CHAPTER V

Her aunt travelled with her as far as Derby, where they met one of her brother's carriages. As the Pemberley man handed her in, she could not help but feel a small sense of relief; despite all the upheaval of the last month, she really had missed her home.

As they turned into Pemberley Woods, she began to count out her breaths and reminded herself – always in Lady Catherine's voice – that she was the daughter of Mr. George and Lady Anne Darcy. She was niece to the Earl of Matlock. She had no reason to be nervous of a tradesman's niece; of an actress; of a witch. She told herself this again and again, all the while winding her kerchief tighter and tighter around her fingers.

The carriage drew to a stop and the coachman hoped down, opening an umbrella to save her from the elements. The door flew open. She froze.

"Miss Darcy?" The coachman asked, hand extended, face concerned.

She could not let her brother down. Taking a final deep breath, she stepped out. The gravel path crunched gently under her soft calfskin boots. The warmth of the entrance hall radiated towards her. Slowly, she made her way in.

"Georgiana!" A grinning Elizabeth rushed forwards from the centre of the entrance hall and pulled her into another hug. She stood still as stone, unsure of how else to respond. There were maids and footmen all around, though not one could help her with her coat and hat while Mrs. Darcy had her trapped in an embrace. Mrs. Reynolds was just stood - smiling. She looked to her brother, to see how he was taking this unconventional scene. He had that same stupid soft smile on his face he had worn since the wedding. Still bewitched.

Elizabeth pulled away. "We are so happy you are finally here, are we not Mr. Darcy? You must go and refresh yourself and then I have asked for tea and scones in the yellow drawing room. They have ginger in. Mrs. Reynolds has assured me that is a favourite."

With rehearsed politeness she managed a small 'thank you' and curtsy, before walking to her brother and the comfort of their own customs: a slight bow, a kiss to the cheek, only a few words.

Her walk to her chambers, and from there to the yellow sitting room, revealed only that very little had changed physically about her home in the month Elizabeth had been there. Contrary to some of the warnings her Aunt Matlock's friends had whispered – half in jest, half, she suspected, in seriousness – the family heirlooms had not made way for tools and warehouse crates. Something was different though – something in the air and light. It all seemed brighter, despite the winter gloom.

As she sat Elizabeth offered her a plate of treats; if they had not been ginger scones, she would not have taken any. But, given they were, she took one and set herself to breaking it up and eating slowly. This stopped her looking at her new sister; stopped her falling under one of her smiling spells.

"I have something for you." Elizabeth reached into her pocket and pulled out a square of white muslin. Her brother nodded his encouragement. With all the politeness she could muster, Georgiana reached out and took it.

It was a kerchief. Someone had embroidered something on it. A C.D. perhaps, or a Q.O – maybe a G.Q? Confused, she looked up. Elizabeth was still grinning. She felt herself blink. What did one do in such a situation?

Elizabeth's eyes were doing something strange. It was like they were dancing, even though they kept their gaze fixed on her. Then, she laughed.

"It is fine Georgiana, I know it is not the prettiest piece, you do not have to spare my blushes! Jane is the only one with the temper for it in our family; I have not the patience to do it well, but – well, I saw you often carry one and I had thought to try and make you something to welcome you home."

Looking back down at the sad little stitches, her training returned to her. She managed a quiet, "thank you."

"I should say Jane was the only one. I saw your screen; it is beautiful. How long did that take you?"

She could not recall.

"You are too modest by half. If I had even a tenth of your talent, I do not think I should ever get my head through the entrance door."

She did not know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

Mercifully, her brother cleared his throat and asked about the roads, just once, and then he let the conversation lapse. He knew when she did not have words. Unfortunately, Elizabeth did not.

"My aunt and uncle arrive on the twenty-first. My aunt is so looking forward to meeting you again. And we have my cousins too; Isabelle, she is the eldest and just turned nine, then there is Sarah, and Edward and Richard is the youngest, he is only three but very sure of himself. I should warn you now that we will have to put on a nativity play; it was a tradition for me and my sisters and now our cousins seem determined to keep it going." She paused and, seeming to sense something, softened her tone. "I should like, now that you're home Georgiana, if you would teach me some of your family traditions? I have tried asking your brother and he has been next to no help."

She looked across to him. He was still smiling. It was beginning to be irksome.

"I have told Elizabeth we have the wassailing and the Boxing Day hunt."

"Everyone has wassailing. That is not a tradition. And given none of them have ever ridden a horse, I do not think they will get very far on a hunt."

"Never ridden?" Her shock at hearing her own voice was reflected in the others' faces. That flicker of doubt danced across Elizabeth's eyes again.

"Well, no. They-" She floundered.

"Will have had little opportunity to learn in the City," her brother cut in, a hint of irritation in his voice. He turned to his wife and smiled. "Which is why we shall teach them ahead of Boxing Day."

It was her. Her brother was irritated with her. "May I be excused?"

"Georgiana, you have only just arrived."

"Of course," Elizabeth swept in. "You have had long journey. We shall all have plenty of time to catch-up over dinner."

She nodded, stood and left. It was too much. She could not bear him being angry with her. It was only one question. Why would she not know that they could not ride? It was not her fault Elizabeth had such poor relations. It was not her fault he had fallen under her spell.

Walking down the long corridors, she began to hate herself for such uncharitable thoughts. She needed to help her brother, not be angry with him. With that resolve, she pushed open the door to the one room she knew Elizabeth's magic would not reach.

The chill hit her immediately; no one had used her father's study for over five years now, except occasionally, if a tour was requested. There were no tourists during the winter though, so there was little sense in lighting the fire.

She sat down in his chair. The little clock on the mantlepiece chimed the hour. It was around this time of day she would have come to find him, so he could lift her up to light the advent calendar. That was a Christmas tradition, she supposed, not that she intended to let Elizabeth have it. If her father was still alive this would not have happened. He would have seen through her. She would not have bewitched him.

She sat for a while, lost in her memories. The clock began to chime again; it had grown darker outside. It would be dinner soon. Standing up, she readied herself to leave – and noticed George's portrait was gone. She must have removed it. She had tampered with her father's things. And no one had stopped her.

Elizabeth was quiet at dinner. Something had obviously passed between them after she had left. The brightness in the air had gone.

It was her brother, of all three of them, who seemed most eager to pretend as if this were not the case. He asked about her time with their aunt and uncle, news from her cousin, what pieces she had been practicing; whether her shawl was new. She decided she liked this talkative brother even less than the smiling stranger. She answered perfunctory, until he eventually fell silent.

The peace gave her time to consider her sister. Georgiana would admit that Elizabeth did not much look like a fortune hunter, but she supposed she was too good an actress to rely on clichés. Her new gowns were largely simple, not overly ordained with lace or bows, and around her neck she wore one simple strand of pearls. At least, it looked simple to her: it was unlikely Elizabeth's own family had trinkets like that to spare. They must have been her mother's. The thought stung. She decided Caroline was right after all; there was not much of beauty in this Mrs. Darcy. She was short and skinny and had a common nose. She did not even know how to embroider. How dare she wear her mother, Lady Anne's, necklace–

"I think all the excitement of the day has worn me out," the actress announced. "I'm going to retire for the evening."

Her brother stood as she left. As he sat back down Georgiana let out a long breath. It was just to two of them, again. As it should be.

"If you would like, I could play some of the Chopin I've been practicing," she began, finally at ease.

He looked at her; this was a new look, one she did not recognise. He cleared his throat and cleared the room.

"Georgiana," he began once they were alone. "You have not been particularly kind to Elizabeth today."

Her blood froze.

"I am well aware of the gossip in town, but I had credited you with more sense than to believe it."

He was angry. He was actually angry. She thought he had been angry earlier, but this was different. But why? Why was he angry at her now? He had not even used that tone when the Bad Thing happened. When she had almost ruined them. When she had almost–

"Georgiana, Fitzwilliam and I have never forced you to speak, but you are almost a woman grown. You cannot forever hold your tongue. Why are you acting this way towards Elizabeth? You were delighted when I wrote to say we were engaged. What has changed?"

"It wasn't the gossip." It came out as a whisper.

"Pardon?"

"It – it wasn't the gossip."

"What was not the gossip?"

She did not have the words. Her mind would not form them; it just swam with shapes and notes.

"Georgiana, tell me at least we have not wasted a small fortune on your education for you not to define your subjects."

Tears strung her eyes. This was worse; worse than the Bad Thing. She had managed to fix the Bad Thing; there had still been time. She could not fix this. He was bewitched. He was married. Elizabeth might have already been carrying a Darcy heir–

But she could not lie to him.

"It – it was Miss Catherine," she sputtered. "What Miss Catherine said – that – that was not gossip."

His brow furrowed. "What did Miss Catherine say?"

She shook her head, silently pleading with him not to make her say it. It was too awful.

He sat back and considered her for a moment. "Georgiana, did Miss Catherine happen to say that Elizabeth does not like me?"

Her heart stopped. He knew. He knew and – and now he was smiling, again.

"My poor sister," he leant over, took her hand and squeezed it tight. "When did you overhear her, was it the wedding?"

She nodded, confounded. He laughed. "Jenkins," he cried to the door. A footman stepped back in. "Would you ask a maid to fetch Mrs. Darcy back down? And bring through the port, we'll need it." He looked back to her. "Georgiana, I have not been entirely truthful with you, and for that I am sorry. I know Elizabeth did not like me."

"You – you know?" She repeated, confused. The port arrived; he poured her a small schooner and promised to tell her the whole of it once Elizabeth arrived. She did not have to wait long. The door creaked open, and a rather sheepish Mrs. Darcy stood at the threshold.

"Georgiana overheard your sister Catherine say something not very politic at our wedding," her brother announced. "I suspect something to the effect of 'she does not even like him'."

He looked to her; she could only nod.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Elizabeth cried and fell back into her seat. "Is that all, truly?"

Her brother looked to her, and she to her glass. This was not what she had expected. "She said – she said also–"

"That Elizabeth only married me for my fortune?" He finished.

This was not what she was going to say, but it felt a more comfortable topic than the fact that they were all miserable. She nodded, still studying her glass.

"You have to tell her the whole of it," said Elizabeth.

Her brother took her hand again. She could not meet his eye. "Georgiana, I am more confident of this than anything; Elizabeth is no fortune hunter, and I do not think she dislikes me. At least not anymore. If she was a fortune hunter, she would have said yes the first time I asked her to marry me."

Her head flew up. "The first time?"

"Yes, at Rosings, at Easter."

She looked to Elizabeth. "You – you said no?"

"I did."

"But – but why?"

"I did not much like your brother, at the time."

"But you're – you're just–" She caught herself too late.

"A tradesman's niece with no connections and fifty pounds a year to her name?" She scoffed. "Yes, so everyone likes reminding me. It was that very argument, actually, that inclined me towards saying no." She turned back to her husband. "Either you can tell her the truth of it all or I can. We have had too many misunderstandings."

She looked at him. "Fitzwilliam?"

He sighed. "When I first met Elizabeth, I said something – regrettable – which, quite reasonably, gave her a poor impression of my character."

"No, that will not do. I said the whole truth. Your brother, Georgiana, declined a dance with me because I was 'tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him'."

Her mouth fell open. "But that was very rude!"

"I am aware of that Georgiana. I – was not my best self in Hertfordshire."

"We were both at fault," Elizabeth leant in, more contrite. "It was around that time that the militia entered Meryton and with them came George Wickham, who span a pretty yarn about the wrongs your brother had inflicted on him, which given his slight towards me, I was very ready to believe."

"You – you believed George, Elizabeth?"

Her sister's eyes flicked past her to her brother's, then back again. "He – is undeniably very charming. Like a fox or a wolf." She sipped at her port. "Anyway, when we were at Rosing your cousin also let slip that–"

"She does not need to know this part."

"Nothing good is going to come from her not knowing. Due to another, misunderstanding, your brother and Miss Bingley did not believe Jane loved Mr. Bingley. Which she very much did. And, out of a concern for him, they worked to keep her from him. Obviously, I disagreed with as an approach. Unfortunately for your brother, the Colonel disclosed this on the very day he had finally resolved to set aside his many objections and declare himself. It all went a bit sour after that."

"I chose my words ill."

"And you have suffered enough for it, Mr. Darcy. You see Georgiana, I had told my family I disliked your brother a great deal before because, I did, and with some good reason I might add. But after Rosings, he explained – well he explained your family's history with Mr. Wickham and it made me realise how foolish I had been to believe him so willingly. And I – I only wish I had shared some of that with my younger sisters. It may have stopped him having the same effect on Lydia." She looked up. "I am truly, very sorry that because of my family he must once again be connected to yours."

Elizabeth was not just like George. She was like her. She had been tricked, like her. But she was so clever, so confident, so magical. That was too much to contemplate. So, she focused on the only slightly less unbelievable. "But why did you say no?"

"Georgiana–"

"It, it is fine Darcy. I – I had always told myself that I would only marry a man I could respect. And at the time, I did not respect your brother. But I do now. Now I like him very, very much. I promise."

"I don't understand. Your family–"

"Can never know!" Elizabeth cut in. "Well, Jane knows, and I think my father suspects but please, do not ever mention to my mother. She – it would be very bad for her nerves."

Her brother let out a muffled snort. She did not see what was funny. She was completely astonished. That a woman, any woman – let alone one with Elizabeth's fortune and connections – should turn down such an offer! Such security for her family; for herself! How could anyone, ever, be that certain of themselves?

"You said no?" She stuttered again.

"Yes," Elizabeth laughed. "Lord, if I was going to marry for security, I'd have accepted my cousin."

This time her brother did not even attempt to hide his amusement.

"Are you going to laugh every time that is mentioned? Here is a picture to sober you up. I should have been Mrs. Collins and you would have had to marry your cousin, just so you could pine your hours away watching me from Rosings. There now, how is that for a comedic scene?"

"I would not expect to act so honourably in such a situation."

She rolled her eyes. "Georgiana, I really would very much like for us to be friends. I promise, there shall be no more secrets, not from me at least. Could we – could we perhaps start again, please?"

Both her aunts were right. Elizabeth was a witch – and suddenly, Georgiana knew that she wanted to learn to be just like her.

"Yes," she found herself saying. "Yes, I should like that very much."

AN: Another weekend, another chapter! I hope you all enjoy this step towards a resolution - but what next? I've a wedding next weekend (not mine!) so it may be a few weeks until the next update, but I promise I shall not leave it too long.

In the meantime, please do leave a review or favourite / follow :)