CHAPTER VI

Georgiana knew she should have been ashamed of her own foolishness. The difficulty was, now that Elizabeth was set on them being friends – and Georgiana was ready to receive that friendship – she found she did not have any space for dark thoughts. Elizabeth's philosophy did not allow for sad, lingering reminiscences of past wrongs; she was far more inclined to see the humour in it all. Even Lear, she confidently assured Georgiana, said life was just a great stage of fools.

Elizabeth had many sayings of her own. She was not a mindless chatterer by any measure, but she seemed to enjoy words. She played with them, like music: striking a chord or turning phrase, just as easily as Georgiana could turn a trill. More surprisingly, she found herself wanting to join her in this duet. It began slowly: Elizabeth would ask a question, play the notes of an introduction – and then wait. She found herself filling the empty staves with stories of her childhood, favoured memories in a rising major key. No one had ever spoken to her on such easy terms before. She had not truly understood how much she wished they had.

The first month of marriage having passed, her brother was once again called back to his duties as landlord of a large estate. This meant she spent her days alone with Elizabeth, watching her as she found her own way into her new role. In her kinder moments towards herself, Georgiana would allow that her sister was still a witch and an actress. She chose her words to fit her role, and then somehow wove them into a spell, one that seemed to capture the heart of almost everyone she spoke to, regardless of rank or position. She was still like George in that way.

Stranger were the times when it was the three of them together, after dinner or walking the grounds while Elizabeth gained her bearings. Georgiana could appreciate Elizabeth's easy manner with herself: she supposed it was how sisters behaved (and Elizabeth was the expert on that front). She even understood her ease with servants or tenants, though at times she worried Mrs. Darcy was being overly familiar. But her ease with her brother was more shocking – as was his with her. Georgiana had never known her brother to be one to accept teasing, yet from Elizabeth he almost seemed to invite it. When they played with words it was not musical, it was something else, something Georgiana did not fully understand. Like a dance and duel all at once.

The Gardiners arrival did little to change her growing happiness, though it did mean she had to share her new sister more. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were as amiable as she remembered – though her previous unkind thoughts robbed her of her words in front of them. Oddly, her brother seemed to know them both better than their short visit to Lambton should have allowed. She knew he would never lie to her, but she was beginning to sense that she did not always get the whole truth either. She was, after all, only a child.

Christmas was magical. Georgiana did not remember a festive season like it. The laughter from Elizabeth's cousins filled the air – even if they were too scared of the horses to make good on her brother's promise. Ever so occasionally, if she made sure to tread very lightly, she would catch a glimpse of her brother and Elizabeth under a strategically placed branch of mistletoe. Almost instinctively, she knew that meant more children's laughter next Christmas.

Elizabeth's birthday missed Twelfth Night by a day, which – her uncle quipped – was just the sort of misrule a Twelfth Night baby would favour; making them all extend the celebrations for one more day. This year she came into her majority, at the grand old age of one-and-twenty: as good an excuse as any for a small gathering in Pemberley and Mrs. Darcy's first formal entrance into Derbyshire society. Only a small selection of that society though, so her sister, who was still just sixteen, could join.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rode up to join them not long after New Years, and it was to him she confessed that she had not thought to get Elizabeth a gift.

"Make her something," he counselled. "I am sure that would mean more than anything you can pick up in Lambton."

As it happened, she did have something that would be fitting. In fact, she thought it one of the finest presents she had ever thought of – until the time came to actually give it to Elizabeth.

She sat with the roll of parchment held carefully in her hands, while Elizabeth tore open the bow and brown paper of her aunt and uncle's gift.

"The Lyrical Ballads," she announced, delighted. "Thank you! I left my copy at Longbourn."

She caught her brother's eye; he shook his head ever so slightly. It would not do to mention that the Pemberley Library already had a much finer copy.

Georgiana supposed it was her turn next. She faltered. This was a mistake. Elizabeth would not like it. Her brother would be disappointed. Perhaps she could promise to buy her something instead? That would be better – much better – than this.

"Georgiana, pass Mrs. Darcy her gift," her cousin encouraged.

With an awkward little curtsy, she handed Elizabeth the roll of parchment, and looked immediately back to her own hands, wishing herself invisible. Why had she not thought to take out her kerchief?

"Oh, Georgiana, it is beautiful!" Her eyes shot up. Elizabeth had unrolled the parchment and was gazing at the charcoal sketch; her eyes sparking and smile luminous. "This will do wonders for my vanity."

"You have captured her eyes just right," her brother said appreciatively. "When did you find time to draw this Georgiana?"

It was in London – but she could not say that. She could not say it was a portrait of a terrifying, beautiful witch. One she was so proud of, she had not had the heart to burn.

"I – I just did," she fibbed. It was a small lie, only a half-truth, but she felt the weight of it all the same. In want of her kerchief, she began to rub her fingers over her thumbs. At least Elizabeth liked her gift.

The rest of the afternoon she passed in the music room, diligently practicing, so she could spend the evening at the instrument and not have to talk to anyone. Elizabeth had promised that no one would think ill of her. Even so, has her maid fixed her hair she felt herself begin to tense. What if she ruined Elizabeth's night? She might say the wrong thing, or, worse, not find any words at all. Everyone would be so disappointed–

No. She was Mr. George Darcy and Lady Anne Darcy's daughter. She would do them proud in front of their old acquittances – though she would need some courage first. Her hair now fixed in place, she went in search of some.

As she neared the door to her father's study, she realised there was a muffled sound coming from inside. This was so peculiar. Gently, she turned the handle and eased the door open.

"Mr. Jones, parson, but his sister is Mrs. Ainscough, whose husband died in the Irish campaign, so best not to mention. No longer friends with Mr. and Mrs. Newman, up at Bakewell, who are not coming tonight for – undisclosed reasons. But Mr. Someone is, though I don't know who that someone is–"

"Elizabeth?"

In front of her Mrs. Darcy jumped. "Oh, Georgiana! I – I didn't expect anyone to come in here."

She shut the door and considered her sister. She looked lovely in her yellow gown, but her eyes were strange. "I like to come in here, sometimes, for some quiet."

"Of course! And I have intruded on your quiet," Elizabeth responded, her voice an octave too high. "I should go and find my aunt. Or Mrs. Reynolds. Or anyone who knows what they are doing."

"I believe my brother is in the long gallery, if that helps?"

Elizabeth gave a strange, strangled hum.

That was odd. Elizabeth had never not had words.

"Elizabeth?" she began, hesitantly, "is – is something–" What? She was not sure herself.

The other woman looked at her for a beat – and then fall into her father's armchair, head in her hands. "Oh Georgiana, I do not know what I am doing. I need to collect myself but – but why is it things must always go so wrong at the most inconvenient of times?"

She was by no means equipped to answer that question. She was not equipped to handle this situation at all.

"Should I fetch my brother?"

"No." Elizabeth replied, too quickly. "No, I," she sighed. "I think we may have had a bit of a falling out."

That was so shocking Georgiana found she fell into the other armchair. Frantically, she tried to snatch at words to form a question. In her silence, Elizabeth seemed to guess her mind.

"It is stupid. I think it is stupid. Most of our arguments have ended up being stupid really so there is no reason this one should be any different. I – I don't think I was grateful enough – No, no that is not right." She stopped herself and thought for a moment, brow knitted.

Georgiana held a breath. No one ever confided in her. A small, silly bubble of anticipation crept up inside her.

"I have to start earlier," Elizabeth began a fresh. "This is going to sound very missish but, I was a bit upset this morning that only Jane of all my family had sent me any birthday wishes. At least, any that arrived in time. Papa is not a great believer in timely correspondence, though I had thought that maybe on this occasion he would make an exception. I have never not had my birthday at home, and – well, he did not write in time, so it does not much matter now."

A wave of guilt washed over Georgiana. She had not considered that Elizabeth might have been missing the rest of her family, not when she had the Gardiners here. She began to pick at the lace of her dress.

"So, there is that. But, then it turns out that another one of my sisters did write in time for my birthday, just not for that purpose."

She looked from her lace across to Elizabeth, whose gaze had turned to the empty spot on the mantlepiece. She was biting down on her lip. She sat like that for a while, brow pulled down into a frown. It was long enough for Georgiana to piece together: "Which sister?"

"Lydia."

She nodded her understanding. Of course, she could not be Elizabeth confidant in this. Her loyalties would always be to her real sister. The one who had never thought anything bad about her. The one who must be just like her: confident, beautiful, clever–

"She wrote asking for money," Elizabeth gave a hallow laugh. "She did not even mention Christmas or my birthday. I don't know why I expected anything better from her."

She was lost now. This was all so far from her own experience. Fortunately, Elizabeth seemed to have found her words again.

"I would not mind so much if she would just show some contrition for what she did. But no, she had to flaunt that she was the first to be wed. That she is the first to be expecting – Oh!" Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, Georgiana, I'm sorry. I'm angry. But you did not need to learn about that, not in this way at least."

It took her a moment to realise what Elizabeth was apologising for. The tremors began almost as soon as she did. George was to be a father. He was going to be a father to Lydia Bennet's child. Because he loved her. Because he had married her properly.

"Oh Georgiana!" Elizabeth leapt from her chair and threw her arms around her, holding her tight, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry; I'm so sorry. Oh, now your brother really will be angry at me."

Strangely, that pulled her out of herself. She shook her head: that would not be fair. Elizabeth had only told her the truth. "Is this why you fell out?"

"No. Well, yes, in an indirect way. He got me these beautiful earrings, you see?" She did; they were a fine pair of simple diamond studs. "But he found me just after I had finished reading Lydia's letter and I was not in the best of moods. I don't think I acted as gratefully as I should. They're just very fine and I am not used to it. Does that make sense?"

She shook her head again. Elizabeth laughed. "No, I suppose it would not. I think that is part of the problem. I am still not quite sure how to be a Mrs. Darcy."

"But you are good at it."

"No, no, I'm just making it up as I go along. My mother is by no means the model of a gentleman's wife and my father's mother died long before I was born. I think I can do the people; people are just people, whether they're in Hertfordshire or Derbyshire. But it's the position I'm not so sure of."

A thought occurred to her.

"Perhaps," she forced herself to say the words. "Perhaps I can help? I can do the position, but I cannot do the people."

Elizabeth's smile returned. "Well, we are well matched then Georgiana, aren't we?" She stood and offered her hand. "We shall both have to fix our faces, and then will you come downstairs with me, and help me greet Mr. Someone?"

"Mr. Hardcastle? He is the other magistrate."

"Well, that is terrifying."

She laughed, not least because it was true. Somehow, even the suggestion that Elizabeth might be a bit scared made her feel more brave. Brave enough to find the words that had been tormenting her.

"Elizabeth, is Lydia like you?"

"Lord, no! Why do you ask?"

"I – I think I would understand why George loved her, if she was. Why he chose her despite – despite having no fortune. That is real love. Like for you and Fitzwilliam."

"Lord, give me strength. Georgiana, George Wickham does not love my sister." The frowning, thinking Elizabeth returned. "I promised you no secrets and now I suppose I must make good on that. Wickham only married my sister because your brother paid him to do so, to save her reputation and – by association – mine and Jane's. There was no elopement. Lady Catherine is wrong on that front, though Lord knows she would not know her luck if she knew the truth of it. Lydia came with – I do not know precisely, I haven't asked, but it cannot have been less than ten thousand pounds of Darcy money. He married her for your family's fortune, just as readily as he was intending to marry you. He does not love her. I'm not convinced he loves anyone but himself."

She could not think. It was not just that there were no words, there were no shapes, no notes, nothing. She sat dazed. Confused. Astounded.

At some point, Elizabeth had perched herself on the arm of her chair. She was stroking her hair again. She looked up at her, and said the only thing she could be certain of: "I did not know."

"I know. Your brother had thought it best not to tell you but – well, I can take him being angry with me for this, if it makes you feel better. He can stomp and brood, but at least you know the truth of it." She considered her for a moment. "Now, why are you not angry Georgiana?"

"You – you think I should be."

"Yes! You should be furious. What that man did to you – I'm angry with him, every single day for what he did to me, and that is pale in comparison to what he did to you, and to Lydia. I'm angry with her too but George Wickham – he is a snake in the grass."

"I – I have never thought it be angry with him. I know my brother is, and my cousin. But – I don't think I should be. I believed him–"

"Only because he lied to you."

"–I am not sure if it was all a lie." Something was clearing from her mind; maybe it was the gentle, rhymic movement of Elizabeth's fingers in her hair; maybe it was the courage from her father's room. Whatever it was, it was giving her words – more words than she had ever found before. "We did – we did pass a lot of time together, when I was little, and he always so kind. He would make me laugh. We'd sit in here with my father. Like – like–"

"A family?"

She nodded. She had never known her mother. Her brother had been away at Eton since before she could remember. They had been a family, George, her father and her. Then she had lost them both, almost within a month of each other. She thought he had come back for her. She thought that he had loved her.

She could not be brave. Not now, not like this.

"Why can't I make it stop Elizabeth?" She wept. "Why can't I make myself stop loving him?"

"I don't know," she felt herself pulled her into a fresh hug. "I only know how to go from dislike to love, not the other way around. All I can say is what helped me, and that is deciding that if I ever see his stupid, handsome face again I shall slap it."

Despite herself, she laughed. Elizabeth took the kerchief from her hands and began dabbing her face.

"Think, if you had married him, he would have used all your best brushes. You would have to fight him for the looking glass every morning. I say Lydia is welcome to him. It is fortunate, I suppose, that every time I begin to feel sorry for her, she does something that reminds me of how well suited the two of them are. She may have him, and we shall find you someone infinitely superior, just as I found your brother. How does that sound?"

She could not bring herself to look up at her sister yet, but the soft touch of fabric on her cheek was clearing her mind again. "Thank you. No one – no one has spoken to about this, like you have."

"Older brothers and cousins are probably not best suited to these conversations. Now, should we go refresh ourselves?"

"In a little. I should like to sit for a bit longer with–" No, no that would sound silly.

"With your papa?"

Now she looked up; Elizabeth smiled. "Come and find me once you are caught up."

With that, she stood and left, leaving Georgiana with just one thought: how could anyone be so magical?

Thank you for all the lovely reviews since last weekend. I promised I would try and get something up, so here it is: early! I've also managed to jot out the rough outline so this whole story now. I expect it will come in at around 35-40 chapters, with each one being between 2,000-3,000 words. I'm still aiming at one every 7-10 days.

It's really gratifying to read that people are enjoying this depiction of Georgiana, though I can't really claim credit for; Jane put the foundations all there is Chapters 35, 43, 44, 45 and 61 of P&P. I thought it might be helpful to cite for readers the references to Georgiana I'm basing her character on - not least because I don't think either the 1995 version or 2005 version did justice to just how shy she is described as being:

"Georgiana, whose affectionate heart retained a strong impression of [Wickham's] kindness to her as a child, that she was persuaded to believe herself in love […] unable to support the idea of grieving and offending a brother whom she almost looked up to as a father, acknowledged the whole."

"[Elizabeth] had willingly turned to look at some drawings of Miss Darcy's, in crayons, whose subjects were usually more interesting, and also more intelligible."

"Since her being at Lambton, [Elizabeth] had heard that Miss Darcy was exceedingly proud; but the observation of a very few minutes convinced her that she was only exceedingly shy. She found it difficult to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable."

"Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any more. Her brother, whose eye she feared to meet, scarcely recollected her interest in the affair, and the very circumstance which had been designed to turn his thoughts from Elizabeth seemed to have fixed them on her more and more cheerfully."

"Georgiana had the highest opinion in the world of Elizabeth; though at first she often listened with an astonishment bordering on alarm at her lively, sportive, manner of talking to her brother. He, who had always inspired in herself a respect which almost overcame her affection, she now saw the object of open pleasantry…"