Georgiana nodded and was silent for a while before she asked softly, “Is it of me?”
For all her quietness, she was intelligent. “Yes. Your brother took it down that first night.”
“Is that because my husband is in the portrait with me?”
Elizabeth could answer these questions without breaking the agreement she made with Darcy to not tell her about who she married or the untimely death of her soldier son. “Yes. It will be painted in about fifteen years.”
Georgiana sighed. “I always knew I should marry, and clearly I did if Pemberley survived intact for Fitzwilliam to have the documents waiting for him. But lately it is hard to imagine that sort of future for myself, a future with a family.”
Elizabeth waited for her to say anything about her hopes for Mr Willers, but Georgiana steadied herself and looked down the gallery. “I do not recognise that man,” she said, walking toward it.
“That’s your grandson, and his sons are over there, but they died young, and it was her,” she said, pointing, “his daughter, who kept Pemberley through most of the twentieth century.”
Georgiana smiled. “Women with influence do not seem out of place now as they do in my time. How happy that another heiress took such good care of Pemberley after me. And someday so too will your daughter.”
“If she wants to.” She and Darcy were aligned on that. Sandra could do whatever she wanted with her life. “But she is already talking about what clothes to set aside for the collection, just like you and your great-granddaughter did, so she’s thinking about it.”
Georgiana looked into the eyes of the woman in the painting. Did Georgiana see a hint of herself in Catherine Willers-Darcy? Did she see some feature of the man she loved?
“Even though it’s pretty innocuous,” Elizabeth said, coming up behind her, “please don’t tell your brother I told you that. We promised not to tell you anything about your future. He is very worried you might change something for the worse—without meaning to, of course.”
Georgiana gave her a smile. “I did not come here for that information, you know.”
She wanted to say, “You came because you’re heartbroken about Mr Willers.” But rather than shove Georgiana into that conversation, she gave her a gentle push. “How do you feel about Mr Willers abandoning Pemberley?”
“Not completely abandoning,” she blurted. Elizabeth held back a smile at how she defended him. “He agreed to stay until I returned. And Mr Willers put forth recommendations of men he thought would suit my purposes and my manner, and who would serve Pemberley well.”
Elizabeth wondered if they would hire a new steward after they married or if Mr Willers would continue in that role. “Haveyou interviewed any applicants?” Georgiana’s brow wrinkled. “Have you met with any of them to discuss employment?”
“No. Mr Willers told me he was leaving and gave me the list of candidates, and then two days later I decided to come here on the solstice. I will write to them when I return.”
They walked into their private rooms as Elizabeth asked, “Where does everyone think you’ve gone?”
“To the Canadas to visit my brother and his wife,” she said. “It is scarcely a lie, after all. I spent two weeks until the solstice in an empty tenant home tended by Young Henry and Mrs Reynolds whilst everyone thought I was already aboard a ship. I needed time to convince everyone I made an Atlantic crossing, had a reasonable interval to visit you, and then another crossing to get back to England. I must do the same after I return.”
Four months gone or in hiding. “That’s a long time. Mr Willers was kind to wait,” she said heavily. “He must have a lot of affection…for Pemberley.”
“Oh yes. He is a considerate man.”
“It doesn’t sound like he hates his job or is moving up in station. Could he be leaving for personal reasons?”
Georgiana grew thoughtful as they entered their apartments. “I would hate to think so, but possibly. He never gave a reason, even when I pressed him.” Her eyes dropped. “I ought not to have done that. I spoke more from feeling than politeness. I would have respected anyone else’s wish to move on from Pemberley, and helped them to the best of my ability.”
Elizabeth looked pointedly at her, waiting for her to admit why she cared so much more about this man’s leaving, but Georgiana said nothing. If she couldn’t mention him directly and Georgiana refused to admit her own feelings, this would be like pulling teeth.
“Has Mr Willers recovered from his wife’s death?” She had died fifteen years ago during the diphtheria outbreak that nearly killed Darcy.
“I think so. I know he keeps a miniature of her, but he should,” she insisted. “Of course he must hold her in his heart, but I never thought he was incapable of loving someone again.”
“Someone like you” was on the tip of her tongue, and she had to take a deep breath to not say it. “Maybe he’s leaving because he wants to marry again and he doesn’t think he’ll find someone at Pemberley. If this Lord Gordon is in London, then he’ll have a better chance to meet someone.” Georgiana turned away quickly. “What kind of woman would be a good fit for him?”
“I hardly know.” She sat on the edge of her chair, hands clutched together, shoulders set.
“I assumed you might know him better than your servants. But I suppose that’s my more modern view of the employer-employee relationship. Sometimes the line between co-worker and friend blurs.”
After a long silence, Georgiana said, “He is even-tempered, patient. I do not think he would suit with a woman who was very animated or easily made a fuss.”
No drama queens for Mr Willers. “That sounds like the man I remember. Would the lady’s rank matter if he was looking for a bride? I never knew all the social standing rules while I was there. Who could a steward marry?”
