Elizabeth started at the unexpected mention of the name. “George? You mean George Wickham?”
“Oh, I forgot that you know him,” Georgiana said, her expression growing cautious. “Fitzwilliam told me about his visit to Netherfield.”
Worry flooded through Elizabeth. How much did Georgiana know about that visit? “What did your brother tell you?”
“That George came asking for money because he wishes to leave his living. Most foolish, I thought.” Georgiana’s voice held disappointment rather than alarm. “I was always fond of George when we were children—he was such fun, always up to mischief. We would go on all manner of adventures whilst Fitzwilliam remained the studious one, always concerned with doing what was right.”
Relief washed over Elizabeth as she realised Georgiana knew nothing of the true circumstances. “He did seem the sort to wish to elevate himself.”
“As we grew older, I began to see that George was not the good man I had hoped. I also began to see my brother more clearly for who he truly was—genuinely good, through and through.” Georgiana’s voice grew thoughtful. “I still believe George could change if he wished, but he always carried this notion that the world owed him something, that he was better than a steward’s son, better than a simple living. He envied those of higher birth whilst Fitzwilliam never harboured such aspirations.”
“Yet now Darcy has achieved the very elevation George always desired.”
“The irony is not lost on me. George, who felt himself superior to his circumstances, is goodness knows where, whilst my brother—who accepted his position with grace—has been rewarded.” Georgiana shook her head sadly. “It grieves me to know George is throwing his life away. There is beauty in every station, if one chooses to see it.”
The words struck Elizabeth with unexpected force. “I fear I have not always appreciated that truth. Though I tried to help those less fortunate, I was always aware of social differences. I am beginning to see how wrong I was to view such distinctions as natural or inevitable.”
“People cannot simply be happy with what they have and the position they have been given,” Georgiana observed. “George would be so much happier if he accepted his lot in life. There are so many who would gladly take a position such as the one he possessed.”
“It must be particularly difficult for the elder Mr Wickham.”
“This has been very hard for him,” Georgiana agreed. “Though I sometimes wonder if George felt second best because Fitzwilliam embodied qualities that naturally appealed to Mr Wickham—leadership, sympathy for others, that sort of thing.”
Elizabeth considered this with surprise. “I had not thought of it in those terms. It cannot have been easy to feel somewhat replaced.”
The observation disturbed her. Was she actually developing sympathy for Wickham after everything she believed he had done? The notion unsettled her deeply.
“Not that it excuses reckless behaviour,” she added quickly.
“No, not at all,” Georgiana agreed emphatically. “I hate seeing how George’s choices upset the old man, and that he cannot grow up as we all have done. He will regret it one day, for the elder Mr Wickham may not live much longer.”
The sound of masculine voices drew their attention. Darcy and Mr Wickham emerged from the direction of the stream, fishing rods in hand and satisfied expressions upon their faces.
Elizabeth felt her pulse quicken at the sight of her husband. The morning light caught the strong lines of his profile, and she noticed how tenderly he adjusted his pace to accommodate the older man’s careful steps.
“Ladies!” Mr Wickham called cheerfully. “We have had excellent sport this morning. Three fine trout will grace our table tonight.”
“Lord Matlock has kindly offered the use of his carriage,” Darcy announced as they drew nearer. “We might visit Pemberley today if you wish, Elizabeth. It is only ten o’clock—we could make it there and back with ample time to explore.”
Elizabeth’s face brightened with genuine pleasure. “I should like that above all things.”
“Georgiana must come too,” she added impulsively. “You speak so eloquently of Pemberley’s beauty—surely you would enjoy revisiting your childhood home?”
But Georgiana shook her head with a knowing smile. “Thank you, but no. This is a trip for husband and wife.”
Something in her tone suggested deeper meaning, and Elizabeth felt warmth colour her cheeks. The prospect of spending hours alone with Darcy, seeing the place that had shaped him, suddenly seemed both thrilling and terrifying.
As if reading her thoughts, Darcy’s eyes met hers across the small distance between them. The morning light caught the warmth in his gaze, and for a moment Elizabeth forgot all the questions and doubts that had plagued her.
Perhaps at Pemberley, surrounded by the landscape of his youth, she might finally understand the man she had married—and discover whether the growing affection in her heart could overcome the shadows of their complicated beginning.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Darcy
The carriage wheels rolled steadily over well-worn roads as they approached Pemberley, yet Darcy’s hands remained clenched upon his knees. Elizabeth sat beside him, her own excitement evident in the way she leaned towards the window to catch glimpses. For him, each mile brought a mixture of anticipation and dread he could not quite suppress.
“You seem anxious,” Elizabeth observed, turning from the window to study his profile. “I had thought you would be eager to return home.”
