Into Kent (4 page)

“A dinner party? How large is ‘rather large’?” Darcy asked curiously.

“We are not sure yet.”

“And who might ‘we’ be?”

“Aunt Eleanor has been doing most of the work; it was her idea to begin with.”

“I see; and do ‘we’ know how many invitations have been sent?” Darcy smiled at Georgiana.

Georgiana hunched in on herself and answered in nearly a whisper, “Almost fifty.”

“My
dear
Miss Darcy,” her brother said in amazement, “you are planning an evening entertainment in our home with nearly a hundred guests?”

“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam!” she cried. “It was all Aunt Eleanor’s idea—to begin introducing me.”

Bingley laughed delightedly at his friend. “Forced into Society with a vengeance! The leopard had best change its spots, make no mistake—and right away: you have only ten days to prepare yourself. Oh, Miss Darcy, please—pray do tell me that there will be a ball after!”

Georgiana, her eyes still on her brother, shook her head at this: “No, even my aunt agreed this was too much to expect of my brother,” said she.

Bingley made a disappointed face. “What a shame! I should so love to see your brother opening his own dance.”

Darcy, knowing Georgiana’s eyes to be upon him, slowly spoke, “Do you know, the notion is not altogether bad; Georgiana
will
be mistress of the house soon, and ought to begin being known as such.”

Bingley directly threw a pillow from the sofa at Darcy, startling Georgiana considerably. “What!” cried he. “You misbegotten lout! You fraud! After how you go on about being in company, how much you despise it—and here you are, happy as you please, to be having your own Society dinner!”

“An English gentleman is always happier in his own home, no matter what might be passing,” Darcy told his friend loftily; he found Bingley’s good humour very encouraging. “Here, allow me to rearrange your pillow.” Taking the pillow he had caught, he stuffed it down behind Bingley’s back with such force that Bingley was nearly thrown from the sofa.

“Fitzwilliam!” cried his sister, alarmed at such violence, even in play.

Bingley took advantage of the moment Darcy looked towards his sister to strike him a blow across the chin with the pillow. “Ah, that is better!” he exclaimed. “Your cravat was crooked.” The two friends regarded each other warily for a moment, waiting to see what the other’s next move might be, but then Darcy’s shoulders relaxed, and he laughed. “Always happier at home, no matter what might be passing,” said he, picking up the pillow and setting it with precision back in the corner of the sofa. Still laughing, he poured Bingley and himself a glass of wine; offering to pour a small glass for his sister, which she declined, the three sat down in fine spirits.

Darcy was exceedingly glad to see his friend’s spirits lifted. He hoped it might presage a faster recovery than he had had any reason to suppose up until then. The rest of the evening passed quietly away with cards and conversation. After a lengthy observation of his friend, however, Darcy decided that the improvement in Bingley’s mood had less to do with his sister’s influence in her own right, than it was simply the effect of being with others. Bingley’s nature was such that he was always in better spirits when he was in company, especially mixed company, and with only Darcy at Grosvenor Square, his mood was unlikely to have improved; but in the schemes Georgiana had in motion, and the entertainments and diversions that must attend them, Darcy had reason to hope for better. His misgivings where his friend was concerned were materially lightened as a result, and he flattered himself that he had done right by him.

Their plan was to start their return shortly after breakfast on the morrow, and so the card game broke up early. Up in his rooms, while Darcy was laying out some things he wished to take back with him, a light rapping came at the door.

“Fitzwilliam?” his sister’s voice came softly.

“Come in, Dearest,” he answered.

The door opened quietly. “I am not disturbing you?”

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I was rather expecting you; I am sorry we have had no time before now to talk. How are you? You seem well.”

“I am well, I think. Better, at least. Well, except for dreading Aunt Eleanor’s dinner; this is not at all what I came to speak with you about, but, Fitzwilliam, I do not wish it, truly I do not —how should I wish to be in company? Can
you
not stop her? It is
so
wrong! She wants me to meet people! If she knew…”

“Now, Georgiana,” Darcy interrupted her, “calm yourself, do; there is no need for alarm; come, sit by the fire.” He wrapt her shawl more carefully about her shoulders, then sat down across from her. “I believe I understand some part of how you are feeling, you know; I imagine I find these social affairs no more rewarding than yourself. But, truly, Dearest, you will have little enough to do. From what you have said, I gather Aunt Eleanor means for you merely to sit with her at dinner, and not much more.”

“But, Fitzwilliam, I have no business being amongst such people—with any one, in fact; if they knew what I have done…”

Darcy looked at her troubled face sympathetically. “First, your one great error was to trust some one: I hardly think that breaks any of the Commandments; but, second, I am sure
you
would not want to be with some of them either, if you knew what
they
have done, I promise you,” he assured her gently. “You cannot put ten people in a room, but one of them, at least, has secrets they would die before revealing.”

Georgiana said nothing for a moment, then asked wretchedly, “Must I do this?”

“No—well, yes; not this time, perhaps,” he replied reasonably, “if your feelings are positively set against it; but at some time, you must, indeed. Your aunt has been pointing you in this direction for the last two years, after all; but it is in my power to forbid that the dinner should go forward—is that your wish? If it is, I shall comply.” Darcy did not, in all honesty, think he could dissuade his aunt that easily, but Georgiana fancied his authority absolute, and in this way she would come to her own decision on the matter.

“Yes!” she replied hastily, followed immediately thereafter by: “No…I should not wish to disappoint Aunt Eleanor, after all her hard work and preparation.” She looked earnestly at her brother. “You will be there to help me, will you not, Fitzwilliam? I do not think I shall be able to go through with it on my own.”

“Of course, Dearest; if it were for my sake alone, I should never let you face anything by yourself: seeing you in difficulty is something I should never choose. But for your own sake you must learn to take on such tasks: you must learn to know your own strength. And allow me to point out that a great many ladies before you, and I dare say not a few who were far less gifted with resources than yourself, have managed to assume similar rôles. Aunt Eleanor is so insistent that you be brought forward because she knows—not imagines out of love, mind you, but she
knows
—that you are a very capable young lady. And you know what our mother would have wished for you: she believed strength in a woman benefited both herself and her husband; and I must say I agree. Her strength was something Father relied on, and when he was bereft of that reliance, I believe he suffered for it.”

“Yes, I know she was strong: every one says so. But Fitzwilliam, that is why she…she always rode alone, and joked that she had no wish to wait for a man to catch up; but if she had not been riding by herself that day, she would still be alive,” Georgiana said sadly.

Darcy was shocked: he had never before heard this idea from Georgiana—nor from any one, for that matter. He said, “No, that is not so, Dearest: why would you say that?”

“I do not know,” said Georgiana uncertainly. “But I thought…I always just assumed that if she had not been alone, she should not have…”

Darcy gave his sister a sympathetic look. “Ah, I see,” he nodded. “Well, that would make sense, at the age of seven,” he allowed. “But Georgiana, that had nothing to do with it. A buckle on her cinch gave way during a jump; there was nothing any one could have done: she would have fallen the next time she took a jump, no matter how many others had been with her.”

“Then it was not what Father said? That she was headstrong?”

“Did he say that? In your hearing?” Darcy felt for what his sister’s youthful feelings must have been on hearing this. “On my honour, Georgiana, that was not the case at all. And, to the best of my memory, her being ‘headstrong’ was never a thing he complained of when she was with us; quite the contrary, in fact: he was proud of her abilities, and counted on them a good deal, I believe.”

Georgiana was quiet for a moment; her own recollections of her mother were not extensive, and were largely coloured by what Georgiana had heard said of her by their relations after her death. Her character, being naturally sympathetic, had been influenced to a degree by the thought that her mother’s boldness had contributed to her death, and this new intelligence brought an entirely new view of the matter to her. “Are you certain, Fitzwilliam?” she asked.

“Completely,” said he with confidence. He looked at her enquiringly. “I hope that will ease your mind; does it help?”

“It does,” she acknowledged tentatively. “But I shall have to think on it some time, I believe.” She sighed and said, “I am learning a great deal this year, it seems. But, Fitzwilliam, I came to speak of
you
: I have been very worried about you—will you not tell me about Hertfordshire? And London?” Her voice was calm, but her eyes were troubled.

“Well, Dearest, I shall tell you what I can,” he said. “Your letters caught up to me in London, so I think I know pretty well what you wish to hear. I am sorry you have been so racked for want of information, but the whole affair has been such a jumble…” he broke off and stared into the flames on the hearth.

“You said he…” Georgiana began hesitatingly, “he was not at the ball.”

“No, he did not attend,” Darcy said briefly.

She nodded without looking up at him. “You danced with Miss Elizabeth Bennet…?”

He drew a deep breath, and said, “I did.” His reply was short, as he had no wish to relive the affair.

Georgiana looked up at him. “And did you…did she…it was pleasant?”

“It was at first, very,” he allowed.

“In your letter you said it ended differently.”

Darcy sighed. “Yes, it ended differently. I fear she has no very high opinion of your brother at present.”

“But how can that
be
?” Georgiana demanded in a distressed tone. “Whatever can have happened? Please, Fitzwilliam—tell me every thing.”

Here Darcy paused; the truth, he knew, would give Georgiana pain, and he was disinclined to exhibit more of Wickham’s misdeeds to her. “Dearest, what is done, is done. It would be best, perhaps, to leave it at that.”

But Georgiana was determined; convinced as she was that her brother was merely hiding his feelings from her, and himself, she could not let his reluctance prevent him from seeing where his heart might lead him; taking her courage in both hands, she asked the question that had worried her since first reading his letters: “Did you say anything, Brother? Forgive me, but you know you can sometimes speak in a manner not best suited to please your listeners.”

Darcy smiled gently at her. “You think then that
I
might have offended Miss Bennet in some way?”

Georgiana’s diffidence again made her hesitate, but concern for her brother’s best interests drove her on. “I confess, Fitzwilliam, that when I first heard that Miss Bennet had declined to dance with you, I wondered if she might not have heard you speak your mind in an unguarded manner.”

Darcy, amused, said, “I own that I am at times too...forthright…in my comments when in company, but such was not the case here, I assure you. I can remember every word I ever spoke to her.”

“But then, what can have happened at the ball?” she cried. “Why should Miss Bennet dislike you now?”

In the face of such sincere distress, Darcy felt obliged to tell her a little of what happened at the ball. As he spoke, however, he found himself becoming more diffuse, and by the time he had done, he had told her every thing that happened that night at Netherfield, and also later in London with Bingley. It had been some years since he had established the custom of speaking openly with his sister—it had been directly after their father’s death, in fact, when the practice had been of service to them both—and the habit was difficult to break.

Tears came to Georgiana’s eyes more than once during his narrative as he exposed Wickham’s rôle in setting
Elizabeth against him, but she kept her silence until the end. “I am so sorry, Fitzwilliam,” she said, bowing her head and clasping her hands tightly in her lap. “This is my fault.”

“No!” cried her brother in alarm and surprise. “Why should you say so? You must not think that: nothing you have done has any bearing on this, surely!”

“He is striking back at you, because of me.”

“No, Georgiana,
truly
,” he replied, taking her hands in his own. “He may be striking out at me, that is true, but not because of you; he has always sought to injure me, in ways both large and small.”