Afterward, we all retired to the sitting room, and my aunt played the piano, and Georgiana came and sat next to me. She had been entirely silent all evening, but that was often her way. She could be like a shadow, sitting out on the periphery, notmoving unless others did, simply going along with the rest of the gathering but doing nothing to call attention to herself.
“Am I to stay here, Fitzwilliam?” she said. “Or shall I go back to the house on Chapel Street?”
She had lived with Mrs. Younge there before the incident with Wickham. Since then, I had determined it was best if she were living with someone, so that she could be looked after.
“I suppose you will not wish me underfoot with your new wife,” she said.
“I believe you are likely quite settled here,” I said.
“No, I am truly tired of our aunt,” she said. “Must I remain here?”
I let out a breath. “Well, I could send you to Rosings, I suppose.”
She turned on me in horror. “In December? To the country? You would not send me from London in December.”
I sighed.
“Fitzwilliam, you must realize it is absolutely unfashionable to be in the country in December.”
“Perhaps in March, it is absolutely unfashionable, Georgiana,” I said, “but there is a gray area of the winter. Not everyone returns, even if Parliament is in session. It is no hardship to be in the country in December.”
She scoffed.
“What do you think of her?” I said.
“Of who?”
“My wife,” I said.
“She’s loud,” said Georgiana.
I smirked. “I suppose.”
“She is loud and she is very confident and she is not unpleasant, I suppose, but our aunt hates her.”
“Hates?” I said, cringing. “Truly?”
“She is only angry that you have broken the betrothal, of course, and that you have ruined everything, all the plans, because you were supposed to marry Anne—”
“Yes, good point, you can be assured I shall not send you to Rosings after all. Aunt Catherine is probably fit to be tied, and quite out of her head.”
“Oh, yes,” said Georgiana.
“You can come stay with us, if you like,” I said.
Georgiana turned to look at me, as if thinking it over. “I shall stay here, if those are the choices.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why is that? Is it because of Elizabeth?”
“No,” said Georgiana. “It’s because of you, because you are still fit to be tied as well, quite out of your head, and you are never going to forgive me, even though I did not do anything. I wrote to you of the elopement. He wished us to do it without telling you, and I went against his wishes, because I thought you would not like it. I did everything right, and yet you still blame me.”
“I do not blame you,” I said. “I blame him and only him. He is the one who has wrought all of this.”
“Yes, but that is part of it as well, I suppose. You were not very nice to him.”
I started, horrified. “He was only seeking your fortune, Georgiana,” I said in a low voice. “How can you think otherwise?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He told me…”
