“I know there are things you disapprove of in George Wickham, but please do not be so hard on him. He is youngerthan you and certainly less wise. He cannot compare to you in any way, so please do not judge him so harshly.”
“I try not to. But I am not blind to the fact that he always takes the easy way with his studies, with the work his father assigns him, with any request anyone gives him. He should be properly disciplined, but I know it is not my duty to do that.”
“It will be your duty — one day. Let us hope by then his character will have improved.”
“Yes, Mother. Let us not worry about George Wickham. He has a comfortable life that lacks nothing.”
“You are right, my handsome boy. One last thing. Will you promise me that you will be happy?”
“I promise I shall follow your advice, Mother.”
“Good,” the woman said, caressing his face again. “Do not mind Catherine’s insistence about your engagement to Anne. I mean — I would be so very happy and grateful if she did turn out to be the woman to make you happy. But that must be your choice alone.”
“Yes, Mother…”
“Now, please be so kind as to ask your father to come back in. He must be worried about our long conversation. But I am glad I had you to myself, even for a little while.”
The boy kissed his mother’s hand, and she kissed his in return.
Soon, the room was filled with people — from the master, George Darcy, to Georgiana and her governess. Fitzwilliam Darcy moved into a corner, watching his mother surrounded by those who loved her and struggling with his tears.
The following year, when he was seventeen years old and his sister four, Lady Anne Darcy died peacefully, her body weakened by an illness that had no cure.
***
London, December 1811
“Fitzwilliam, will you not play with me?” Georgiana Darcy asked her brother, who sat absently in the music room, watching her practise.
“Play? Oh no, dearest. Forgive me, but I am in no disposition to play.”
“Do not apologise. I am just worried that you have not seemed to be in a disposition for anything lately. It pains me to see you so sad. I cannot forgive myself for hurting you.”
“What are you talking about, my dear? You never hurt me!”
“Of course I did. I know my attempted elopement hurt and disappointed you. I am nothing but a silly simpleton who does not deserve your forgiveness. But it is not fair that you suffer because of my reckless behaviour.”
He took a chair and moved it near the pianoforte, sitting close to her; she wiped her tears.
“My dear, I might call you a silly simpleton if you do not cease blaming yourself. You did not elope — you proved your strength and determination and confessed the truth to me, as only a few women would.”
“Because it was a fortunate coincidence that you arrived that day. What would I have done if you had not been there? If the decision had entirely been mine?”
“Why worry about what could have been? You were surrounded by evil people whom you trusted and held in regard — your companion and a friend you had known all your life. My only concern is that those two villains hurt and betrayed you. Nothing else.”
She remained silent, and he continued, “Will you please promise not to trouble yourself with this further?”
“I shall try. But you cannot deny you have not been yourself lately.”
“I shall not deny it, but it is certainly not your fault — not by far. Come, let us play together. A little bit of music might be beneficial to me after all.”
“Brother, may I ask — is there a reason why Mr. Bingley does not visit us as often as he used to? Even Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst have called on me only once since they returned from the country.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Oh no!” she answered hastily, causing him to smile. “I mean, they are always kind to me. And you said you are fond of Mr. Bingley’s friendship.”
“I am. He might not be so fond of me these days, due to some differences of opinion related to the time we spent in Hertfordshire. And just to be clear, I admit that is also the reason for my poor disposition since I returned — nothing else.”
