Her gaze shifted then—briefly, almost shyly—to Elias Bennet, where he stood near the hearth, his posture attentive yet unassuming. It was no more than a moment: a quiet meeting of eyes, laden with unspoken meaning. Gratitude, certainly—but also something gentler, steadier, born not of danger but of its aftermath, a recognition that lingered between them like a shared secret.
Elias inclined his head at once, gravely and respectfully, as though acknowledging not praise but duty fulfilled, though the faint warmth that touched his features betrayed a deeper emotion he could not entirely conceal.
Georgiana turned to the brothers together, her voice clear though subdued, her words carrying the weight of sincerity that drew every eye in the room. “Mr. James Bennet—Mr. Elias Bennet,” she said, addressing them both yet allowing her gaze to rest a fraction longer upon the younger, “I cannot adequately express my gratitude. What you did today—what you risked—will never be forgotten by me. I owe you both far more than words can convey, and I shall carry the memory of your kindness always.”
James bowed, formal and restrained, his reply measured and sincere. “We are only glad you are safe, Miss Darcy. No thanks are necessary.”
Elias Bennet nodded quietly, his gaze meeting hers again for the briefest instant, a fleeting warmth passing between them that spoke of shared silence and unspoken understanding.
Mr. Darcy placed his hand lightly at his sister’s elbow, his tone gentle but firm, acknowledging her courage even as he sought to shield her from further strain. “That is enough for now, Georgiana. You have said all that is required—and more. We shall return to Rosings at once. Lady Catherine need not feel our absence longer than necessary, and you must rest properly before the evening.”
Charlotte, who had been observing the scene with composed attentiveness, nodded at once, her expression reflecting quietapproval of the resolution. “That would be best, sir. I shall have the carriage brought round without delay.”
She rang the bell, then turned to her maid with calm authority. “Janet—pray go to the yard and see whether the garments laid out earlier have dried sufficiently. Miss Darcy’s dress, in particular. If it is ready, she may change at once.”
The maid curtsied and hurried out, leaving the parlour in a hush that held both relief and the lingering echo of what had passed.
Charlotte’s eyes then flicked—very briefly—to Elias, a faint smile touching her lips as she addressed him with a note of gentle amusement that drew a responding warmth from his own expression. “And Mr. Bennet,” she added, her tone hovering between amusement and satisfaction, “you should also make yourself presentable before departure. I am quite astonished my husband observed nothing amiss—your sleeves scarcely reach your wrists, and your trousers… well.” She smiled faintly, her words carrying the affectionate teasing of one who had long known the Bennets’ ways. “Summer dries cloth quickly, it seems—and dulls perception even more so.”
Elias coloured slightly but smiled, the warmth in his gaze deepening as he inclined his head in acknowledgment of her kindness. “I am relieved his attention was elsewhere, Mrs. Collins, and I thank you again for your generosity in lending what was needed. Your thoughtfulness has been a comfort to us all.”
“So am I,” Charlotte replied lightly, her eyes softening as she glanced toward Georgiana, who had been watching the exchange with quiet attentiveness. “You may change as soon as Janet returns. Everything will be ready upstairs.”
Georgiana glanced once more at Elias as he rose—this time with a gentler composure, her gratitude now quieter, settled into something enduring, a subtle flush touching her cheeks as she met his eyes and offered a small, private smile that spoke of shared memory and unspoken promise. Then she turned back to her brother, and smiled as though to reassure him that all was well again.
Apparently, the crisis had passed.
What remained was order restored, kindness acknowledged—and something unspoken, but unmistakably begun: a quiet thread of affection woven between two reserved hearts, strengthened by peril and nurtured in silence, waiting only for time and opportunity to reveal its full pattern.
***
The dinner at Rosings was served in the smaller morning room, a choice Lady Catherine had made for the evening’s intimacy, since Colonel Fitzwilliam had departed for London at noon and the company was reduced to four. The room, though still elegant, felt more confined and warmer than the grand dining hall, its walls hung with soft green silk and the table set for just four persons beneath a modest chandelier whose candles cast a gentle, flickering light. The table itself was rectangular and polished mahogany, its surface gleaming under the glow, and the arrangement brought the diners closer together, so that every word, every glance, carried a subtle weight.
Mrs. Darcy, who had rested through the afternoon and now appeared much recovered, sat to her husband’s right, her posture composed yet touched by the lingering delicacy of her earlier ordeal.
Lady Catherine presided at the head, her gaze sweeping the small circle with the proprietorial satisfaction she reserved for occasions when all was arranged precisely to her liking. Pale but steady, Georgiana occupied the place opposite her brother, her manner subdued yet composed, smiling with an air of gentle simplicity that softened the quiet grace she had always possessed.
It was Mr. Darcy who, after the soup had been cleared and the first course of fish presented, broke the silence with a tone of calm finality. “Lady Catherine,” he said, setting down his fork with deliberate care, “I must inform you that we intend to depart tomorrow morning after breakfast. My wife has recovered sufficiently for the journey, and we have already overstayed the time originally proposed.”
Lady Catherine’s brows lifted slightly, a gesture of surprise tempered by the authority she was accustomed to wield. “Depart so soon, Fitzwilliam? I had hoped you would remain at least another fortnight. Rosings is not the same without Anne, and I confess I miss her presence exceedingly. It would be far better for all of you to remain in Kent, where the air is milder and the society more select.”
Darcy inclined his head, his voice courteous yet unyielding. “You are kind to suggest it, ma’am, but a wife’s place is with her husband. My wife’s health is best served in her own home, and I cannot think it wise to separate her from Pemberley any longer.”
Lady Catherine’s expression tightened, though she maintained the appearance of graciousness. “Pemberley is all very well, but Rosings will one day belong to Anne, and the climate of Kent is far more beneficial to her constitution than the bleakness of Derbyshire. She would thrive here, surrounded by those who know her worth.”
Anne, who had been listening with quiet attention, lifted her gaze to her mother, her voice soft but clear. “I am grateful for your concern, Mama, but I feel quite at home in both places. Yet I confess I should prefer Pemberley—it is quieter, and the grounds offer a serenity I find restorative.”
Lady Catherine’s lips pressed together, a faint flush rising to her cheeks. “Quieter, indeed. And that quiet would serve Georgiana as well. She is of an age when she ought to be meeting suitable young men of consequence, and Rosings offers opportunities far superior to those of Derbyshire. Here she would be properly chaperoned and introduced to society that matches her station.”
Mr. Darcy’s voice remained calm, though a note of firmness entered it. “Georgiana will be twenty-one in less than a year, at which time she may choose her own path. Until then, she is under my protection, and I believe the society at Pemberley is sufficient for her needs.”
Lady Catherine’s eyes flashed, her voice rising with the indignation of one whose authority had been questioned. “And yet it has come to my ears that a most alarming incident occurred today—Miss Darcy was pushed into the lake by one of those country lads from Hertfordshire, a boy utterly disrespectful of her rank and delicate spirit. I expected to hear such news from you, my nephew, not from servants’ gossip. You chose to keep me uninformed, to ignore my true protective feelings for the girl.”
Anne’s eyes widened in astonishment, her hand pausing midway to her glass. “Mama, I had no knowledge of this. Is it true, Fitzwilliam?”
Georgiana’s cheeks flushed, though she held her composure, her gaze dropping briefly to her plate before lifting to meet heraunt’s. “It is not quite as you have heard, Aunt. There was an incident, but it was not as you describe.”
Mr. Darcy’s expression hardened, though his voice remained measured, his words directed to Lady Catherine with quiet authority. “There was indeed an incident, Aunt, but the facts are not as you have been told. The man responsible was not a ‘country lad,’ but George Wickham—my late father’s godson, and a man long known to be without honour. He made an ungentlemanlike and scandalous approach to Georgiana on the lake bridge, seized her wrist, and caused her to fall when she resisted. The Bennet brothers, who were walking on the Hunsford side of the lake, witnessed the event. Mr. Elias Bennet plunged into the lake to save her life, and Mr. James Bennet pursued and restrained Wickham, preventing his escape.”
