When Mr. Darcy arrived at Marlborough House in the early hours of the morning, he entered the large, empty house as a man bursting with emotion. Miss Elizabeth was not supposed to be in Brighton, and if he ever met her again, she was not supposed to give him any hope of correcting his egregious mistakes.
But she was in Brighton, and after two sets of dancing with her smiles and infectious laughter, he was undone.
"Brother?" Georgiana's voice startled him as he walked down the hall to his suite. He turned around to spy his sister, covered modestly in her robe, and her hair tied up for her curls in the morning.
"You should not be awake," he said lightly, as he could not bring himself to speak in a disapproving tone. Sheepishly, he smiled at his sister, and Georgiana took a deep breath and marched directly to him.
"You're smiling! You never smile after a ball," she said, as he attempted to retreat to his rooms, but she followed him.
"You are too old to be frightened of the dark," he said, but Georgiana took a seat by the fireplace and crossed her hands in her lap, expectantly waiting for her brother to cease treating her like a young girl and accept her as the confidant she was now old enough to be.
Mr. Darcy remembered one of the worst parts of the evening, apart from his conversation with Shawcroft. He cleared his throat and considered testing his sister's mettle. While he would not like to disappoint Miss Elizabeth if Georgiana's reaction went poorly, he would worry about that problem after he disclosed Mr. Wickham's presence.
"There is a member of the recently camped militia that I would spare you from ever hearing his name again—" he began, and then stopped as his sister's breath quickened. He watched in awe as the panic and anxiety he battled at other times attacked his sister, but she held up her hand and set her face in a determined expression.
Her lips pressed firm as she inhaled through her nose a very deep breath, she spoke his name.
"George Wickham joined a militia?" she asked, with a slightly stuttering rhythm.
Mr. Darcy nodded. "His regiment is stationed here, under Colonel Forster."
Georgiana nodded, and visibly swallowed, making her brother distressed.
"Forgive me, I cannot ask you. It is too much of a risk that you might see him," he said, turning away in a rant to himself that made little sense to his sister.
"What is too much of a risk? I don't understand, you were happy. I saw it!" she said, earnestly. "I cannot see how you were happy that Mr. Wickham is in Brighton, so there must have been something else that occurred at the ball," she reasoned.
Mr. Darcy's shoulders rose and fell as he took measured breaths. When he would not speak, Georgiana sat back in the chair and allowed her arms to languish over the rests, similarly to her cousin Richard.
"We cannot keep things from each other. We promised that, after Ramsgate. If I had not told you the truth of my discomfort, you would not have been able to save me."
Her brother turned around and pulled the other chair in the room closer to her, and took a seat before he began. Patiently, Georgiana waited.
In a burst of energy, Fitzwilliam unburdened his heart. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet is here, in Brighton. We danced twice, and I believe you might be right, that she will accept an apology from me, though I cannot fathom how I deserve such grace."
Nodding along with her brother, Georgiana clapped her hands in jubilation at the news that the woman he was in love with was also in Brighton.
"What luck! First Fortune places you two in Kent, and now Brighton?" she asked, and he rolled his eyes.
"I hardly think it was luck," he said.
"Well, it was certainly a sign of Providence. We could be in London. And she could have traveled anywhere this summer," Georgiana pointed out.
Darcy shook off his sister's glee over signs and coincidences. "Mr. Wickham has taken an interest in her younger sister, who was the original recipient of the invitation here to the seaside, by Colonel Forster's wife."
"Oh no! They don't know how dangerous he is!" Georgiana exclaimed, leaning forward in the chair and clasping her hands once more into her lap. She nervously wrung them in great distress over the Bennet sisters.
Mr. Darcy blanched. "Miss Elizabeth is apprised of his treachery," he said, softly, making his sister gasp. Quickly, he tried to put his sister at ease. "But she would not tell a soul. To my observation, she has not even told her sister, and Miss Lydia hangs on to his every word."
Georgiana stared away from her brother, troubled that he had told another, especially a woman she had never met, about her greatest disgrace. Her mouth became dry as he continued to explain how it was all a folly.
"I told Miss Elizabeth that we would call on her tomorrow, on King's Road. But I will have a message sent with our regrets. I cannot risk you seeing Mr. Wickham at that house and I am terribly sorry that I was foolish for a moment to even think to put you in such an uncomfortable position. You shall leave in the morning with Mrs. Annesley."
Georgiana blinked, coming out of her stupor. "But, I don't wish to leave. And I have already seen him," she said, making her brother suddenly unleash the anger he had kept safely checked all evening.
"You have WHAT?!" he said, standing up from the chair and forcing himself to walk away from his sister as he processed her confession.
"Peace, Fitzwilliam, I didn't know it was him. What I mean is, when we drove Richard home to his quarters and took a long turn to come back, I thought I saw a soldier who looked just like Mr. Wickham. I was shocked, in the carriage, and Mrs. Annesley comforted me in my horror. She tried to persuade me that it was perhaps just a man who looked like him and feared that I was hallucinating," Georgiana explained, adding more details as her brother's anger appeared to subside the more she spoke. "I suppose now I am grateful that you told me he is here," she said, brightly.
Confused, Darcy considered her as he paced the room, waiting for her to explain herself. Laughing, she made a logical joke to break the sour mood.
"I am not hallucinating! I tried to tell Mrs. Annesley that I had never mistaken another man for him before, it was just so unlikely that he was here. But now you have confirmed he is here and therefore, I am not going mad."
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to recount exactly how his life had become more absurd than a Shakespearean comedy. A failed proposal, a nearly ruined sister, and a soldier cousin in danger from his own men. Any moment now, Puck was going to fly in through the window and turn him into an ass!
"I do not wish to go home tomorrow. If you promised Miss Elizabeth that we would call on her tomorrow, you cannot break your promise to her," Georgiana said, standing from the chair to make sure her voice carried across the room.
"You did not secretly plan to meet with Mr. Wickham here at Brighton?" he asked, and his sister flashed him a glare of anger. He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I had to ask, forgive me," he said.
Cooly, Georgiana reminded him that she had no idea the man had even taken a commission. "I was once misguided by loneliness and idleness. Without a mother to guide me in the warnings others young ladies receive from the moment they are in stays," she said, watching her brother wince slightly at the discussion of her undergarments, "Mr. Wickham attempted to fool me when I was vulnerable."
Mr. Darcy gulped and slowly walked toward his sister. "If I had known the warnings to give, I would have. You were only fifteen and we never believed you could be in danger of that kind," he explained, and Georgiana nodded.
The two siblings stood before each other and when one yawned, the other couldn't avoid the involuntary mimicry. Laughing at their silliness, Fitzwilliam leaned forward to kiss his sister's forehead.
"I still prefer you to leave in the morning with Mrs. Annesley," he repeated.
"But you do not command that I go." She tested the meaning of his words.
"I-I," he stumbled, as his thoughts jumbled into a mess of so many mistakes he had made in ordering others to his opinions. He sighed. For once, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, could not entirely trust his own counsel. "I believe you to be safer."
Georgiana shook her head. "I wouldn't feel safer away from you," she said, sweetly. Taking a deep breath, she made sure her voice did not waver for her next speech. "George Wickham cannot threaten me. It sounds as though he is chasing another, and we have to save her, too, Brother. Miss Elizabeth will be ruined if he holds serious designs on her younger sister."
Mr. Darcy closed his eyes. "You're likely correct, but it feels wrong to include you." He paused and fought back another yawn. "I am tired. We can talk about this in the morning. Agreed?" he asked, and his sister embraced him in response.
"Thank you, Fitzwilliam, for not sending me away. You'll see. I won't embarrass you," she said, squeezing him tightly so that his arms were pinned to his side. Feeling him chuckle at her exuberance, she pulled back and gave him a sheepish look.
Wrinkling her nose, she asked him a question. "Should I find a less childish way to thank you?" she asked and he shook his head.
Giving her a brotherly growl, he opened his arms and pulled her tightly into his own embrace, before kissing the top of her head.
"Never," he repeated a few times, before finally releasing her. "Now go to bed, or neither of us will wake in time to visit anyone," he warned.
Georgiana ducked away from him and scurried to the door, finding Mrs. Annesley on the other side. Mr. Darcy felt more comfortable seeing his sister's companion so dedicated to her care. Pulling the cord to summon his valet, Mr. Dacy's head began to pound at the overabundance of information from the evening. His sister had not told him that she thought she saw Mr. Wickham, a choice of privacy that did not sit well with him. Granted, she had told Mrs. Annesley and the woman believed her to be seeing visions. He could have told her she wasn't going mad, but he also had not visited her before the ball. She was right, whenever they kept secrets from one another, they both suffered.
"Will that be all, sir?" his man asked, and Darcy dismissed him, but then thought of one last thing.
"My blue coat. Make sure it is ready for tomorrow morning. I have calls to make," he said, and his valet nodded.
Repulsed at having to sleep again in a bed that was not his own, Mr. Darcy tried not to think about how long the mattress had been in use. Instead, he tried to focus on the illustrious men who had once lived in the household. His Grace, the Duke of Marlborough, was a given. But even the Hamiltons, who owned the house after the Spencers, were a respectable family. As his body settled, the exhaustion of travel, dancing, and emotions of the day soon overcame his discomfort. A slumbering lull began to slow his thoughts, as he tried to keep track of all that had occurred, and finally, he settled on the happiest thought of them all: Elizabeth Bennet did not hate him.