“Tonight?” asked Georgiana, with only a little of the apprehension Darcy might have expected in her voice.
“Yes. When Mrs. Bennet learned you were coming today, she would not rest until she had our consent to a dinner engagement. The Bennets are eager to make your acquaintance.”
Georgiana’s eyes darted back and forth between Darcy and Bingley. “That is precipitous.”
“I hope it meets your approval,” said Bingley, sincerity warring with his desire to be in Miss Bennet’s company again.
“Yes, I should be happy to make their acquaintance.” Georgiana’s tone was not at all convincing. “Can you tell me about them?”
Bingley was only too happy to oblige, spending several long minutes explaining what he knew about the family. Darcy, who was watching, noted the slow understanding that transformed Georgiana’s face. By the time he fell silent, she knew that Bingley admired Miss Bennet, and, after a moment’s reflection, did not appear at all put out by it. Her stated disinterest in Bingley as a prospective husband had been sincere. Darcy did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
In the end, he chose pride in his sister for knowing what she wanted. Georgiana would make some man an excellent wife in some distant future. Until then, he could find pleasure in having her with him. The was no cause to regret that she was not a convenient means of reclaiming his friend.
Chapter V
Before their evening at Longbourn, Darcy knew he needed to speak to his sister. Though Georgiana had recovered from the previous summer, the possibility of the youngest Bennet sisters speaking of George Wickham was not negligible, and he did not wish for his sister to learn of the scoundrel’s presence through such unrestrained means. Thus, when they retired to their chambers to prepare for the evening to come, Darcy asked his sister for a moment of her time in the sitting-room. Georgiana consented, though her curiosity was evident.
“I have something to tell you, Georgiana, and I fear it will not be pleasant.”
Now confused, Georgiana exclaimed: “What do you mean?”
There was no way to soften it. “George Wickham is in Meryton.”
Had he not been paying attention, he might have mistaken the subtle reaction, the slight lessening of color in her cheeks, or the widening of her eyes. It was less than he had feared, however, which was reassuring.
“Mr. Wickham,” said she. “Whatever can he be doing here?”
“There is a regiment of militia quartered in Meryton—Wickham has accepted a commission, a lieutenancy, if you can believe it.”
Appearing a little affronted, Georgiana said: “Our cousin Anthony would laugh.”
Darcy smiled at his sister, encouraged by her composure. “He would claim that there is no man more ill-suited for the discipline of military life, and he would be correct.”
Georgiana appeared to consider this. “Do you suppose he followed you here for some reason of his own? To make trouble, perhaps?”
“Nothing Wickham dares would surprise me, but in this instance, I do not think he did—it was misfortune and nothing more. When I saw him on the street, I caught the exact moment he noticed my presence. Though Wickham pretends to be the consummate gentleman, he has ever been an open book to me. Wickham did not expect to find me here.”
“You should do something about him,” said Georgiana quietly.
There was some sense in what Georgiana said, though Darcy was loath to acknowledge it. Disgusted with the man’s habits and weary of cleaning up after him, Darcy had paid Wickham the sum stipulated in his father’s will and much more to induce him to give up all claim to the Kympton living, intending to wash his hands of the man forever. Then Wickham had intruded on his life again with his attempt on Georgiana’s dowry, and this latest encounter in Meryton.
What stayed Darcy’s hand was not any residual loyalty to his one-time friend or what Fitzwilliam would call his nostalgia or respect for his father’s favorite. Rather, it was a profound exhaustion of spirit, the desire to be free of George Wickham’s machinations forever. Wickham was someone else’s responsibility—Darcy would no longer deal with him.
“The burden of dealing with Wickham’s excesses is no longer mine, Georgiana,” he told his sister, not unkindly. “It is enough if he keeps his distance.”
Georgiana did not appear convinced. “And if he makes a nuisance of himself or approaches me?”
“Then I will deal with him decisively. I still have his debt receipts and may use them at any time.”
“Very well, Brother,” replied Georgiana. “You need not concern yourself with me—I have learned my lesson and will never allow Mr. Wickham to charm me again.”
Pleased, Darcy touched her cheek. “That is good to know, Georgiana. Our mother would be proud of you, for you have become quite the young lady.”
Georgiana blushed at the praise and gave him a shy smile. As it was time to depart, Darcy rose and offered his arm to his sister, guiding her to the entrance where Bingley was waiting. It occurred to Darcy that his sister had matured these past months, perhaps forced to it by the actions of George Wickham. Given their destination that night, she might need all the maturity she could muster.
BY THE TIME MR. BINGLEYand the Darcys arrived that evening, Elizabeth had all but convinced herself that she would meet a female version of Mr. Darcy—proud and satirical. Elizabeth tried to remind herself not to judge the girl sight unseen, but her opinion of Mr. Darcy was akin to an immovable object. A man such as he must have passed some of his tendencies down to a much younger sister.
Elizabeth’s instincts were proven correct—when the party arrived, Miss Darcy held back beside her brother, her manner closed and uncommunicative. Mr. Darcy was not much better, for he watched the Bennets as if he thought them entirely unsuitable acquaintances for his dear sister. Elizabeth was much more confident in this assessment than in the other, for all that Miss Darcy seemed like an impossibly proud creature.
