CHAPTER II

Georgiana awoke the next morning sad and confused. Hiding under the bedsheets, she counted her breaths until the Matlock House maids had finished in her room. Her door clicked shut and she slid shyly out of the bed and made her way to the small desk besides the fireplace. The product of last night's heartbreak was still here: a sheet marked with hard streaks of charcoal. A chapel sketched out in angry black slashes, and a bride, sharp and angular, with dark eyes.

She picked the picture up – and threw it in the fire.

Downstairs her aunt and cousin were already at breakfast. She joined them silently – with a final quick glance at her nails to be certain there was no soot still under them. Lady Matlock was picking over the more important parts of the Colonel's wedding account. "And you think she was flirting with you now? Well, it would not surprise me. Poor girl, I do feel some sympathy. Lord knows she tried hard enough with Darcy. But that was a nonsense, really, and you even more so. What was her father?"

"Banker, I believe. Up in Yorkshire."

"Hm. Our new Mrs. Darcy is genteel bred at least. Though we shall all have to work hard to remind everyone of that. Were the Cheapside relations there?"

"They were. They seemed very fine people–"

"Oh, I have no doubt of that, but it is rather beside the point," her aunt snapped back. "It makes my tasks considerably more difficult. Lady Catherine has not been kind in her letters to what friends she still has in town. I shall have to call on Elizabeth tomorrow."

"There's no need to sound so put out about it," her cousin replied, buttering his toast. "I was under the impression you were quite taken with her."

"She's a charming thing and would have made an excellent parson's wife, but I'd have preferred her not to be mistress of Pemberley. Still, we must be seen to be supportive, for your sake Georgiana if nothing else."

She thought they had forgotten about her. It happened sometimes, when she sat quietly. The school mistress used to tell her off, for catching her unawares. But she had not been this time forgotten this time. More than that, she was being considered – though she was unsure why. Why did they have to support Elizabeth, for her sake?

She wished to ask, but then her aunt might think her slow for not understanding straight away. Lady Matlock tended to be kinder than her other aunt, but she was fierce and quick all the same. If Georgiana was not quick and fierce, surely that would be a disappointment–

"What my Lady Mother means," her cousin started gently. He was like her brother in that way. "Is that – there is a concern that Darcy having married so below what he could have reasonably expected will limit your prospects."

"What I mean child, is that your worth as a wife is tied to brother's connections. We could have had an earl for you, Georgiana," her aunt sighed. "Now I should be happy with a baron. I told George Darcy not to leave you in the care of two bachelors. A woman would have considered these things. Your brother was certainly not thinking with his head in marrying her."

Something unpleasant stung at her throat. She swallowed hard and managed quietly: "You mean, he was thinking with his heart?"

"Something like that."

Of no further use to his mother, Colonel Fitzwilliam soon left for Whitehall and the War Office. Lady Matlock made herself ready for her morning calls, but no amount of prompting could persuade her niece to join her. For Georgiana, there was only one place she wished to pass the day, and it was in the music room. There, she could lose herself in notes and chords – and not think about Elizabeth Bennet or George Wickham or anyone.

Her aunt's selection was limited but she soon found a Mozart that demanded concentration. She managed it for all of five minutes.

Did her aunt really find Elizabeth charming? It was possible; many others did. Miss Bingley did not – but her aunt and cousin had implied that was because she had been trying to form an attachment with her brother too. She twirled a chord, considered – and realised it was likely true. Caroline did always pay more attention to her whenever her brother was around. That is how it had been last Christmas and at Pemberley. For all her talk of friendship, she had never written directly to Georgiana – just passing best wishes in her brother's notes. But Caroline at least seemed to like her brother; she certainly did not loath him. Elizabeth had been nice to her though, in Derbyshire and in writing to her following the engagement. She had promised her that they would do so much together. Just like George had been nice and made promises–

She slammed down a chord. Then another. Another. Now with a twirl. This was no longer Mozart's music; it was hers. She lost herself in it, in the ebb and flow of the notes as her emotions washed over her and down into the keys. She poured herself out into the instrument until she had nothing left to give.

At some point it had become dark outside. Quick as a mouse, she rushed upstairs, before her aunt or uncle or cousin returned to their home to hear her sorry symphony. Oh, how she longed now for those rooms that had been her own. She had been so delighted at giving them up so she could live with her brother and new sister. None of this was how she had imagined it. When would she stop being so naïve?

Her aunt called on the new Mrs. Darcy the next day. She put her niece's reluctance to join her down to her natural shyness – a shyness that would be a considerable challenge when Georgiana finally came out, but that was not Lady Matlock's immediate concern, so she chose not to dwell on it. This suited Miss Darcy perfectly well.

Embarrassed by the beating she had given the pianoforte the previous day, Georgiana determined that she would instead embroider while her aunt was out. That always settled her mind. So lost was she in this calmer rhythm of pulling thread, that she did not notice her aunt's return – and so gave an unseemly whelp when she entered the room. Her aunt chose to ignore that too.

"You were missed Georgiana. Your brother sends his fond wishes, as does Mrs. Darcy. She is very eager to see you. Will you not come tomorrow? The modiste will be doing her final fittings. That would be nice to sit in on, wouldn't it?"

She nodded slowly. Her aunt frowned, but did not push her further.

It was settled. Tomorrow she would see Elizabeth, the sister she had longed for – and she dearly, dearly wished she did not have to.

Thank you to everyone who has followed and reviewed so far! It's reminded me how much encouragement you can get as a writer from having people respond positively to your work while you're writing it! Any words of encourage or constructive critique are really very much appreciated. Also, still no proofreader, so if you catch any typos please do let me know!

I have a feeling this is a going to be a story of short chapters – and I'll probably get to writing and editing one every week-to-10-days. I'm starting a new job, and have some health issues which mean this commitment might slip, but it's what I'm going to aim at! If we end up in another lockdown, I suspect I'll be writing a lot more – but I'm hoping that won't be the case!

In the meantime, what do you think of these snippets of Miss Darcy's character? Are they how you imaged her?