"Your playing has greatly improved since Christmas," Louisa said.

Georgiana had finished the complicated piece with a flourish and looked up smiling. Louisa was a very accomplished player, and a compliment from her was something to be very pleased with. Even Caroline was clapping without pretence, something rare for the younger Bingley sister, whose manner was usually as well rehearsed as a Covent Garden opera singer.

"I have been practicing this piece for weeks now, I could never really get my fingers around the second movement. They always seem to falter over it."

"You practice has definitely paid off," Louisa eyed the younger girl carefully, "and I am guessing that was the reason for you not visiting Buxton with us yesterday."

Caroline looked over quickly at her sister, Georgiana's absence had been most noticeable, particularly to the Hurst girls who had demanded the considerable attention of Mr Darcy, much to the chagrin of Miss Godwin.

"On the contrary, I had a headache and thought it best not to disrupt the outing. Did you take the waters?"

"Not at all, I do not have a taste for it," Louisa laughed, "although Miss Godwin said she felt restored indeed."

"How very like her."

Caroline caught the expression cross Georgiana's face, "do you not care for Miss Godwin?"

She rose from the piano bench, away from the stained glass windows that hung like jewels in a picture box, over to where the two older women were sitting and took her place between them on the settee, slouching in a manner that would be called most unladylike. Georgiana was glad to get them both alone without the interference of her brother who was doe-eyed like a fool for their pretty visitor, or the constant demands for attention from Miranda. She found that she was even pleased that Caroline was here, as she sensed the lady would be an ally in what she was about to ask.

"Louisa… Caroline… I fear that my brother has been misled in Miss Godwin's intentions towards him. I do not believe she loves him, I do not believe she will make him happy, and I believe with all of my heart that somehow George Wickham is involved in this too."

"What has Miss Godwin done to bring about this change in your opinion?" Caroline was not a great supporter of the lady, and anything that could be said that would match her own viewpoint would make her feel very satisfied indeed.

"It is not what she has done," Georgiana began, "but new information has been brought to my attention."

"What new information is this," said Caroline, a look of concern on her face, glancing over at her sister with a knowing look.

"I received a letter from George Wickham," she said, retrieving the letter from the pocket of her gown.

"George Wickham?"

"I doubt Mr Wickham moves in the same circles as Miss Godwin, Georgiana," Caroline said, a smirk on her face at Miss Darcy's naivety. "I am certain that anything he says to you will be a complete fabrication."

Louisa caught Georgiana's eye, and she quickly skimmed the letter, before folding it with a sharp movement.

"The thing is, Louisa, I am not of the opinion that I would like Jemima Godwin as a sister."

"After reading this letter, I am inclined to agree with you, Georgiana."

"And what are the contents of this letter? I must insist on knowing," Caroline's voice was shrill, as she reached out, but Louisa withheld the letter from her grasp.

"There is no need for you to see this," she said, as her sister fell into a sulk, glaring at them both, "but, you can be complicit in my machinations."

"You think something could be done?"

Louisa nodded, Georgiana felt relieved. Receiving confirmation from Lady Armitage had soothed her somehow, that her dislike of Jemima was well-judged. She didn't want to think that every woman who Fitz displayed an interest in would vex her, did not want him to believe that she was jealous. And now, here was Louisa, one of her brother's closest confidantes agreeing too.

"I do believe that something can done," she said, "because whilst your brother can be a very stubborn gentleman, he is also a clever one, present him with this and he cannot fail to see the error in it."

"You are forgetting, however," Caroline said, feeling very clever herself, "that Fitzwilliam is currently a man who believes himself to be in love. So, whatever the contents of the letter are, you must work doubly hard to convince him of any deception… or… you may even end up sending him running into her arms with naught even a backward glance."

"But Caroline, he will believe Louisa… He always believes Louisa."

"Louisa introduced them!"

Georgiana glanced over at the older woman, "that may be so, but I think together we wrench them apart."

"Fitzwilliam said that you would need any approval over any wife," Caroline said, her mind already machinating.

"He did say that," Georgiana sighed, "but I fear that Miss Godwin has him in thrall."

"Perhaps," Louisa said with a purse of her lips, "but leave that part of it to Caroline and myself. There is something more important that you must do, Miss Darcy."

"Aye? What?"

"You must find this Wickham girl and apologise, for she sought your confidence and you treated her most ill."

Georgiana nodded, she would go now, for she knew exactly where she would find Bridget, although she was unsure how she would even begin to apologise.

The highest point of the house was of new construction, only recently completed under the instruction of the young, handsome architect, Lewis Wyatt, who had been strongly admired by both ladies of society and girls of the backstairs alike. The tower stood two stories high and was perched on top of the suite of rooms usually reserved for the mistress of Pemberley, which had remained untouched and uninhabited since the death of Lady Anne nearly sixteen years ago. Atop these now though the giggles and soft snores of a dozen servant girls, all packed into the small rooms high above the courtyard. Bridget slipped up the curling staircase, the plaster walls still fresh with the smell of new paint, the steps still fragrant with the scent of ancient woodlands and the secrets therein. Her steps were soft, gentle so as not to awaken Aunt Frances, who slept on the lower floor in her own room, guarding the girls above from the prying sighs of fanciful footmen determined to chance their arm and a beating for a glimpse of a petticoat. The last staircase took her up to the roof, where she could look at the stars in the blackness of the night, take a moment for herself after the babble and heat of the kitchens. The moon was bright, the stars peeking through the velvety sky like tiny openings into heaven.

"Bridget."

It was Miss Darcy, no longer angry, but apologetic. She could hear it in her voice, by the way she stood, hidden against the balustrade, pushed into the corner.

"Miss Darcy," she said, with a hasty curtsey.

"No need for that, please don't curtsey… Bridget, I have done you the most terrible wrong."

"No, Miss," her words tumbling out of her mouth quickly, "I should not have-"

"You should! You were right to tell me. I was wrong."

Bridget was not used to those of higher rank admitting their errors, it made her blush, even though she knew that she had been right to take the letter to Miss Darcy in the first place.

"Did you read it?"

"I did, and I find the contents abhorrent."

Georgiana's usual expression soured and she slid down the balustrade, sitting with her legs crossed on the roof of the Wyatt Tower. Decidedly unladylike, Bridget thought, as she sat down beside her.

"What do you need me to do?" She asked, not sure if there was anything that she could do. Accidentally intercepting the letter was one thing, but foiling her brother's plans would be decidedly more difficult.

"You forgive me?"

Bridget looked closer, could see that Georgiana had been crying, that worry was etched across her face.

"There is nothing to forgive, Miss. Your reaction.. well, it was a usual type of reaction. One I should have expected."

"I was rude, and I didn't listen to you. I should have listened to you."

There was silence. In the distance the owls were calling out to each other, a song echoing out in the darkness.

"He won't marry her, you know. T'master."

"He may do, he does seem half in love with her already, and a place like this needs a mistress. Pemberley needs an heir."

"Maybe, but there are different types of love and Master Fitzwilliam is clever enough to not be taken in by a lady who will treat him ill."

"I do hope so, Bridget."

Bridget reached over and held Georgiana's hand tightly, it was cold.

"I have three brothers, you know, and I love them… all three. George is the eldest, always off with t'Master and away at school for pretty much my whole life, sending me trinkets and books from town, telling me about a life I could never hope to have, places I could never hope to see. Life would have been different for me, I think, if my father hadn't died when he did…"

"He was a good man, your father. Papa always spoke very highly of him."

"He was," Bridget paused, unsure of how to say what was in her heart, "but my brother George is not like the rest of us. He likes to pretend that he is a gentleman and indeed he has the manner and the charm of a man of twice his birth, but my brother is not a good person. He is not a good person like t'master… he wants a life is beyond his grasp, and he will do anything he can, and hurt anyone he can, in order to achieve that."

"I know enough of your brother to know that he will take what he wants."

Georgiana rose to her feet awkwardly and leaned over the balustrade. It was a long way down to the gravel pathway below, but the stone beneath her fingertips was reassuringly smooth and new. There were beacons still glowing in the garden, edging around the lake, another was glinting away on top of the hill in Lantern wood, the folly built by George Darcy providing a landmark for local travellers along the edge of the park, guiding them home. The water on the lake in front of the house was still, reflecting the moon back at them, and even though she didn't think she was quite where she should be, there was something reassuring and safe about being up here.

"Penny for your thoughts, miss."

Bridget could sense that there was something wrong with the younger girl, something she wasn't sharing and she was curious, because she suspected that it might have something to do with George.

"Oh, there is nothing. Not really," Georgiana said softly. "Doesn't it feel like we are on top of the world up here? Like nothing could ever reach us."

"It does, miss. I think it might be my new favourite place."

"Mine too."

There a silence, not uncomfortable, but filled with questions; things that were hanging in the air. Bridget could feel the words in her mouth, pushing up through her throat, and before she knew it they were escaping from her lips and she couldn't reach and grab them from the air.

"Did George hurt you?"

Georgiana glanced Bridget, could feel the hurt and anger burning on her skin, wanted to scream her truth, but she found that when it came it was small and quiet and shameful.

"Yes."

"How?"

"In the basest way."

"Oh… OH."

Bridget felt immediate anger towards her brother – the man who was so admired by their mother, despite his faults – who would arrive at the cottage on the hill with a brazen dislike of everything in it, as if he was now too good and grand to return to the home of his childhood, looking upon everything with disdain, especially Bridget, who had been too young to have fallen under the spell of his charm. She loved her brother, because he was her kin and her blood, but she didn't like him, and the thought of him hurting the sweet Miss Darcy made her recoil with a feeling that felt very bad indeed.

"I am sorry that he did that to you."

"As am I, Bridget," Georgiana said, a soft smile on her face. "But, it is done now."

Bridget placed her hand on hers, and she held it tightly, leaning against the older girl as they sat up on the roof. For the first time in her fifteen years, Georgiana felt as if she had found a friend. She was well aware of her place at the top of the Pemberley hierarchy, knew that in normal circumstance she would never know of her Bridget Wickham, unless she deigned to come to the kitchens to thank her for the seed cake, or the soft iced biscuits that accompanied her nuncheon. But something had happened between them, they were hear now on the roof with secrets and starlight, these two girls who had shared the same mother's milk. Bridget felt in her heart that God himself had sent her to protect Georgiana Darcy, and she would do everything so could to ensure that this motherless girl came to no further harm, especially not at the hands of her brother.

"What do you need me to do?"