wanted nothing more than to find him unworthy even of contempt.'

She turned to face Georgiana, who was too shocked to even gasp, with a wry smile. ‘I behaved very badly, I assure you -- I am quite a vain creature! I was so intent on convincing myself that he was truly unworthy, that the fault was in him, not in me, that I was just as pretty and clever and sensible and generally wonderful as I had always believed myself to be -- ' she shrugged, looking remarkably unperturbed. ‘Yet despite everything -- I cannot recall that we ever agreed on any subject -- there was always a sort of, of affinity between us, and yes, it infuriated me because I could never quite dismiss him when, in a way, he treated me with more consideration than anyone else ever had.'

‘I -- I had no idea,' Georgiana stammered.

Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. ‘The vagaries of our courtship need not bother you, Georgiana; I am simply trying to say, not very articulately, that the only sort of man worth your consideration is one who treats you as a rational creature, not an elegant lady to be coddled and patronised.'

Georgiana tilted her head to the side, considering. ‘I do not think, either, that I could talk to anybody as you do Fitzwilliam,' she said, her heart pounding. She wanted Elizabeth to like her, she really did, but she could not say something untrue, even the thought of it made her almost ill.

Elizabeth smiled. ‘Your disposition is not mine, Georgiana, and I can assure you that most men do not care to be teased and laughed at. Even Fitzwilliam is just now learning.'

Georgiana, who knew perfectly well that her brother 's closest companions had almost always been cheerful, light hearted people like her cousin Richard, who admired him immensely and teased him mercilessly, would not contradict her and could not agree. She did not dare reply.

‘Mrs Darcy, Miss Darcy,' said Farley awkwardly, ‘the master wants you in the study.'

Elizabeth and Georgiana looked at one another in surprise. Such a peremptory command was very unlike Fitzwilliam, but there was nothing else to be done; they set aside their work and followed the servant.

Fitzwilliam was standing in a shaft of chilly sunlight, his face turned away from the window and a letter held loosely in one hand. His expression was as grim as Georgiana had seen it for a very long time.

‘Is something wrong?' Elizabeth enquired as soon as Farley had left.

‘Fitzwilliam? Are you well?' Georgiana said at the same time.

‘Oh,' he said, with a sharp, brittle laugh, ‘I am perfectly well, thank you. However, I do not believe our cousin and his -- ' his mouth twisted -- ‘companion could say the same.' He made a casual gesture. ‘Come, Milton, do you lack the decorum to so much as enquire after your cousins' health?'

In their concern for Fitzwilliam, neither Georgiana nor Elizabeth had noticed the couple standing in the corner opposite him. Milton was very much himself, despite the obvious lack of care he had taken in his appearance, but the young lady with him was not Diana, but rather somebody Georgiana had never set eyes on. She was very small, probably three or four inches shorter than Elizabeth, rather plain, her belly grossly swollen.

‘Darcy, this is not the time for niceties,' he snarled. ‘You must -- '

‘With all due respect, cousin, you would do well to remember whose home you have so cavalierly made your own,' Fitzwilliam replied, very softly. Georgiana swallowed, and retracted her earlier judgment of her brother's temper. She had never seen him like this. Milton seemed to realise something similar, and cut his own reply short.

Elizabeth's dark eyes flickered between the two men; then, she walked towards the woman and said graciously,

‘Miss Martin, you must be exhausted. Your clothes are sodden. Come, we will take you upstairs, get you some warm clothes, something to eat,-- ' As they left, Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and gave Fitzwilliam one long, serious look. He nodded.

Georgiana was still attempting to understand the silent interchange when they reached one of the empty rooms. Miss Martin was shivering violently and scarcely seemed to realise where she was or who she was with. It was some minutes before they managed to get her dressed, wrapped in blankets, with some hot soup before her.

Georgiana, feeling awkward and useless, stood a little apart. She knew who Miss Martin was, of course -- Kate told her all the servants' gossip, wherever they went, and in any case she'd heard enough with her own ears to surmise what it meant -- but she'd never thought to actually see her, especially not with Fitzwilliam so angry about it. Georgiana glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. So this was what an adulteress looked like? It was nothing like she had imagined.

‘Thank you, Mrs Darcy,' Miss Martin said in a tired voice, pushing the remnants of her meal away and lying down. ‘I hope your husband is not terribly distressed by our arrival.'

Elizabeth looked at her a moment. ‘He is,' she said, and had a servant take the rest away. ‘Would you like some more blankets, or are you warm enough?'

Miss Martin gave a peculiar smile and opened her eyes just enough to glance sideways at Elizabeth. ‘I would like another, if it is no inconvenience.'

‘Of course not,' Elizabeth replied briskly. ‘Georgiana -- '

‘Oh! I beg your pardon. I hope this helps, Miss Martin.'

‘Thank you.' She lay on her side, curling her legs and wrapping an arm around her belly. Georgiana, knowing nothing else to do, remained where she was and tried not to gawk at her as if she were some rare breed of animal. She glanced uncertainly at Elizabeth, who had briefly turned away, to all appearances examining her watch.

And she recognised something in her face that she would never have associated with her merry sister-in-law. Elizabeth was furious.

Georgiana swallowed. She felt confused and ignorant, and the silence seemed to press on her, even once Elizabeth turned back around with a politely neutral smile on her face.

‘You do not approve, do you?' Miss Martin said, her voice utterly dispassionate.

‘No. Would you like another pillow?'

Georgiana took a firm step backwards, away from the woman on the bed. If Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were both angry, there must be very good reason for it.

‘I have done nothing wrong. You have no -- ' her teeth chattered a bit -- ‘no right to -- to -- '

‘Georgiana, get Miss Martin another blanket.' She hastily obeyed, and just as hastily stepped back. Elizabeth looked down on Milton's mistress with mingled pity and contempt. ‘I am very sorry for the situation you find yourself in, but you have no right to come into my home and tell me what I may or may not think.'

Miss Martin's only response was to turn her head away, instead looking at Georgiana, who could hardly bear to look at the hectic brightness of her cheeks and eyes.

‘Are you frightened of me, Miss Darcy? Or is it simply that your delicate sensibilities are affonted?' She coughed deep in her throat. ‘If Edward is to be believed, we have a great deal in common, you and I.'

‘Georgiana,' Elizabeth said sharply, ‘go downstairs and join your brother. I can manage Miss Martin on my own.'

Georgiana fled with Miss Martin's weary laughter ringing in her ears.

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Tuesday, 6 February 2007

Georgiana's heart was pounding in her ears when she reached her brother's study. She dashed a few scalding tears off her cheek, composed herself, and knocked.

‘Fitzwilliam?' she called. ‘Elizabeth said to come downstairs . . .' Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

‘Come in,' he replied. Georgiana slipped in, looking from her brother to her cousin. Milton was in Fitzwilliam's chair, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. He looked utterly dejected. Fitzwilliam seemed more exhausted than anything else right now, though she doubted anyone but herself, or perhaps Elizabeth, would have seen it. In the set of his mouth and shoulders, however, she could see hints of resentment, even as he rested his hand reassuringly on Milton's slumped shoulder for a moment.

‘I -- Fitzwilliam -- does -- does he know? about him?' She knew it was ill-bred to speak of her cousin as if he were not present, but she could think of no other way.

Milton lifted his drawn, pale face, staring at her. ‘What are you speaking of, Georgiana?'

‘No,' Fitzwilliam said, frowning. ‘Why should you think so? Did something happen?'

She sat down, staring down at her hands. ‘It was something Miss Martin said. She said that he-- that is, that you, cousin -- had said something . . .'

Fitzwilliam glanced at their cousin, his expression at once angry and bewildered. Then it smoothed away as if he had not lost his composure for an instant.

‘Georgiana,' Milton said in a voice raspy from weariness and disuse, ‘how is she? Is Charlotte . . . is she . . . well?'

Georgiana suppressed a shiver and replied, ‘I would not say . . . well, exactly. She was very cold, and she talked -- rather oddly, I think. Though I would not know how she usually is.' She did not think so ill of her cousin's judgment as to suppose he would really love someone who was that -- well, awful -- all the time. Even Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst --

Milton groaned. ‘The fever, I suppose.'

‘Fever?' Fitzwilliam spun on his heel. ‘How long has she been ill?'

‘A little over a fortnight.'

He muttered something under his breath and wrote a short note, and sent for Farley to deliver it.

‘Is there any particular reason you did nothing?'

‘I tried,' Milton protested, but weakly. ‘The first doctor was an utter quack -- she only got worse. And then there was no money.'

‘Oh, of course -- your financial troubles,' Fitzwilliam murmured. ‘I had quite forgotten.' Milton refused to look at him, though he did sit up properly. ‘And your father -- '

‘I brought her to Houghton, and -- '

‘I beg your pardon? You brought your mistress under the same roof as your wife? Have you taken leave of your senses?'

‘I had to do something! What other choice did I have?'

‘Do not raise your voice in my house,' Fitzwilliam said coldly. ‘Did you consider laying the whole of the situation before my uncle?'

‘No, and I am glad I did not,' Milton snapped. ‘The instant he discovered Charlotte's presence, he threw us both out. We are in disgrace. I knew if we came to Pemberley . . .' He stopped, flushing a little. Georgiana at once pitied him and was glad to see that he had some shame left.

‘Ah, yes -- Pemberley. I was hoping the story, highly diverting though it is, would wind around to some sort of explanation for your intrusion.'

Georgiana knew, then, that her brother was not only angry, but that he had very thoroughly lost his temper. He looked composed, but there was colour burnt high along his cheekbones, a cold, fierce gleam in his eyes, and he spoke with an unfamiliar harsh, sharp edge in his voice. She suppressed a shiver. She had only seen her brother angry a few times in her entire life, but it was never pleasant, even though she had never been the object of it. She would not have traded places with her cousin for anything in the world.

‘She needs a doctor,' Milton said. ‘I knew you would not turn us away; I knew that your wife, at least, would see that Charlotte is properly cared for, until -- '

‘I see.' Fitzwilliam's mouth twitched into a faint, sardonic smile, but Georgiana did not think he was remotely amused. ‘Your clever idea was to use my own family feeling against me. How charming.'

‘And if it was the woman you loved, what would you have done?' Milton demanded.

Fitzwilliam laughed softly and humourlessly. ‘It must have escaped your notice, Milton. I am married to the woman I love.' He turned away then, calling for a maidservant. ‘Addison, his lordship is quite tired. Please escort him to his room.'

‘Yes, sir.'

Milton opened his mouth, then after a glance at his cousins, shut it again, following the maid out with a defeated expression. Fitzwilliam sat down, leaning back and rubbing his temples. Georgiana approached him timidly, and reached out to press his hand; he looked startled, but smiled.

‘You see what a brutal temper your brother has, Georgiana,' he said, his fingers icy cold against hers.

‘He deserved it,' she told him stubbornly. ‘He may have been desperate but it was still very wrong of him.'

‘My dear Georgiana -- semper eadem*.' He leant on their clasped hands one moment, then straightened, tightening his grip before releasing her hand, withdrawing a little.

‘That was Queen Elizabeth's motto, was it not?'

‘Yes, it was, although I rather think it suits you better.' His eyes crinkled around the corners.

Their own Elizabeth's voice rang out. ‘Did I hear you two talking about me?' She stepped past the doorway; she, too, seemed tired.

‘No, in fact. I was just admiring Georgiana's constancy,' Fitzwilliam replied, a smile warming his face and erasing the weary, angry lines of before.

‘You are right to help,' Georgiana said, ‘but he was wrong to come.'

‘Quite,' Elizabeth said. ‘I only hope that woman behaves differently when she is not feverish -- if not, I shall have to question your cousin's sanity.'

Georgiana suppressed a giggle, then thought over the brief, unpleasant scene again. Her brow furrowed. ‘I do not understand what she meant at all,' she confessed.

Elizabeth shot an uneasy glance at Fitzwilliam. ‘She knows that you know,' he told her.

‘I do?' Georgiana blinked.

‘You remember, I told you, when I ret-- last spring.'

‘Oh!' Georgiana, he'd said, not just his usual quiet self, but sombre and melancholy, I had good reason to believe that a -- a respectable, virtuous young lady had formed an attachment to Mr Wickham. You know -- he stopped, took a breath, then continued, I felt obliged to warn her, and she had been so misled by his appearance of goodness -- he had, it seemed, told her any number of falsehoods -- that I knew she would not be persuaded of his true character unless I told her all. I hope -- he looked away -- I hope you may forgive me for having done that much without reference to you. And, overflowing with compassion for that unknown young lady, Georgiana instantly denied any necessity for penitence. ‘That was -- you?' She stared at her sister-in-law. She had felt herself so silly and vain for having been fooled by Mr Wickham -- but if Elizabeth had been attached to him, had made something like the same error that Georgiana herself had -- either she was not so foolish after all, or Elizabeth was just as bad as she was.

Georgiana's head hurt. ‘Milton does not know,' she said, her head spinning.

‘What did she say to you?' Fitzwilliam asked intently. ‘What does it have to do with what happened at Ramsgate?'

Georgiana's eyes burned, but she refused to cry. She wished suddenly for Narcissus.

Elizabeth spoke, instead, her voice softer than what Georgiana was accustomed to hearing from her -- ‘She asked Georgiana if her -- if her sensibilities were offended, and then said that they -- she and Georgiana -- were not so different, from what "Edward" -- Lord Milton, I presume? -- had told her.'

‘That is his Christian name,' Fitzwilliam admitted, ‘though I have never heard anyone use it. As for the other -- no, I swore Richard to secrecy, and never spoke of it to anyone but you, not even Eleanor. I cannot image how he could have discovered it.'

Elizabeth seemed at once perplexed and pleased. ‘What would he have told her, then? Was it simply the fever talking?'

‘It cannot be anything you have done, Georgiana,' Fitzwilliam said, ‘she might mean simply as a Fitzwilliam -- '

‘I do not think so,' Elizabeth replied, ‘she seemed very particularly-- Fitzwilliam, what is it?' Georgiana looked at her brother in alarm; he was staring at something in the distance, his eyes black against his whitened face.

He got to his feet. ‘Please excuse me, both of you -- I have to go -- and think. Elizabeth, watch over Georgiana -- she should not be alone with that woman -- no, not in her company at all. I beg your pardon.' He was gone before either woman could utter a word; they simply stared at one another in astonishment.

‘Tell me, is he often like this?' Elizabeth enquired, with an arch smile.

‘No,' Georgiana said blankly, ‘no, never. Do you have any idea what he thought of?'

‘I? No -- I was about to ask you; you must know more about the family than I do, if indeed that is what -- ' Then she tilted her head to the side, looking startled. ‘I do not know -- perhaps, it is possible that -- ' She chewed on her lip, then said decidedly, ‘That is enough of that for now. I do not think I can sit an instant longer. Will you walk with me, Georgiana?'

Half-curious and half-frightened, Georgiana assented, and her sister-in-law made easy conversation as they walked down the Long Gallery. The portrait that Lord Ancaster had returned before the wedding was restored to its proper place, beside her father, and as Georgiana allowed the long ramble of family history to calm her nerves, she found her eyes resting on her mother.

‘She was very beautiful,' she said wistfully. ‘I wish I were more like her.'

Elizabeth replied, ‘I was just thinking that there is quite a remarkable resemblance between you.'

‘Really?' Georgiana felt, for a moment, as if she could see what Elizabeth did -- an oval face and strong features, high full cheekbones and a pale complexion. Yes, that was hers, and it was from her mother, though she was her father's child too, more than Fitzwilliam.

‘You have your father's eyes, of course -- you all do, do you not?'

‘Yes.' Georgiana looked from her own painted eyes, to Fitzwilliam's, to their father's and aunt's, and grandfather's and great-uncle's, and all the other ancestors' -- ‘Yes, somehow it always seems to pass. Even Courtland does.'

‘Lord Courtland? Is he a Darcy?'

‘Yes -- the first Lord Courtland was a younger son, adopted by his mother's family -- they did not have any children. That was generations and generations ago, of course. We are not really very near relations, though the nearest in the direct line. Fitzwilliam told me once that if he had not barred the entailment when he came of age, Courtland would have been his heir instead of me -- though I hope I shan't for very long. It would be awful; I suppose my husband could change his name, but there have always been proper heirs.'

‘Well, let us hope I do not take after my mother then,' Elizabeth said cheerfully, turning away from Lady Anne and George Darcy. ‘Tell me, who is that woman there?'

‘Oh,' Georgiana said, glad to change the subject, ‘that is my great-grandmother, Georgiana Elizabeth -- I think I told you about her, before the wedding?'

‘Yes, you did.' Elizabeth took a step closer. ‘Why, she looks positively merry! How very improper.'

Georgiana allowed herself to laugh, then said. ‘That is her husband, Francis Darcy; Fitzwilliam admires him very much. He was very devoted to her -- his family opposed the match tooth and nail, but they managed to reconcile them, and were married. My great-uncle Sir James, you met him, he is their son.'

‘How remarkable,' Elizabeth said, studying the portrait. ‘Why did his family disapprove of her? Did she smile too much?'

‘No, she was just a provincial baronet's daughter,' Georgiana said thoughtlessly, then gasped, covering up her mouth. ‘Oh! I am so sorry, I did not mean -- '

Elizabeth laughed. ‘I understand your family's censure, Georgiana; I do not agree, but I know perfectly well that in worldly terms, it is an astonishingly bad match for him.'

‘I -- I think, from what I have heard, and read -- there are letters, Fitzwilliam lets me look at them -- that Francis' family was very fond of him too.'

Elizabeth gazed at her a moment, then smiled. ‘I am glad to hear it.'

Chapter Twelve

Posted on Monday, 12 February 2007

After Elizabeth went upstairs to rest for a few hours, Georgiana found herself at something of a loss. Fitzwilliam had not yet returned; she fretted a little, for he must be getting quite cold -- but of course he knew what he was doing. He would return when he needed to.

She could not seem to concentrate on anything; she tried playing her harp, reading her lessons, even reading Mrs Edgeworth's new novel, but to no avail. Her mind continued to leap from thought to thought -- wondering what was happening, what she did not know about herself, but even more than that, the discovery that Elizabeth had been misled by Wickham.

Now she knew what Fitzwilliam had meant on Christmas Eve. If he had been in love with her by spring, but knew, somehow, that she was attached to Wickham -- Georgiana shuddered at the thought. He had been a little different after returning from his visit at Lady Catherine's, quieter, even melancholy -- and melancholy was very unlike Fitzwilliam. Once or twice he had been sharp with people (never Georgiana), until out of nowhere, it seemed, he had quarrelled fiercely with Milton. And sometimes, she thought, he seemed rather bewildered at his own behaviour. She, of course, saw all those little things that others would not, because she saw him so much more frequently than anybody, and though he was mostly just as he had always been with her, she knew he was unhappy and it made her miserable. She was sure it was her fault, that he must be angry and resentful of having such an ungrateful, spoilt sister -- but now, now she knew it was not that at all. She had suspected it when Ella came and talked to him for an hour -- things got better after that. Ella knew nothing about Ramsgate, so they could not have talked about that -- and so, probably, his oddness had nothing to do with her misadventure after all.

Now she knew. Georgiana bit her lip. For a moment, she had felt a flicker of anger, that Elizabeth had believed Wickham over Fitzwilliam and made him unhappy -- but she instantly knew it was unjust. She, after all, had done the same. And Fitzwilliam was not wrong about Elizabeth, he could not be. She was still the same person Georgiana had thought her. Merry, charming, clever, impulsive. A sort of wiser, more sensible, more thoughtful Cecily. What had he said? That she would have to ask Elizabeth herself about errors she had made?

Georgiana shuddered at the thought. She would quite gladly never hear That Man's name again, as long as she lived, though she knew it was impossible. And Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam -- and Georgiana, too -- they had all been so happy lately. She had felt as if the breaks and chasms in her family were finally healing over -- and that was not just Elizabeth, but she was part of it. And that was worth having to acknowledge Wickham's existence occasionally.

A smile trembled on her lips as she walked. For a moment, she tried to look at the world around her as Elizabeth, or the Gardiners, must see it -- not simply as home, but as a grand, ancient house with all the centuries of Darcy footsteps echoing around her. She shivered. There was a sort of comforting weight in the knowledge that she stood where so many of her fathers and aunts had.

By now, she was back at the great hall, surrounded by the images of those people, along with the other art that the various masters of Pemberley had collected. Feeling quite daring, Georgiana ignored the masters and mistresses, but examined the others who had been, like she herself, mere daughters and sisters. There was Aunt Helen -- she had married a French marquis, some incredibly distant cousin, and was killed with him before Georgiana was born.

Miss Helen Darcy (1774)

Then there was Lady Alston, with all her splendid laces and silks -- another only daughter. Here was her great-great-aunt Bella -- she had been the eldest of three sisters. Who had she married? Oh, the Blythes' heir -- there were letters to her mother, Lady Isabella, congratulating her on Miss Darcy's fine match. Katherine Darcy, wearing the same shade of yellow that Elizabeth favoured, had snared a minor duke.

Katherine Darcy (1665)

No, that was not the right word -- she had not pursued him at all. Georgiana frowned, studying Katherine's portrait. She did not remember exactly, but she and Fitzwilliam had once laughed together over one of Sir David's letters, in which he gleefully reported that his proud sister had brought her suitor down a few notches. She only consented to marry him because -- no, she did not love him, but she and her family finally decided he was worthy of her, even if his ancestors had once been Scottish sheep farmers. She remembered asking him in her childish voice, Were they happy? and Fitzwilliam, looking pensive, said, In a manner of speaking. They had been friends rather than lovers, she later discovered, and as far as anyone knew quite content with each other's discreet infidelity.

Georgiana thought of them, the Miss Darcys that had gone before, staring down at her from their place on the wall. All had married well-- all of them mistresses of grand estates and wives of powerful landowners. Some lived in quiet seclusion on their husbands' estates, some were socially influential ladies of the ton, some were gay and flighty, some sober and intellectual. Yet one and all, they had lived with the same expectations that Georgiana did now. Aunt Helen married reluctantly, Aunt Bella married a man who wrote her I love thee, sweetheart, and yearn for thee, more than heart may tell, Lady Alston did not care one way or another and married out of prudent inclination alone.

She smiled. Right now, the burden of being Miss Darcy of Pemberley was not a weight at all. Had not all the others managed to live with the expectations upon them? Surely among all these people, there was one young girl who felt just as nervous and insignificant as Georgiana did? After all, who said duty and inclination must oppose each other? Well, plenty of people, but who said they were right?

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would look after her, she thought. Fitzwilliam could frighten away the unworthy at thirty paces, and Elizabeth . . . well, she was Elizabeth. As long as Georgiana was with them, there was nothing to fear. Except dancing.

Georgiana laughed to herself, or perhaps at herself, then stopped when she heard the familiar sharp rap of boots against the floor.

‘Fitzwilliam?' she cried, spinning around and hurrying towards him. He smiled at her; he seemed much less weary, though still quite grim.

‘Georgiana.' He kissed her cheek. ‘Where is Elizabeth?'

‘Upstairs -- she was tired.'

‘Ah, I see.' He took her arm. ‘What were you doing here?'

‘Nothing in particular,' she said, leaning on him, ‘just walking, and thinking.'

‘Not about that woman's scurrilous accusation, I hope?'

‘No,' she replied, startled. ‘I was not thinking of that, at all -- rather about family, and history, and being . . . myself.' She wet her lip, then gathered her courage, even as she felt the familiar dizziness as her heart began pounding in her ears. ‘Fitzwilliam, what is it? Do you know . . . do you know what she meant? Elizabeth said -- she thought I might know, but then she thought of something but said she could not say until she talked to you.'

‘Yes, I know.' He hesitated. ‘Would you like Elizabeth to be here?'

To her surprise, she did, but she said, ‘No -- I mean, I do not think we should wake her up, but I want to know. What did I do, that she could think -- '

‘You? Nothing at all.' He stopped, turning to look around with a contemplative expression. A dead silence fell as brother and sister stood alone, surrounded by their ancestors. There are no more, she thought. Nobody else carried the name; they were last of their line. She shivered.

‘She was not really referring to you,' he said finally. ‘She was referring to our family.'

She frowned. ‘I -- you mean that -- I do not understand.'

He turned away, his eyes fixed on their mother's portrait. ‘You do not remember Mother, and you certainly do not remember her death. You do not remember what Father was like before she died, and you do not remember what I was like. You were not a year old. You had just learnt to say "Mama." ' Georgiana swallowed. ‘I am going to speak to you honestly, Georgiana, about our family.'

‘What do you mean? Surely you have not been dishonest?'

‘Yet I have not told you the whole truth -- and I do not regret it. But you are older now, and it does . . . I think it will help you to understand.'

She easily caught the strain in his voice, and reached out her hand to his. ‘Fitzwilliam?'

‘What we would call profligate was "indiscreet" for people then; Father was only remarkable for being so fundamentally good -- warm hearted, compassionate, with an easy, open temper, a great natural liking for other people, and many other fine qualities. Mother's disposition could not have been more different. She was obstinate, clever, headstrong, intense, reserved, and though she liked him she did not approve of him, and accepted his overtures primarily out of duty to her family. She was always proud of being a Fitzwilliam, but she was also never blind to the fact that they had not been completely respectable since -- well, since they lost their fortune and regained it. She saw her marriage to my father as a chance to gain the old respect her family once garnered -- which it was.'

‘I thought they were -- infatuated,' Georgiana said hesitatingly.

‘He was. Yet he could not break her indifference and tired of it soon enough. They lived together, that was all, his interest quickly went elsewhere.' She caught her breath. ‘Her pride made it even worse to bear; it was utterly degrading for her, and my father could never understand it, he could not understand what it was like for her -- she, the favourite of every body in an unusually affectionate family, had no preparation for the kind of dispassionate, worldly marriage that was so common then, and that was expected of her. In any case, one winter, when their only surviving child, Alexandra, was eight, there was a terrible epidemic at Pemberley. Mother fell deeply ill. Alexandra died. Though none knew it, Mother had conceived for the fifth time, and her only thought from then on was the child she carried. She could never display, and Father mistook her reserve for indifference.'

Georgiana flinched. Her brother said,

‘A common enough mistake. You and I have both had that accusation leveled at us a few too many times to easily tolerate it. In any case, they quarreled bitterly and often. Father turned more and more to his . . . other pursuits, and then his interest slowly focused on Pemberley, his responsibilities, the poor and the ill and others who depended upon his consideration. Mother-- ' he sighed. ‘Her misery at the time, I believe, was the worst she ever suffered. The forlorn state of a neglected woman often rouses that species of pity, which is so near akin, it easily slides into love. A man of feeling thinks not of seducing, he is himself seduced by the noblest emotions of his soul*.'

Georgiana looked at him, a frisson of-- not fear, but horror, running through her. ‘Fitzwilliam, she did not -- did she?'

‘Yes,' he said shortly. ‘She did.'

‘Poor Mama,' she whispered. ‘I never knew, I never guessed, nobody ever said -- '

‘It is not something one ought to speak to a child of. Mother -- she was unhappy, and lonely, and, for all her pride, I do not think she held anyone in as much contempt as she did herself. And she desperately wanted children. I survived, none of the others did. So there was always a constant loss. She wanted a daughter. As for myself,-- I always knew what was happening, you understand. Mother's entanglement with Lord Aldborough -- '

‘Lord Courtland's father? And Mother?'

‘No; his uncle. But it was still rather awkward for us.' Distantly, he added, ‘they loved each other -- it was quite awful.'

‘Love should not be awful,' Georgiana said.

‘No. It should not.' He took a deep breath. ‘In any case, I was from a very early age -- ' his eyes left hers as he searched for words. ‘I was aware of much of what was -- transpiring.' He returned his gaze to meet her own. ‘I do not know if you, or anyone, can possibly comprehend what your -- your mere existence meant to me.'

Georgiana flushed. ‘You were just a little boy.'

‘Yes -- a sullen, lonely, often angry boy, at that,' he said flatly. ‘You cannot understand, Georgiana, the difference after you were born. I loved Father but we were always quite distant, when we were not estranged altogether, while Mother was . . . there was nothing I could do for her, I was a powerless child.' He shook his head. ‘I appointed myself your protector before you were born. I could do nothing for Mother, but you -- I was one of the fussiest brothers who ever lived, I am sure. Especially after Mother died. I lived with Lady Catherine and my uncle, and I was furious at Father for separating us.'

A gentle smile curved her lips. ‘I remember -- I hardly saw you when I was small, you were there and then you weren't. But you always wrote.'

‘Yes. I promised I would.'

She stared at him quizzically. ‘I don't remember that.'

‘You were very small. Four or five. I had stayed at Pemberley for some two months. Father and I were -- finally -- reconciling. You were -- you followed me everywhere, like a duckling.'

She winced.

‘I am sorry.'

‘No. It must have been amusing.'

‘Richard thought so.' He bit his lip. ‘In any case, I rushed h-- back to Houghton when our grandfather died. You hardly knew him, so you could not understand why I was leaving you again, and "so soon." I promised I would write every week that we were not together. Although I returned home not much later, it became a sort of tradition.'

‘I always looked forward to your letters at school. I always knew they would come.' She looked down. ‘But even then, I never knew -- I thought -- well, that you wrote more out of duty than affection.' Her voice suddenly seemed loud in the quiet room.

He laughed shortly. ‘You know what I think about that, Georgiana; there is no disentangling duty and affection. For many years I thought of your coming out with horror. I was certain that any man with sense would see your worth and take you away from me.'

Georgiana stared at him. His cheeks were flushed. She knew he must be terribly embarrassed to speak so, though she did not doubt his honesty for a moment. ‘Fitzwilliam, I-- ' Something must be said, but she felt as if she had nothing to give in return. ‘I never knew.' A dim memory came to her. ‘I was angry at the family once,' she said. ‘I do not remember why, except that they wanted something from you and you seemed so tired all the time. I asked Richard why they would not leave you alone and he laughed at me. He said you did not want that, that you liked being useful, like Aunt Catherine.'

He flinched, then straightened, his expression hardening. ‘That is true enough, though sometimes they fail to draw a sharp enough distinction between being useful and being used.'

She blinked, her eyes widening. His voice gentled. ‘That is, however, quite beside the point. This -- do you see where we came from, you and I? And you particularly -- '

Georgiana stood very still, and tightened her fingers around Fitzwilliam's. She felt as if, despite all the revelations, there was something more, something she was supposed to understand, but that he would not say. She turned her head to look at her father, at the man he had been. His easy smile, gentle features, even the fair hair and fashionable attire, they were all more like Wickham than she or her brother. How different were they, really, the father she had loved and the heartless man who had taken advantage of her? Was it honesty alone?

Yet amidst all of the differences, there were the clear dark eyes she saw in her brother's face and her own reflection, the tie to each other and to their line. She loosened her grip on his hand, and stepped closer, meeting Mr Darcy's gaze. She could remember the conversation of merely a few hours ago.

You have your father's eyes, of course -- you all do, do you not?

Yes. Yes, somehow they always seem to pass. Even Courtland . . .

And then the glimmerings of understanding flashed into sudden comprehension. Georgiana flushed cold. ‘Fitzwilliam,' she said shakily, ‘was -- was Lord Aldborough, the one that Mother loved -- when did they-- how did their relationship end?'

Quite simply, he said, ‘Mother died.'

‘Did he resemble his nephew very much?' She pressed her hands against her abdomen. ‘Fitzwilliam?'

‘No. Only a little, around the eyes.' He reached out his hand to her shoulder. ‘Georgiana -- '

She spun to face him. ‘Was he my father?'

He was silent; then he said, ‘Mr Darcy was your father. He acknowledged you, he brought you up --'

Her eyes burned, but her cheeks remained dry when she cried out, ‘You brought me up, Fitzwilliam. Not F-- not Mr Darcy.'

‘He loved you, Georgiana,' Fitzwilliam said harshly. ‘Just as Mother did, and I.'

‘Did Lord Aldborough?'

‘Yes.'

She stared at the portrait. ‘Please tell me, Fitzwilliam. Am I . . .' She swallowed a lump in her throat. How could she say it? Mr Darcy, his faults notwithstanding, had been the most affectionate, generous father in the world. He deserved a father's honour from her.

Fitzwilliam looked at her, met her eyes with his own. ‘I do not know. Nobody ever knew, and nobody cared -- Lord Aldborough was the nearest in Father's line, you were a Darcy and a Fitzwilliam and my mother's daughter and that was all that mattered.'

Georgiana turned her head away, into her brother's shoulder, though she could not weep. After a moment, he stroked her smooth dark hair. She said in a muffled voice, ‘I do not like Miss Martin.'

*stolen from Mary Wollstonecraft

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