Suddenly, Georgiana let out a contented sigh, drawing Darcy out of his private thoughts. He turned in his seat to look over at her and saw a dreamy, far-off look in her eyes. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?” he asked.
“It was all that and more!” Georgiana said. To Darcy’s amusement, she still seemed to be only half in the room withhim, and still half in the world of the novel. “You must read it, Fitzwilliam. I do not think Miss Bennet will mind. It only took me a week to read, and you are so much faster at reading than I am.”
Darcy could not deny the fact. But his time was precious. He should not spend it on reading a Gothic novel of little scholarly value, however much Georgiana might enjoy it. “You know I am not one for Gothic fiction, Georgiana,” he said, as gently as he could. He did not want to diminish her enjoyment of the genre, but neither would he go so far as to read them himself. “It is well enough for young ladies. Let us leave the subject to rest there.”
Georgiana put the book down on the table beside the settee with a loud thump. Darcy was startled, but tried not to let his annoyance show. “Really, Georgiana, there is no reason for that.”
“There is every reason!” she snapped. “You have not even read a Gothic novel, and yet you relegate it to the level of ‘cheap novels with no scholarly value.’ I have heard you say as much. But it is not fair to say that Gothic novels have no scholarly value simply because women like them. You think women are made up of foolish notions and irrational sensibilities. But Mrs Laurence’s book is more than silly, romantic nonsense!”
Darcy stood, trying to remain calm. He considered pointing out that she was indeed acting irrationally at the moment, but thought better of it. “I never said it was silly, romantic rubbish.”
Georgiana straightened. “I said nonsense. You said rubbish. So which is it?”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. Apparently, his disinclination for Gothic fiction had offended Georgiana more than he had thought, for the views she ascribed to him bordered on the nonsensical. Why on earth did she think he had no respect for a woman’s intellect? His London library included a biography of Hypatia of Alexandria. Perhaps he ought to make a particular point of reading it around her.
But that would hardly solve the present disagreement. He let out a breath and sat down on the settee, motioning for her to join him. With an angry shake of her head, Georgiana refused.
So be it — he would have to offer his opinion more candidly. It would be better to be honest with her than to give in to her childish whims. Frowning, he cleared his throat. “Very well,” he began. “I have wondered about the wisdom of allowing you to read such things. From what I understand of Gothic novels, they are all very dark and can even border on the morbid. I have also heard deeply concerning whispers about Mrs Radcliff’s works. Some even suggest they present fantasies that may cloud the heart and mind.”
Georgiana’s mouth hung open. “They most certainly are not!” she argued. “And whatever may be said of Mrs Radcliff’s work, Mrs Laurence’s novels are nothing of the kind. The only truth in your assumption is that there are dark themes. But then, we live in a dark world. One cannot escape it, no matter how one might wish to.”
She hung her head, and he knew she was thinking of Ramsgate and the cur who had nearly ruined her reputation and her life.
Before Darcy could go on, Georgiana relented, sitting next to him on the settee. She looked up at him, her eyespleading. “If you would only read the book, you would see for yourself why I am so adamant.”
Darcy would not be drawn in. “Gothic thrills are not for me. You know what precious little time I have for reading. And I prefer to spend my time with more elevating books. In fact, perhaps you should think of following my example? I have a good many books from which you would surely benefit.”
Georgiana let out a heavy sigh. “You do not understand.” She stood and paced, seeming to weigh whether to go on. At last, she did. “I have never told you why these books are so important to me, but I believe I must. Without Mrs Laurence’s first novel and the lessons it taught me, I believe I would still be suffering a material burden from the shame and grief that overcame me after Ramsgate.”
Darcy blinked, momentarily too taken aback to speak. His sister had said little after he had brought her home after the Ramsgate debacle. Indeed, he had worried that she might do something drastic if he left her alone for too long during those first few weeks. He thought back to the time. Indeed, she had started to come out from under her depressive cloud not long after he had coaxed her out to a bookstore, promising her a treat. He had not looked too closely at what she had chosen. Had Georgiana’s fascination with Mrs Laurence begun that day? And could it truly be responsible for her return to happiness and peace of mind?
“How?” he asked simply. How could one fictitious book have any bearing on the situation she had weathered?
Georgiana smiled weakly. “I think you do not understand the power of literature, especially of fiction. Mrs Laurence writes of mystery and intrigue, it is true. But she also writes about the human condition. Through her characters, I learned that peoplemake mistakes, but no one is past redemption, if we will only humble ourselves and try to make things right.”
Darcy sat up even straighter. It seemed almost incredible that a Gothic novel, of all things, could have had such power over Georgiana. “You learned that from a book of fiction?” He cleared his throat, suddenly struggling to maintain his calm. “What else did you learn?”
Georgiana smiled at him, albeit a little shakily. “I learned that true virtue does not lie in never making a mistake. Far from it. Rather, it is in acknowledging the mistake and doing what one can to fix it.” She took a steadying breath as she went on. “And I learned that sometimes the most difficult person to forgive is not the person who trespassed against me. The person I struggled most to forgive was myself.”
Darcy’s heart broke at this. “What could you have to forgive of yourself?”
Georgiana gave a short, humourless laugh. “There is so much: my naivety, my lies, and my hubris, to name a few. If you had not come to visit when you did, I would have eloped with that blackguard. And my life would be very different from what it is now.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I wonder sometimes if he would have kept me from seeing you. And that is something I could not have borne.”
Darcy shuddered to think of what her life would have become if she had gone through with Wickham’s plan.
“And there is another thing for which I must ask forgiveness. From you —” Overcome by emotion, Georgiana fell silent. Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled onto her cheeks. “I never thanked you for coming to my rescue — not properly. Notenough. You endured as much heartache as I did, and I could never thank you enough for helping me.”
“You did thank me, Georgiana. But you know that is not why I acted as I did. You were understandably upset. You need not ask for forgiveness for that.”
“But I do,” Georgiana insisted.
Darcy nodded, taking a moment to collect himself. Though he would not have thought it needed to be said, it was obvious that Georgiana needed to hear it. “Of course I forgive you,” he said.
What she did not know was that he would have gone much further and fought much harder for her return than she could ever know — to the ends of the earth, if it had been necessary.
After several minutes of silent reflection, Darcy finally spoke again. “Well, now that I know why you hold these works of Mrs Laurence in such high regard, I shall have to change my stance on them.”
Georgiana’s face filled with hope. “So you will not make me give them up?”
