If I Loved You Less

By DJ Clawson

Last time on our series, an emotional wounded Georgiana Bingley ran from a physically wounded Geoffrey Darcy by spending a year in a womens' school in France. There she learned trust herself, open up to other people, and that if you start killing people, it's going to just pile on itself.

Posted twice weekly. I appreciate your comments! Thank you for all of them.

Chapter 25 – Light Shines Again

After weeks of gloom, the family was finally revitalized. Before they turned to go their separate ways, they decided to have some kind of celebration – not of the conclusion of the terrible events, but something else to lighten the deadened mood. Fortunately, one was readily available.

On the day of her twenty-first birthday, Georgiana Bingley seemed to be the only one not encouraged to smile. The Bells had not been thrilled with her sudden departure no matter how apologetic Heather was for her, and now she had no excuse to be in the Cambridge area, where Geoffrey still was. Even her birthday letter from him did not assuage her feelings, though he did promise to make it up to her when he saw her next. He had a brief break in April and he would be in Derbyshire for it. Included in the letter was a small, simple seal – not his official seal for Pemberley, but one that simply had the letters "G.D." impressed into the metal. It did not require explanation.

"Ladies shouldn't be grumpy on their birthdays," Bingley said as he entered the sitting room, where Georgie had her feet up on the settee and was playing with her locket.

"Why not? Is this yet another unwritten social rule?"

"No, because I don't like to see you frown," he said. "What can I get you? Being reasonable."

"When are my requests ever reasonable?"

He grinned. "I have something planned anyway."

Those present in Town appeared at the Bingley's house, including Dr. Bertrand, newly reinstated as physician to His Majesty (though still not clear on the entire story behind it), and his wife and children.

"Is it true?" Joseph Bennet asked nervously. He sipped his brandy with Frederick and Georgiana as they waited for dinner.

"You can call me 'Your Highness' if you'd like," Frederick said with a wicked grin.

"Of course, that would be treason, but who in this room is not guilty of it other than yourself?" Georgie said. "I still would not offer any more encouragement of his outrageous opinion of himself."

"Then I won't be calling you by any titles either," Frederick said. "Speaking of what we generally have the good sense to leave unspoken, will you settle the rumor for us about the mysterious Italian?"

" Frederick!" Georgie shouted.

Joseph just blushed. "He's ... I believe he is a bishop now. Mr. Grégoire told me." He added, "There was a rumor?"

"That he was promised to the church, yes," Georgie said. "But we were all trying to be polite about it and not ask you." Her glare met his grin.

"Well ... the rumor is true. He met my mother when she studied in France. There was a settlement. I – don't have anything else to say about it."

"You don't have to say anything else about it," Georgie said.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a pleasant mood for your last birthday as Miss Bingley?"

"How can you be begging me for help one day and the jerk the next?"

He raised his glass. "Give me credit. There were a few days in between."

Supper was called and the strange mix of Darcys, Bingleys, Maddoxes, and Bertrands sat at the table to honor not only the milestone in Georgie's life, but what they had all unwillingly but successfully gone through. Only Brian and Bingley succeeded in getting drunk, with Darcy watching with his rueful stare at both of them.

It was only in more privacy, retired in the sitting room with most of their guests gone, that Bingley and Jane revealed their gift.

"Please promise not to make us regret this, but Dr. Maddox and Caroline have graciously offered to host you at Chesterton from next week until the end of the term."

She squealed in unrestrained delight and hugged both of her parents, a considerable feat considering both of them were sitting, kissed them and said her thanks, and excused herself, presumably to pen a letter. Charles Bingley, still a bit in the cups, pulled his wife closer to him on the settee. "I told her not to make us regret this, did I not?"

"You did."

"Do you think she will?"

"Make us regret it?" she said. "I have the dress sewn. I took her measurements when the engagement was announced. Your Indian veil has only to arrive back from the tailors."

He giggled, and leaned into her. "I love you. And I love our daughter, though I've learned to be cautious with my trust. Though, perhaps not all that cautious."

"We did not anticipate our vows."

"We certainly tried."

"Charles."

"In the basement stairwell?"

She kissed him. "I remember it."

Georgiana Bingley's reception at Chesterton no less than a week later was done by a dutiful aunt. "You're to be chaperoned. Properly, this time."

"Edmund was a proper chaperone," Georgie said. Edmund had returned to Kirkland shortly after his sister took off to London.

"Edmund was a boy."

"Still, we were properly chaperoned."

Her Aunt Maddox rolled her eyes and Georgie was shown to her quarters and left to prepare for supper. She was not halfway unpacking her trunk when a maid entered. "Master Daniel to see you, marm."

"Send him in, then."

Danny Maddox, unlike Frederick, was a walking picture of his father, if much shorter, and with his frizzled hair the Bingley orange instead of black. The glasses certainly helped. He bowed. "Miss Bingley."

"Danny. I heard about your fight with the guards. That was very brave of you."

"Mother didn't think so at the time," he said. "Or at all. She thinks I spend too much time with Uncle Brian."

She smiled, and continued unpacking. "She would think that, wouldn't she?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"That in itself is a question," she said. "So, properly, I must say you may ask another one."

"Aren't there things you want to do ... before you get married?"

She paused, but did not turn to him. "What do you mean?"

"Mother says once you get married, you'll finally have to show some good sense."

"I hope those were her words."

"They were." He did not know what he was saying, really. Or maybe he did. "I think she meant you'll be having children and all that, and you won't get to travel and fight and all that."

"Life does not end at the altar," she said. "Hopefully. Why do you ask?"

"I have a cataract." He pointed to his right eye. "Next year sometime, it will have to be removed. I'll have to be very lucky if the eye isn't damaged by it. And Father almost died once, when his eye was infected. It's why he doesn't like bleeding people. They almost bled him to death until Uncle Brian sent the doctors off, and then he recovered."

She set aside her bonnets. "Who told you that?"

"Father. I asked. I asked whether it hurt, the surgery, and he didn't say yes, but he didn't say no."

"He avoided the question."

"Yes."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, inviting him to join her. He was still just a boy, even though he had very mature concerns. "You're not necessarily going to go blind, just because your father did."

"That's what everyone keeps saying. What if it's not true?"

She paused. What was he asking? "What do you want to do before you go blind?"

"I want to learn to fight."

"Your father, the physician, would be pleased."

He put his head down.

"You want me to teach you?" she asked. "You know my style is very different from Uncle Brian's. Bushido is so linear."

He looked up, his eyes brightened. Nothing about them seemed off. "You would?"

"Normally I would do it for free," she said, "but I am very much in need of a few favors."

When Geoffrey arrived for supper, Georgiana was on the front steps, waiting for him, before he could even be called in properly.

"I was worried about you," he said as they embraced.

"Get used to it," she said, and he laughed and kissed her on the cheek before they were called inside.

Dinner with the Maddoxes was pleasant, if not trying for both of them. Dr. Maddox was in a subdued mood and that left Lady Maddox to do all the talking, and she was a far more severe questioner than her husband. Geoffrey was doing well in his final months of University, and had little else to say about University life in front of Lady Maddox. Emily, who read extensively like her father had done, was able to at least ask him about some of his curriculum, but not the mathematics that was so heavily favored.

After dinner, the young couple was allowed their time on the veranda, out of earshot of their watchful cousins.

"I liked your gift," she said, referring to the wax seal. "Not that I can use it."

He stroked her hair. "Only a few more months." He groaned. "My G-d. That is a long time, isn't it?"

She giggled. "It is."

Geoffrey stood. " Frederick!" To which, Frederick looked up, and Geoffrey tossed him a coin.

"Come on, kid," Frederick said to his brother, and took Danny around the corner.

Georgie laughed. "It is that simple?"

"I am not sure how he got Danny away so easily."

"I took care of that," she said, and he replied with a kiss. In fact, he replied with so many kisses that they lost count. At the same time that it was becoming evident that he was going to have to pull away, Georgie did the same.

"Can you hear them?"

"Hear what?"

"The bells."

"You can hear them all the way from here?"

She nodded.

"The pitch is too low," he said. Even with Georgie, it was still an uncomfortable subject. He heard the bells at Cambridge, but not outside. It was a moment that served its purpose of distracting him from his reaction to being pressed against Georgie for so long.

Geoffrey turned away with a sigh.

"What is it?" Georgie said. When he didn't respond, she tugged on his shirt. "What is it?"

"I can't do this."

"Having an attack of conscience?"

"It has nothing to do with conscience."

She could imagine his frustration; she shared it. "You know you're adorable when you're grumpy and irritated?"

"I'm so glad you think that," he said.

She kissed him. "Maybe we could try again."

"No."

"I won't be as extreme."

"I won't let you hurt yourself."

"I won't. You have my word; I will not take anything even remotely harmful." She added, "We've been lucky before."

"You promised your father you would be good."

"And how do you know that?"

He grinned, finally settled enough to turn back to her. "Uncle Bingley took the trouble to write to me, informing me of your sacred oath."

She blushed. "He did? It was hardly a sacred oath. Do you want to listen to my father or me?"

"You know the answer to that." He kissed her before standing up, and straightened his coat. "My birthday is Tuesday."

"Try not to get hit in the head by anymore Radicals."

"That was the day after my birthday. And as I was about to say, George is hosting a party at his apartment so that you may come. I even managed Dr. Maddox's consent, seeing how your brother will be there and George will be there."

"So we have to get them both exceedingly drunk."

"Precisely. See you there?"

"You have my promise," Georgie said. "And this one I intend to keep."

The weekend passed uneventfully for Geoffrey. He saw Georgiana only for a meal on Sunday after services at the Maddox house, and otherwise remained within the world of Cambridge and the walls of Trinity College.

"Where are you off to?" he said to Charles, who was emerging from his room with an especially large bag. Frederick was in the armchair by the unlit fireplace, taking a late afternoon nap to sleep off a midday hangover. They had given up worrying about disturbing him long ago.

"If I was to report in to you, you would be required to report into me," Charles Bingley the Third replied, "and I do not believe I would always want to know the answer, come to think of it."

"George was much worse than me." The three of them had been roommates the previous year.

"George wasn't betrothed to my sister," was Charles' reply. "If you really must know, I promised I would donate my old shirts to the drama club at King's."

Geoffrey poured himself a glass of wine. "If you become an actor, your father will have an apoplexy."

"Good thing I act as well as I fence."

"You fence terribly."

"My point exactly. That does not mean I cannot have an appreciation for the theatrical arts."

"You Bingleys do have your strange obsessions."

"I'll tell Georgie you said that."

He grinned. "She'd be pleased."

Charles rolled his eyes and left just as Mr. Reynolds entered with Sir Gawain, who did not walk so easily in Cambridge's dark hallways and sometimes needed assistance, for which Geoffrey was not always available. "I found him roaming the park, sir."

Geoffrey knelt before his old hound. "I've not been a very attentive master, have I?" Gawain looked at him with green eyes clouded by the cataracts from age. He didn't hear as well either, and Frederick often joked that Geoffrey heard as well as an elderly dog. Geoffrey glanced at Frederick, still sound asleep and snoring, and scratched Gawain behind the ears. "Are you hungry?"

Gawain dropped his head and the little tube that was held in his jaw dropped to the floor. Geoffrey scooped it up and unrolled the scroll inside. It was an address from off-campus. "Huh." He lifted Gawain up. "I promised you a meal, didn't I?" He turned to his manservant. "The bacon, please."

Mr. Reynolds opened the top case and removed the jar of dried bacon strips, one of which he handed to Geoffrey.

"Let's get back at Frederick, shall we? For all those mean things he said about us?" Geoffrey removed a piece of the strip and scraped it across Frederick's face and rubbed it into the hair. The rest of the strip he tossed to Gawain, who nearly swallowed it whole.

"My overcoat," he said to Reynolds. "The grey one, please."

"Yes, sir."

He emerged from his room, straightening said coat, when Frederick cried out, "What – Oh G-d – What is this damned mutt doing on me?"

"Licking your face."

Frederick, who knew better than to hurt Gawain in Geoffrey's presence, pushed the hound away from him. "And why is he doing that?"

"Because you smell of bacon, Mr. Maddox." He doffed his hat. "Good day."

"Geoffrey? Geoffrey, why do I smell of bacon? You get back here!"

Geoffrey knew the street well enough, though he had never frequented the particular commercial buildings, except once to force the matter on poor Charles. He didn't know what he was doing there or why, but since he recognized the handwriting, he went, trying to hide his face under his hat. The particular address he did not know. It did not seem to be an establishment of any kind, merely an apartment building in the same district, and he tried to avoid recognizing the gowned students he saw scurrying along the same streets.

He felt guilty knocking on the door with the top of his walking stick, but he did it nonetheless, and the door opened. "This had better not be a joke..." He stepped in, and the door shut behind him, and someone jumped on top of him. Someone small enough and a very familiar weight to him. "Georgie!"

"Hello," she said, kissing him on the side of the head. He had to swing around a bit to get her off and into a proper embrace. "Thank G-d you've come. I've better things to do with my day than spend it in a flat on this street. My opinion of Cambridge and its students has gone down considerably, Mr. Darcy."

"As long as it hasn't affected your opinion of one student – "

"I still love my brother very much, yes."

He kissed her.

There was little else to the place but a bed and a few pieces of furniture, but it was surprisingly neat and clean. "How did you – "

"George's mistress. He can call her whatever he likes, but that's what she is."

He frowned. "And how do you know her?"

"He accidentally told me her name when he was giving me some medical advice," she said. "She won't tell. She thinks it's amusing."

"Oh," he said. "And you're – "

"I promise I'll be careful."

"Because I don't want – "

"Geoffrey Darcy, did you come to the lair of a courtesan to talk all day?"

Not wanting to question her as to how she had managed to escape all of her chaperones, how she had managed to find George's 'mistress' and form some kind of friendship with her, or anything else that was not an answer she particularly wanted to hear. Georgie was respectably dressed, and that was more concerning to him, because she was overdressed and so was he. It was hard to undress while kissing, but they were getting better at it, and the bed helped.

"Do you even know how to unbutton your own shirt?" she said as he struggled.

"Can you lace a bodice?"

"I'm not wearing one."

"Can you?"

"I can lace the tachi of a sword," she said, whatever that meant.

"Excellent avoidance of the question," he said, and kissed her neck as she pulled down his shirt for him. "Is this a bad time to tell you how much I worry about these stunts you pull?"

"Yes!"

"Because I wouldn't want anything to happen to your ... lovely ... body," he said, trailing his kisses down her chest.

"If it does, I'll yell it into your right ear."

"You're lucky I'm in love with you," he said.

"I know," she said, letting him remove the last of her garments. "I wanted to show it."

He had no argument with that. His first instinct, of course, was the well-trained suppression of his emotions, or more precisely, his body's responses to them. Then he remembered where he was, here and now. There were no such requirements. He could take his time, and the clarity of that thought allowed him to do so.

She was still wearing the Indian locket. "Does it still work?" he asked.

"Of course." She freed one hand to hold it up. "Geoffrey Darcy." She hit the little knob, and an array of colors played against both of their chests for several seconds before going out. "You've no idea," she said, her voice heavy.

"No idea of what?"

"How many nights I've done that, alone in my room," she said, and he wiped away the beginning of tears from her eyes.

He shushed her with a soft kiss, and then there was no more talking, and no more crying, though there were some moans. No, he would not give in to the temptation of a physical frenzy. He wanted to touch her; he wanted to touch all of the parts of her that had never been touched gently, or perhaps at all. She had calloused hands, not soft like his sister's hands when he held them when they were little and would tag along by his side. She had worn feet, not protected by slippers and stockings as much as he could only imagine women who wore shoes and not wooden sandals had, but she was utterly feminine to him. At last he could not hold back anymore, and entered, and it was quiet and beautiful and there was nothing wrong with anything in the world for those moments.

Georgie did not seem to be on a particular schedule. She was playful, and she seemed to know some things. "The whore?" he asked. "Excuse me. Mistress."

"No," she said. "My father has a locked drawer in his study with a book – "

"G-d, no – "

She laughed. "When I first discovered it, I thought they were Indian two-headed monsters."

"You realize we are talking of your father's study?"

"I know. Disgusting, but I'm passed it. Besides, do you want me to stop?"

"No."

She had a wicked grin. "Good, because it's your birthday present. Do you like it, or do you want me to exchange it for some wrapped gift?"

"No," he replied. "This will be fine."

... Next Chapter 26 - Milestones