“We both are, Charlotte.” Mr Darcy behaved with a degree of dignity and resolution that no common man would possess on the death of a loved one. “I wish he showed some depth of feeling. Iknowhe feels wretched. We may not have a marriage based on affection, but we are inseparable companions in this misfortune, yet he avoids me.”
“Your husband might feel that his loss and sufferings are equal to no one else’s. And, as you married more for practicality and comfort, Mr Darcy may not expect consolation from you.”
“Perhaps it is I who am in need of consolation.” Elizabeth began to cry. “I lost a friend and sister, too!”
Charlotte led her to the sofa and let her sob on her shoulder. “We need not enter into a panegyric on the departed, but it is sweet to think of Miss Darcy’s worth, of her solid principles, of her excellent spirit.”
Elizabeth slowly composed herself, but did not feel any relief. Dear, rational Charlotte, indeed no one in the neighbourhood, had known Georgiana, save for her brother.And Mr Darcy does not speak of his sister, and he does not speak to me.He married her from mutual interest, not from choice, and that reason was now gone. She was not his family, and he would not confide in her.
She would not be oppressed as had been at Longbourn, but she would be dreadfully lonely until she died.
Madeira,June 13
Dear Lady Catherine,
My heart is sad, my dear aunt, and I wish that the event might be broken gradually to you, but my sister has taken leave of her sufferings. If virtue can secure happiness in another world, Georgiana is happy. No one better than myself knows the greatness of your and Anne’s loss or how much your hearts must feel it in all its extent.
Darcy threw down his pen and left his study. He had nearly a dozen of these damn letters to write to his relations and closest friends, and each one was painful. It may have been a happy release for Georgiana, but he still feared he might fall frantic with grief if he so much as stayed still. He looked in the drawing room and saw Mrs Darcy was there with Miss Lucas, and it appeared his wife had just finished crying in her arms.
He turned on his heel and left to walk outside.
His sister had been ready to die for weeks, and Darcy knew why. Yes, she had been in unbearable pain, but the hope of seeing her infant was a powerful reason to welcome death. Georgiana wanted to reunite in heaven with her child. The child that he had sworn to hide allexistence of, the child that had prevented them from travelling to a warmer climate, the child that was the reason for their isolation, the child that Georgiana had refused to give up, the child that had been born too soon.
The child that he loathed as an inconvenience, a nuisance, a mere thing that threatened their reputation and respectability.
His fifteen-year-old sister had such love for an infant that she never even saw, and for all of his having lived in the world, his superior age and knowledge, Darcy had not understood that love—the love of a mother—until it was too late.
What manner of a man does that make me? An appalling, heartless, lonely one.
The mourning letters he had to write were no comfort because any consolation from his friends and family would be two months in coming. The ruse of conveying his correspondence as though it had come through Madeira was never more maddening than in this moment. He had no family to mourn with him, and no friends to distract him, and Fitzwilliam’s duties to his regiment and then to his father meant he was unable to come into Hertfordshire.
I would give anything I have for some family, someone who holds me dear, to condole with me.
Darcy considered riding, but no obligation should go unfinished and, after noticing the strawberries in the garden that were rotting on the bushes, he returned to the house. Two hours later he had scarcely left his study to look into the empty drawing room when Lydia Bennet was shown into the vestibule.
“Miss Bennet, your sister has been keeping vigil when she is not working on her mourning clothes. If she is not there, then I suspect she is laid down on her bed. I can ask a maid to wake?—”
“No, I saw Lizzy yesterday, and if I see her, she will only cry again. And I paid my respects to your sister when I was last here. I am sorry for your loss.”
Darcy nodded, incapable of replying. He could not explain why Miss Bennet was here if she did not wish to see Mrs Darcy. Miss Bennet came closer and held out a bandbox.
“These are for you from my mother. I am supposed to say that it isfrom Longbourn, but Mary is a miser and Mr Collins only agreed for the sake of appearances.”
What could Mrs Bennet possibly send to me?Darcy looked the question to Miss Bennet, who gestured that he should open it.
A crepe hatband, a pair of black gentleman’s gloves, a few armbands and black ribbons. He looked up in astonishment, unable to form words.
“My mother harassed Mr and Mrs Collins into paying for them because she has little money of her own, but she has more sense of what is due on the occasion than those two. Of course, I am not supposed to say so. If you send any compliments, I will have to give them to everyone at Longbourn, but you ought to know it was my mother’s doing. She assumes three months’ mourning for you, and six weeks for Lizzy, and the rest of us can choose six weeks or three.”
A matriarch in a family set the tone for mourning and made sure the family and servants were properly attired. Mrs Bennet had sent these to her daughter’s household, but most of these items were forhim. It was more than a gesture of condolence; it was the care and concern one showed tofamily. There was a feeling high in his chest, choking his throat.
“I ... you must thank your mother for me, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness in bringing these yourself.” He noticed for the first time her black ribbons and the crepe on her bonnet. “Forgive me for keeping you in the vestibule. You must come in.”
Miss Bennet shook her head. “You don’t have to entertain me. I suspect you would rather be with your wife. If anyone can comfort you, it would be her. Lizzy loved Miss Darcy as much as her own sisters. You are welcome for the mourning things.”
Darcy stared into the box for a long moment, willing any tears thinking about forming to stop their progress. He choked out another thank you, and Mrs Darcy’s sister left him to his grief and gratitude.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
