CHAPTER IV

Georgiana did not believe herself to be very clever. She knew her brother was clever: he had words for everything. When she was very little he would sit with her when he was back from Eton and try to help her sound them out. She always found her voice easiest around him, or her cousin – or George. For all of them words seemed to come so naturally.

She did not have words. She could read and write, of course – in several languages. But whenever she tried to put her thoughts and feelings into words, they failed her. If she was clever, this would not happen.

She wished that she was clever, because then she might know whether to tell her brother about what Miss Catherine had said. If she was clever then she could break charms – no matter how powerful. She thought about this at night, as she sat by the faint candlelight with her pencils, sketching craggy cliffs and rainy gardens and men and women with sharp, bewitching eyes. If she were to tell him she would need words, and she did not have those.

She did not see Elizabeth again until Sunday. The Darcys were to join the Matlock in their box pew in St. George's, to be followed by a Sunday luncheon. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy would then depart London for Derbyshire the next day, with Miss Darcy due to join them a month later. Her aunt had pressed on her the importance of allowing the newly wedded couple some time alone. When the plan was first set she had despaired that it would be so long. Now, she wished for any excuse not to go.

The families met outside the church so they could walk in together. Despite herself, Georgiana could not help but think Elizabeth looked beautiful in her smart new coat and bonnet. She would not say though; even if she had been able to speak, she found she did not want to.

Lady Matlock had planned their arrangement in the pews with a precision to match any of her son's military training. She and the Earl would have his nephew, and his new bride, next to them at the front – with the Colonel and Miss Darcy sat behind. This meant Georgiana would be hidden from the stares and whispers that so often followed her around, a fact for which she was very grateful. It was curious, she sometimes reflected, that she should so often be invisible to those who were close to her, but so visible to those she did not know.

The familiar low rumble of conversation began as soon as they entered the church. Taking her seat, she dared one quick glance at the rest of the congregation. All eyes were on her – with varying degrees of subtlety. Her mouth went dry. She closed her eyes and reminded herself sternly that no one other than her, her brother and her cousin knew about the Bad Thing. That was not why people were staring. Her aunt had told her this would start to happen; she had thirty-thousand pounds; was an earl's niece; and soon to be out. Of course, that would attract attention. But why in a church? It was vulgar. Could she not pray in peace?

"This is ridiculous," her uncle muttered. "Do people really have nothing better to talk about."

"At this time of year? Of course not, as you well know." Her aunt whispered back. "I told you, my lord, we will weather this till the Season. Then there shall be enough other scandals that this will be all forgot."

Her heart stopped. Scandal. But no one else knew! Unless–

George had told Elizabeth's sister, and she had told the other sister, and Miss Catherine had told Miss Lucas. They knew. They all knew. That must be it–

"Far be it for me to assume omnipotence, but I can hear you both," her brother hissed. "If you wish this to stop uncle, you may reign your sister in."

"And you might have acted with your head nephew."

She opened her eyes. Her cousin was leaning forwards, with a fixed grin that did not meet his eyes. "Darcy, father –we are in a church. Discretion being the better part of valour, you know."

They were not talking about her.

It was not her scandal.

It was not her fault.

With more courage than she felt, she turned to look at the congregation and followed their eyes – to Elizabeth. She could not believe what she saw.

Before her Mrs. Darcy sat, back straight as a rod, chin lifted ever so slightly, and her dark eyes fixed determinedly on the pulpit. She was not shaking. Her eyes were not shut. She was just sat, perfectly proper, even though every eye in the church was turned towards her. Georgiana added another Elizabeth to her list. This must have been the one who so angered Lady Catherine. The defiant one. The fearless one. She watched her throughout the sermon. She did not falter. She did not even blink. How did she do it?

Once the sermon was over and the party found themselves outside they were set on by a gaggle of curious well-wishers – her aunt and uncle's circle mostly – come to wish the new couple well. Even she could see the duplicity there. Hugging close to her cousin, Georgiana watched as the great and good of London society came to examine the new Mrs. Darcy. What they did not realise, but she did, was they were getting a polished actress. Gone was the defiant woman from the pew; in her place was the smiling, beaming creature from the wedding not a week past. Only this time her partner was not smiling. Here was another brother she did not recognise, one who stood casting a dark look at every false well-wisher. The only thing familiar about him was the slow, delicate movement of his thumb atop Elizabeth's gloved hand. It was the same movement he had used for her when she was little and scared of the world around her. When he had held her close in Ramsgate.

"I do not think we are required here Georgiana," her cousin whispered gently to her. "Why don't we uninteresting sorts head back to where there is fire and food."

Readily nodding her agreement, they set off at a pace.

The welcome warmth of Matlock House lifted her spirits and her cousin's comfortable presence kept her thoughts happily distracted until the others arrived back. Her uncle was the first to enter the sitting room, and with very little ceremony made his way straight to the port, pouring out a measure for him, her aunt, cousin, brother and finally – with a determined look – Elizabeth.

She faltered. It happened so quickly, Georgiana almost missed it, but it was there. A fleeting look, one Georgiana knew so well, one of not knowing one's self; of doubting one's self. Then, just like that, it was gone. Elizabeth accepted the offered glass and took a delicate sip. She was composed again. There was no doubt. How did she do it?

"It is over with then," her cousin said brightly. "My Lady Mother is quite right, by the Season they will all have something far more interesting to talk about. I would make the most of being the ton's sweetheart while you can Mrs. Darcy."

"There seems to be very little sweet in it, Colonel, and even less heart." Elizabeth took another tentative sip from her glass. "It is a wonder really. All the attractions of London and somehow we are the most noteworthy. I suppose it is flattering, in a way." She grinned up at her brother, but he did not return it. For a moment, again, Elizabeth's composure flickered.

He turned to their uncle. "Will you not write to Lady Catherine. You alone might convince her that this is a fruitless tirade. What does she hope to achieve now, other than to damage the whole family?"

"You know there is no arguing with her. Besides, if I were to do so now she would know she is winning–"

"She is not winning."

An awkward silence fell cross the adults. Georgiana, sat away from where they all stood, watched a new Elizabeth emerge. This one knotted her brow. Perhaps she was thinking?

"Would it help, perhaps, if I wrote to her? To apologise for my – sauciness when we last spoke. I don't much want to, but if it helps keeps the peace. It is as you said Colonel, discretion being the better part of valour."

"A tactical retreat may work with some, Mrs. Darcy, but not my sister. That woman is worse than Boney."

He brother bristled. "Yet your advice, uncle, is that we sit and take it. Tell me, is that the official position of the Lords?"

"And when was the last time, nephew, that you heeded advice?"

Perhaps she should leave. She could slip out now, no one would notice. Her uncle was getting irritated. Her brother more so. This was not their normal bickering. There were matters to be discussed that were not for her ears. It was awkward that she was there. She was only sixteen. Yes, she should leave.

"Georgiana!" Suddenly all eyes turned to where she was sat, her brother and uncle's looking abashed. Elizabeth had spoken. The spell was cast. She was visible again. "Might you wish to play a duet with me? I've been so looking forward to having the chance to play one with you, and now seems as good a time as any."

"I – I – I would rather not."

This time when Elizabeth's face faltered it was there for all to see.

"Perhaps I can lend you my voice instead Mrs. Darcy?" Her cousin offered. "I cannot play as well as Georgiana, but if you play a march I promise I will keep time."

That seemed to mend Elizabeth's spirits, and the rest of the room's, though the Scottish airs they chose did little to help Georgiana's. She did not wish to admit it, but her cousin and new sister made a handsome couple. And they laughed – a lot. Perhaps she had bewitched him too. What was it Miss Lucas had said–

Her brother shifted in his seat and moved his soft gaze from his wife to her. "I am sorry Georgiana that you have had to be witness to this. I know – it is a circumstance none of us would wish for. I promise, at Pemberley we shall leave all of this behind us. I am very much looking forward to having you join us, and I know Elizabeth could not be more delighted by the prospect."

She looked over to Elizabeth playing with her cousin. She fumbled some keys at the crescendo and they both laughed. She already looked delighted.

"What is the matter?" Her brother asked with concern.

She could not lie to him. She could never lie to him. "I was just – I was just thinking–"

"Now everyone is in better spirits," her cousin's voice boomed across the room. "I have something of an announcement to make. Nothing as exciting as Darcy's recent exploits, nor to be met with such hostilities – or at least, so I hope."

"Richard?" His mother asked, a note of alarm in her voice.

"It is nothing to concern you Lady Mother, I promise. As you all know, Boney is in fact taking something of a beating from the Cossacks. The mood in the War Office is that the wind is changing in our favour. We expect he will be out of Russia by Christmas, and Wellesley has sent word that he is planning a campaign in the spring, through Portugal, to take back Spain. He'll knock the lesser Bonaparte off his throne, and then carry on into France. And I intend to join him."

"What?" His mother cried. "You mean, in battle?"

"Yes ma'am. Given this war has been going on for almost a decade now, I thought it about time I actually saw something of it."

"What a nonsense," her uncle scoffed. "For what purpose did I get you that commission in the War Office, if you are actually going to go off and fight!"

"What was that about discretion, Fitzwilliam?"

"Now no Darcy, you of all of them have to encourage this. Georgiana, Elizabeth and my mother may be concerned, that the nature of their sex. But you and my father are allowed to do no more than be envious of all the adventures I am to have."

"Does your brother know about this?" Lady Matlock screeched.

"Yes, and he wished me every success of it."

"But why you?"

"Why not me? We've sent two hundred thousand to this war already. And I can no longer countenance training men for a war that I have seen no part of it myself."

"Yes, but they're –"

"What?"

"Expendable."

"How long will you be gone?" This was Elizabeth. A concerned one.

"However long it takes. But we think we shall have him within two years. Three at most. Russia has been a humiliation for him. Bluntly, we do not expect a better chance to end this. Georgiana come, will you of all of them must wish me well."

She did not have the words. Not even now. He had always, always advocated for her. How could she not find the words to do the same for him? Instead, she stood, crossed the room – and hugged him, close and tight.

After a while she broke away, turned to Elizabeth, and quietly asked if she might have the instrument. Her sister-in-law looked perplexed, but nodded and stood. As she went to sit back down by her husband, Georgiana heard her whisper to the Colonel that this "really was a great length to go to, to escape Miss Bingley's attempts to flirt".

She sat down at the piano, stretched out her fingers, and began to play – and play – and play. Maybe, just maybe, if she did not stop, then he would not leave.

It's been a busy old time with a new job and a particularly nasty cold, but I finally managed to sit down and do some writing last night. I hope you all enjoy!

As ever, thank you to those who leave a review or follow/fav; it really is the best motivation to keep on writing. Please do drop a few lines with your thoughts, good or ill!

And stay safe folks :)