“Yes. I will ring for Hill.”
Elizabeth studied her closely.
“Let us take it outside. You are too much indoors. You have grown pale, my dear.”
When she rejoined her sister a few minutes later, they walked out into the garden and settled at a charming wooden table tucked into a corner, dappled with sunshine.
“We must talk, Jane. You are wasting away for love of Mr. Bingley, who is now lost to you.”
“I know, Lizzy, but I cannot help myself. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep. I long to see him again, to be near him.” She dabbed at her cheeks with a handkerchief. “My only comfort is that he has broken no promise, so I am spared that pain.”
The two sisters passed the afternoon in one another’s confidence, endeavoring to make sense of the difficulties life had set before them.
Chapter 26: Wickham
“Darcy, do not be rash. What would your father say if he knew of this? He must be turning in his grave.”
“Wickham, you placed yourself far beyond the reach of mercy when you sought to abduct my sister. I have forgiven all else. I have covered your debts, and I found husbands for the two servants by whom you have fathered bastard children. But in this, you have crossed a line that I cannot forgive. Georgiana suffers night terrors because of your attempt. You will pay for all your debts, both monetary and emotional, through your service in Australia.”
Impeccably dressed, Darcy stood straight and tall as he addressed the disheveled man whom he had once called friend.
“I came only to inform you that I have arranged for your transport, and I have paid for your meals and your laundry until you board the ship. Miller will be by later with your trunk. He is packing your clothing now. The Surry will sail on the twenty-second of February, with two hundred other convicts. She is scheduled to arrive at Port Jackson, New South Wales, on the twenty-eighth of July.”
Darcy paced away from the cell door, then turned back again. “This is the last time we shall ever see one another, Wickham. Know only that it is your own actions which have brought you to this extremity. Perhaps you may begin again in a new land, under the strict regulation of those whom you will serve there.”
“Darcy, this is too cruel of you. You expect me to languish in this prison for months? I shall die before I ever set foot upon that ship. Come, Darcy, we can settle this as we always have.”
George Wickham continued to plead, but Fitzwilliam Darcy had reached the limit of what he could tolerate from so vile a man. He did not look back, nor did he offer him an answer.
That evening, Darcy sat in his drawing room, listening to Georgiana play a beloved piece by Handel. His thoughts were in disorder. He had left Hadden Hall scarcely a week before, yet he wondered continually how Richard and Phillip fared, and he had not received a single line from his aunt.
His mind raced from Derbyshire to Hertfordshire with unsettling speed. He drew a letter from his pocket and traced his finger over the farewell. It was the first letter Elizabeth had written to Georgiana, and he had read it again and again, wondering how she went on now, having lost her mother.
He remembered how broken he had been when he lost his own mother. He had sat beside her, his hand clasped in hers, as she lay dying of childbed fever. He watched as her breathing grew more labored, and he resisted every attempt his father made to draw him away, until at last his father pulled a chair for himself on the other side of the bed and took her free hand in his own.
He remembered his father’s sudden cry, and then the way he buried his face in her hair and wept. It was in that moment that Fitzwilliam knew she had passed. The sight shook the foundations of his being, for he had never imagined that his father, always so calm and composed, could break down so completely.
Neither of them left her side through the night and into the following day. He remembered his father at last rousing him and drawing him away from her bedside, guiding him to his chamber. Fitzwilliam was so overcome with exhaustion that he lay down upon his bed fully dressed and slept the day away.
Neither of them ever wept for her again. Nor did he ever truly see his father laugh again. Wickham’s antics had, on occasion, drawn the faintest smile from his lips, but the elder Mr. Darcy had lost his joy in life when he lost his wife.
The thought made Darcy falter. What must such love feel like, in its joy and in its suffering? His father had never remarried, and ten years later, he too had passed, taken by a seizure of the heart.
He was recalled to the present when he realized that his sister had stopped playing. Georgiana rose from the pianoforte, crossed the room, and sat beside him.
“Brother, are you much affected by George Wickham?”
Darcy turned to her, placed an arm around her shoulders, and drew her into an embrace.
“Sweetling, George Wickham is only receiving his just desserts. I do not grieve over him. I am discomposed because I entrusted you to an unworthy woman, and I might have lost my greatest treasure. Yet you and Miss Elizabeth took matters into your own hands, and here you sit, safe and sound beside me.” He released her, and his eyes searched her face.
“Tell me, Georgiana, how do you go on? Do you still suffer from night terrors?”
She sat upright to answer him.
“I was terribly shaken by the attack. I remember feeling such anger when he seized Lizzy by the ankle, and I did not stop to think. I brought the shovel down upon his arm, and he screamed and released her. That was when we saw that it was broken. Lizzy took my hand, and we ran to find Higgins. That night I asked her to sleep with me, and she did. I slept through until morning, and the next day she suggested we go out shopping.We spent four hours in a single shop, and we had a lovely time together. That was the day I bought my sweet lovebirds. But when she left me, the night terrors began.”
Darcy’s expression tightened.
