“I have rarely known you to be deterred by my objection,” Darcy muttered.
“Then consider this a final piece of strategic counsel,” the colonel said, “I must ask you to keep a close eye on Wickham inmy absence. Do try to ensure he does not wander into a ditch…or find himself pushed into one.”
Elizabeth gasped, a mixture of shock and unwilling amusement bubbling up within her. Her husband, however, merely looked at his cousin, and Elizabeth watched in astonishment as a slow smile spread across his face.
“Does your advice spring from concern for Wickham’s immortal soul?” he enquired, his manner laced with that dry humour that she was beginning to find dangerously attractive, “Or is it simply an aversion to the tedious inconvenience of having to dispose of the body?”
“Neither, oddly enough,” the colonel retorted, before his expression sobered, “Truth be told, I find my opinion of the man has become distressingly complicated of late. Georgiana seems to believe in him.”
Darcy’s smile faltered a moment, and Elizabeth understood the transformation instantly. The colonel was no longer playing their old game of despising Wickham; he was describing a new, sober, and decidedly uncomfortable reality. It was a collision of past grievance with present complexity, and the simple amusement of a moment ago could not withstand the impact.
“At any rate,” the colonel continued, “Farewell for now. May your magic be strong, your hearts true, and your arguments infrequent. England, it seems, depends upon it.”
“You ask the impossible on that third point, Richard,” she said, with a smile, “But I promise you, you need not fear for England on our account. Farewell, and be safe.”
And with a last, lingering laugh, he departed.
The colonel’s departure left a noticeable lull in its wake. The following evening, the four of them remained in the fire-lit parlour following dinner, the hollowness of his absence palpable. The easy buffer he provided was gone, leaving them to navigate the still-fragile landscape of their own relationships.
It was Darcy who finally broke the quiet. “What will you do now, Georgiana?” he asked, his voice more tender than Elizabeth had ever heard him use with her.
“I am uncertain,” she replied, “George’s regiment has suffered a great a loss in numbers. They have no need for so many officers.”
Wickham spoke, his tone holding a weary pragmatism that sat oddly on him. “I might petition for a transfer. There is a regiment in Derbyshire with a vacancy.”
Georgiana inhaled sharply. “Derbyshire?”
He offered her a lopsided smile, one that held a surprising depth of affection. “I thought you might like to go home.”
Georgiana looked from her husband to her brother, her hands twisting in her lap. The longing to be back in her home county was clear on her face.
Elizabeth, seeing the battle on Darcy's face — the conflict between a judgement long held and a hope he dared not voice, a hope to have his sister settled near him — decided the matter must not be left to the mercy of old grievances. “Thornbridge Hall has been closed up for some years,” she said calmly, “It is a substantial and comfortable home on the Pemberley estate. It seems fitting that it should be occupied again. You may have the use of it, for as long as you need.”
Georgiana’s eyes widened, and Wickham looked a little green as he cast a nervous glance towards Darcy. “Mrs Darcy, that is exceedingly generous, but I fear, an impossible — ”
Elizabeth saw the shift in Darcy’s face, a slight firming of his jaw, a resolve that settled in his eyes. When he spoke, hisvoice was a quiet echo of his wife’s. “It is the most sensible arrangement. The house is yours to use while you re-establish yourselves in Derbyshire.”
“Brother…” Georgiana said, trembling, “Do you truly mean it?”
Her brother took her hands in his own and said, “Pemberley and its lands will always be a home to you, Georgiana. Its doors are always open to you. You will be safe there and can recover your strength fully while you see your circumstances settled.”
The anxious line of Georgiana’s brow smoothed, and a tremulous breath escaped her, but it was Wickham who spoke, his voice holding a note of stunned disbelief. He gave a slight shake of his head, as if he could not quite believe what he was hearing. “Your offer is a kind one. Dare I enquire as to the terms of this new arrangement?”
Darcy did not answer immediately. “All I ask is that you restrain your inclinations towards more creatively financed pursuits. My estate has suffered enough upheaval of late without the addition of your particular brand of complications.”
A wry look crossed Wickham’s face. “You wound me, Darcy, but very well. I shall do my utmost to be a model of respectability. Pray, do not hold your breath.”
At that, Georgiana finally found her voice again, turning to her husband with a radiant, tear-streaked smile. “We will come to Pemberley,” she said, her voice choked with tears, but they were tears of happiness.
And in that moment, Elizabeth knew their strange fellowship had solidified into something more. They were a family, however scarred, finding their way back to each other.
The journey back to Pemberley was an entirely different experience from any they had undertaken before. As their two carriages travelled south, they passed through a landscape that was waking from a long and terrible disease. The weight of the Blight lifted with every mile. Patches of green pushed defiantly through the earth, and the trees along the road held a hopeful blush of life in their branches.
As they finally rolled through the great gates of Pemberley, late on a crisp afternoon, Elizabeth felt an unfamiliar sensation stirring within her. A sense of anticipation. Of homecoming. The thought was so entirely at odds with her earlier feelings of imprisonment that it almost made her laugh.
Brooks greeted them at the door.
“Mr Darcy. Mrs Darcy. Welcome home,” he said, “Mr Wickham. Mrs Wickham.” He acknowledged the others with a correct nod, though his gaze lingered on Georgiana with relief.
