Elizabeth accepted gratefully, excusing herself from the tour party. Georgiana led her along a different path, this one bordered by lavender hedges whose fragrance hung heavy in the still morning air.
The rose garden occupied a walled enclosure, protected from harsh winds that might damage delicate blooms. Inside, roses in various stages of flower created a riot of colour and scent. Deep crimsons and soft pinks, brilliant whites and warm apricots, all arranged with artful consideration for height and habit.
“How beautiful. I have never seen such variety.”
“Fitzwilliam takes particular interest in the rose garden,” Georgiana remarked. A smile played around her lips as she spoke of her brother. “He has always maintained that a gentleman ought to understand the land he manages, which includes knowing which plants thrive in which conditions.”
“Your brother gardens?”
The image of Fitzwilliam kneeling in soil seemed incongruous with the formal man she knew.
“Not extensively. But he takes interest in estate management beyond mere financial accounting. He believes stewardship requires intimate knowledge of what one stewards.” Georgiana’s expression grew fond. “He is very conscientious about such matters.”
They sat on a bench positioned to overlook the roses. Bees hummed amongst the blooms, drunk on late-season nectar.
“Tell me about yourself,” Elizabeth said. “Your life, your interests. I know so little of my new relations.”
Georgiana needed no further encouragement. She spoke of her education in music and drawing and the preparationfor adult society that daughters of wealthy families received. Her debut had occurred earlier in the year, she explained with obvious excitement.
“Fitzwilliam engaged the finest dressmakers and insisted everything be perfect. I was terrified, I will admit, of all that scrutiny. But Fitzwilliam ensured I was never overwhelmed.”
“That was kind of him.”
“He is always kind. Sometimes he expresses it awkwardly, but his heart is good.” She turned to face Elizabeth more directly. “You need not worry, you know. He will endeavour to make you happy.”
“I hope you are correct,” Elizabeth murmured, meaning every word.
“I am certain of it, Mrs Darcy. Fitzwilliam does nothing by halves. If he has committed to you, which he has, most publicly, then he will do everything in his considerable power to ensure the marriage succeeds.”
“Please, call me Elizabeth. ‘Mrs Darcy’ sounds so formal. If we are to be sisters, we should address each other as family.”
“If so, then you must call me Georgiana. Or Georgie, if you prefer. That is what Fitzwilliam calls me when we are private.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Tell me more about your family. About your parents, about how you and your brother came to have such obvious devotion to one another.”
Georgiana required little prompting. She spoke of her parents with a mixture of love and loss that characterised those who had been too young when death claimed beloved family members. Her mother had been beautiful and accomplished, renowned for her kindness and her skill at managing both household and social obligations. Her father had been respected throughout Derbyshire for fair dealing and showing concern for those dependent upon him.
“They died within a year of each other,” she explained. “Fitzwilliam was just down from Cambridge and expecting years before assuming responsibility for the estate. Instead, he inherited everything. Pemberley, the guardianship of me, the management of considerable properties and investments.”
The picture she painted was one of duty accepted without complaint, of a young man shouldering burdens that would have crushed lesser characters.
“He never resented the responsibility?”
“Never. He arranged for my continued education and spent countless hours sitting with me when grief made everything unbearable. He could have sent me to distant relations, but instead, he made me his priority in ways I only fully appreciated years later.”
Elizabeth absorbed this, adding these details to her slowly forming understanding of the man she had married. “He sounds capable.”
“He is. But he can also be stubborn and occasionally thoughtless about how his decisions affect others. His pride sometimes prevents him from admitting error as quickly as hemight. But these are small flaws in an otherwise exemplary character.
They spoke longer, conversation flowing easily between them. Georgiana asked about Elizabeth’s family, seeming delighted by tales of Longbourn’s daily life.
By the time they returned to the house, a clear friendship had taken root between them. Elizabeth felt better, buoyed by Georgiana’s indisputable acceptance and the fuller picture she now possessed of her husband’s character.
She was increasingly growing confident that their marriage was not the disaster she had feared.
The afternoon passed in more conventional pursuits. Elizabeth attempted needlework without enthusiasm, producing crooked stitches that she eventually abandoned in favour of simply observing as Jane and Mary performed at the pianoforte with creditable skill. Their playing was pleasant if not extraordinary, and Lady Matlock offered heartfelt compliments.
Mrs Bennet held court from her position in a corner of the drawing room, describing Hertfordshire society to anyone who would listen. Meanwhile. Lydia and Kitty whispered together in a corner, occasionally dissolving into giggles that drew reproving looks from Mrs Bennet.
