It had all been going so well. She had put her own worries aside to care for her brother, and it had seemed that he at least had a chance for happiness.
Georgiana had learned to live with the shame of her own foolish actions.
A year before, she had been seduced. A wonderfully handsome and witty man had made love to her most eloquently and affectionately. He had told her everything a girl on the brink of womanhood wants to hear – how beautiful she was, how she had bewitched him and held his heart in her hand, how he could not live without her – had caressed her hand and even dared to kiss it when no one was looking - and he had convinced her to elope. It had all been so romantic. And so stupid.
Georgiana Anne Darcy knew it was wrong. She had been raised carefully by people who loved her. She had been warned, as all girls are, of the danger to her reputation in allowing such attentions from a man. She knew she had a large dowry, and had been cautioned against rakes and fortune hunters. She had been taught to be proper and demure. Everything that George Wickham had suggested to her crossed those boundaries. Little by little, he had tempted her beyond the safety of those boring rules. He had flattered her and treated her with such consideration and tenderness that she had walked willingly into his trap.
William had told her again and again of all the reasons she was not to blame. And they were all true: George Wickham was a practiced seducer. He had fooled their father and many others (William had never said as much, but she knew from the way he averted his eyes and blushed that she was far from the first maiden to fall under Wickham's spell). Her own companion had said nothing against the affair – indeed had encouraged the attachment. She had been at the seaside, away from all her other friends and family. So she did not spend her time wallowing in guilt.
But she did feel shame. For even with all those things arrayed against her, she should have known better. She realised now that when her brother had arrived in Ramsgate unexpectedly and she had excitedly shared her big secret with him, it had been no great surprise that he was horrified. Of course he was. The thought of his only sister throwing her reputation to the four winds and eloping at the age of fifteen was unbearable. When she considered it through his eyes, the sudden chill of consciousness had washed all her childish glee from her system in one rush. Even as the word "elope" left her mouth, she could not think of any excuse that might justify such rashness. How could she have held their family name so cheap? How could the man who said he loved her propose elopement instead of an honourable marriage? Georgiana was ashamed of herself within minutes of her reunion with William.
Then she had watched when George Wickham had arrived at her rented rooms. He had walked in confidently, all charm and smiles. He had not seen William when he arrived – her brother was hidden by the door as Wickham came in – but had immediately seen that Georgiana was upset. Awakened from her distracted infatuation, she was flushed and tearful, and looked at him with … he could not tell whether it was fear or simply shock. With the scales fallen from her eyes, she watched as he actually rolled his eyes before schooling his expression to one of sympathetic affection. "My dear Georgie," he said, "whatever is the matter?"
William had said, in an icy voice, "You will not speak to my sister, sir."
Later, Georgiana had even been able to giggle at the memory of how Wickham had jumped in shock. At the time, she was too distressed to find any humour in the scene. This was a man she had thought loved her. He had nearly leapt out of his boots, but cat-like, had recovered his balance immediately.
He did not look at Georgiana ever again. Not once. All pretence fell from his face as he glared at her brother (the very brother who, the day before, he had predicted would be delighted by their marriage) and spat, "Big brother to the rescue, I see. Damn you to hell, Darcy! I nearly had her secured. I could have lived very well of her fat dowry. But no, you have to come along and ruin everything! Well, take your dreary little sister, for all I care. I am well shot of her."
Before anyone could speak, he had turned and fled the house. William had enfolded her in his arms and consoled her. He had spent months trying to mend what he assumed was a broken heart before she convinced him to visit Bingley in Hertfordshire. Her heart had not been broken. Wickham's cruel words had reinforced her conviction that she had been a complete fool, but it was her pride, not her heart, that suffered most. No longer could she believe herself to be sensible, reliable or even of good character. She knew herself to be a gullible fool who had risked her own reputation and her family's good name.
That Wickham had never loved her was more a comfort than otherwise, for at least she was the only person hurt by her stupidity. If he had been heartbroken, she would have suffered guilt as well as shame, but as it was, she found her heart echoed his. As soon as he revealed his true character, she realised she felt no love for that George Wickham, and therefore had never loved a real man at all. Her suitor had been a dream, and now she was awake.
It had been a blow to her self-esteem, and for several months she had been in the doldrums. But when William had come home from Kent in a far worse state than she had ever been, she set her own cares aside to try to lift her brother's spirits. She could not indulge the memory of her own pain by playing hours of mournful music or writing scathing reflections in her journal when there was real pain right in front of her. She and William only had each other, and she was determined to rescue him as he had rescued her. And with her brother's wellbeing to focus on, her own worries had faded into insignificance.
It had not been easy. Of course, he would not tell her what was wrong. She had pestered the servants for information, finding out about his sleepless nights and watching him return windswept and wild eyed from long rides. Nothing she tried seemed to cheer him. As the weeks passed, he grew thinner and more distracted. She was at her wit's end.
But then he had found Elizabeth in the gardens, and had brought her into the house. Georgiana could see immediately that he was transformed in that lady's presence. And even better, Elizabeth was no snooty society lady – she was funny and open and friendly in a way that raised Georgiana's spirits as well as her brother's. It was as if a cloud had lifted from Pemberley and its inhabitants, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet had brought sunshine back into their lives. Georgiana had such hopes!
And it really had been going so well.
But then William – her thoughtless, bumbling brother – had as good as announced to Elizabeth that his little sister was a ruined woman. He had spoken of Wickham in terms which could leave no doubt but that Georgiana had a history of some shameful sort with him. Had he no care for his own future, even if he was willing to throw her reputation to the winds? How could a gentlewoman such as Elizabeth – no, she should not think of her in such intimate terms any longer – how could a gentlewoman such as Miss Elizabeth risk her own reputation by associating with someone like Georgiana? She might have liked William well enough, but could that withstand the knowledge that he was tainted by his sister's foolishness? To know that she had ruined her brother's hopes as well as her own was too much.
As the full impact of the situation sank in, Georgiana sank to her knees in tears of grief. Never, through all her regrets of the past year, had she wept as she did now.
She hid her face in her hands, and heard rather than saw her companions crouch down to try to comfort her. William drew her into his arms, just as he had done at Ramsgate, and Miss Elizabeth rested one hand gently on her shoulder while she murmured words of encouragement.
Bereft of hope, Georgiana continued to sob into her brother's shoulder. It was several minutes before she calmed enough to hiccough herself into silence, and considerably longer before she could raise her eyes to look for the disappointment that was sure to be displayed on Elizabeth's face.
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