The room was quiet. Kitty was looking at Elizabeth with an expression that said:this is yours to handle, and I am sorry.
Elizabeth set down her book.
“Your father is here,” she said. “Yes.”
Georgiana’s composure held, but only just. Elizabeth could see the effort it took, the straightening of the spine, the deliberate steadying of the hands in her lap. The Darcy backbone, Elizabeth was learning, was hereditary.
“Why did Nana not tell me?”
“Because your father is not at peace, Georgiana. He is angry, grieving, bound here by unfinished business. Nana was trying to protect you from the force of that. She has been managing him for six years, keeping him contained, keeping the household from feeling the full extent of his presence. She didn’t want you burdened with it until she was sure you could bear it.”
“And can I bear it?”
“I think you can bear a great deal more than most people give you credit for.”
The gratitude in Georgiana’s expression was so raw that Elizabeth had to look away.
“Can I see him? Can you, can you arrange for me to be in the room when he is there, the way you did before, with Nana? You could tell me what he says.”
“I can. But not yet. There are things I need to, there are aspects of his situation that I am still working through, and I need to dothat before I bring you into it. I’m asking you to trust me. Can you do that?”
Georgiana studied her face in silence. “You are protecting me from something,” she said finally. “The way Nana was.”
“Yes.”
“And you will tell me what it is. When you are ready.”
“Yes. I promise.”
Georgiana nodded. She turned back to the pianoforte, opened a new piece of music, and began to play. It was something quick, bright, demanding; a piece that required every particle of attention and left no room for the thoughts that crowded in when the hands were idle.
Kitty caught Elizabeth’s eye over Georgiana’s bent head. The look said:how long can you hold this?
Elizabeth did not have an answer.
The letter from Lydia arrived the next morning, and it changed everything.
Elizabeth opened it at breakfast, expecting the usual litany of complaints and gossip. Lydia’s letters were predictable: thedullness of Newcastle, the inadequate entertainment to be found among the other officers’ wives, the injustice of being so far from Brighton and London and everywhere that mattered. Elizabeth had learnt to read them with affectionate impatience, scanning for anything that required a response and setting the rest aside.
This letter was different.
My dearest Lizzy,Lydia wrote, in the large, looping hand that used three sheets where one would do.
You cannot imagine how dull Newcastle has become. There is nothing to do and nobody worth knowing and Wickham is out most evenings and when he IS home he is not good company at all. He lost a great deal at cards last week and has been in a BLACK temper about it. I know I should not complain for he is my husband and I am sure it is very hard for him but Lizzy, he frightens me sometimes.
Elizabeth’s hands went still on the paper.
He does not shout. He never shouts. But when I said something about the butcher’s bill he went very quiet and looked at me and his eyes went FLAT, like there was nothing behind them at all, and I thought for just a moment that I did not know him. Only a moment. Then he smiled and said he was sorry and kissed my cheek and was all kindness again. But I did not sleep well that night and I have not slept well since.
I do not mean to worry you. I am sure it is nothing. He is under a great deal of strain with the money and everything. I should be more patient. Please do not tell Mama. And please do not tell Darcy.
Elizabeth read it through twice. She folded it, put it in her pocket, turned to Darcy, who was watching her across the table. “Lydia sends her love.”
After breakfast, she gave the letter to Kitty without a word. Kitty read it in the morning room, standing by the window where the light was good, and when she finished she looked up and her face was white.
“His eyes went flat,” Kitty said. “Like there was nothing behind them. And then it all passed over.”
“Yes.”
