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The Pemberley dining room, whilst it could perhaps never have been called lively was particularly dour and dismal this evening. Georgiana remained absent, confined to her room and mercifully sleeping, thanks to a draught the doctor had given her. Darcy had dispatched the servants to keep watch and to alert him to any changes in his ailing sister’s health or temperament. Confident that there was nothing more to be done, the doctor had excused himself and been on his way, with a promise to return the next day.
Dinner, then, consisted of Darcy, Elizabeth, Lydia and Colonel Fitzwilliam and was far from the warm welcoming meal he might have anticipated.
“Well, Cousin,” Richard began, clearing his throat unnecessarily in the silence. “I must thank you, once again, for your rich hospitality.”
Darcy glared at him, sensing some criticism, but his cousin’s features remained lifted in a bland, agreeable smile, and he accepted his thanks with a gruff nod.
“You are always welcome here, Richard. It is only a pity your arrival should time so incongruously with Georgiana’s...” He trailed off, shooting a look at Elizabeth. His wife’s attention was fixed on her plate although Darcy noticed that she did not eat so much as merely move her food around. He felt a flicker of concern he chose to ignore and turned back to his own meal, which was hardly appetising to him in his current mood.
“Yes, poor Georgiana.” Richard lifted his glass in a silent toast to his absent cousin, before turning to the other ladies at the table. “And yet how fortunate that I should arrive in time to meet not only your new wife but her charming sister.” He chuckled. “I fear I must have frightened poor Miss Lydia with my sudden and unexpected arrival.”
“It was a little unexpected,” Lydia permitted, with a tight smile. She, too, bent hurriedly over her plate and resumed eating. Were he not so distracted by Georgiana, Darcy might have wondered at this shift in her behaviour. Where was jolly, flirtatious Lydia who ordinarily might have taken this comment from his cousin and run with it, spinning their surprising introduction into a theatrical melodrama?
Silence reigned once more, undisturbed for a long moment until Richard tried a second time to begin some sort of conversation.
“The weather is certainly drawing in.” He affected a shiver. “I am grateful to spend my winter in the homes of my family rather than under canvas.”
Nobody leapt on this hint, but Richard continued without encouragement, speaking as if to a crowd of eager listeners and not a few silent companions.
“Life at camp is hard, there’s no denying that. Of course, it can be merry too. Did I ever tell you, Cousin, of a chap by the name of Rogers? William Rogers...”
Richard launched into a description of his colleague, a roguish fellow with a talent for clowning, and when none of his listeners laughed at his tales, he laughed himself, manfully trying to extract some entertainment for the crowd.
“...of course the idiot ended up drenched, himself. It is a wonder he did not succumb to hypothermia and die before ever even making it onto the battlefield.” He paused, growing mournful, and his silence was enough to make Darcy look up at him.
“Well? What become of the fellow?” He asked, not so much because he cared to know, but because he knew he must at least put on a show of engaging with his guest. Richard may be his cousin and familiar with all of Darcy’s moods but that did not mean he must be subject to them. “You must not keep us in suspense.”
Richard smiled, then, a sad, bitter little smile that instantly made Darcy regret his question.
“He died. Fell in battle. Quite heroic, actually, for all his fooling.” Richard paused a moment before taking a sip of his drink. “I called on his mother before arriving at Kent. He leaves a brother, too, a young lad only too eager to join the regiment and follow in his brother’s footsteps.”
“How marvellous!” Lydia exclaimed, drawn in by the warmth of Richard’s voice.
“Aye, marvellous.” Richard scowled, and his entire demeanour changed. “Then his Mama will lose both of her sons and be left completely alone.”
Silence descended over the table that was not on account of Darcy’s mood or Elizabeth’s worry, and he gathered himself to try and find some balm for Richard, to return his cousin to his formerly merry self.
“I still think it is brave,” Lydia said, stubbornly holding her own. “And bravery ought to be applauded, wherever it leads. At least the young man may do as he chooses and lives not only at the whims and decrees of others.” She sighed, picking at her meal, and Darcy glanced in Elizabeth’s direction. A week ago - a day ago, even - this would have been a comment that prompted them to exchange a look, a silent understanding between them that Lydia had not quite forgiven them for bringing her here to Derbyshire, that her desire for freedom might still trump the wisdom age might afford. It would reassure them that they had acted wisely in separating her from George Wickham. But tonight, Lizzy did not look up. She continued to fuss over her plate, not eating a bite, and at last laid down her fork, folding her hands uselessly in her lap. Darcy wished he might reach out to her, to reassure her that she was not to blame for Georgiana’s injury, yet he found he could not. Georgiana blames her, he thought, and she must know better than I do what truly happened out there. And yet I still do not believe it possible that my Lizzy would engineer such a fate for my sister! Why, then, had he taken pains all that day to avoid being alone with Elizabeth? Even now he avoided looking at her or speaking to her. He acted as if he blamed her, even if he did not.
It is my concern for my sister, he reflected. I have no space for any other thought until I know for certain that Georgie will be well.
***
“WHAT DO YOU THINK OF Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Lydia asked, when she and Lizzy retired to the parlour after dinner. She flopped down on a settee, only too aware that she would correct her posture into something more demure the moment a male step was heard in the doorway. “He is not at all like his cousin!”
“They are not unlike,” Lizzy contradicted her, refusing to sit but taking a slow, mournful turn about the room. “They have the same dark hair and eyes.”
“They certainly do not have the same scowl!” Lydia said, wickedly. She was goading her sister a little, but only because she had come to the swift conclusion that to see Lizzy fire up and be ferocious was preferable to this ghostly pale version of the sister she loved to argue with.
“Mr Darcy has reason to scowl today,” Lizzy said, softly. “He is worried for his sister.”
“As are we all,” Lydia reassured her, sitting up. “But that does not mean we must be beastly to one another. Come, Lizzy, won’t you play a little?” She pointed to the empty piano. “I know you are better able than I to play something.”
Lizzy winced but obediently drifted towards the piano, picking out a dainty melody with the fingers of her right hand. She tangled them into something discordant and straightened.
“No, I can hardly play a thing!”
“You are second only to Mary of us sisters for being musical!” Lydia asserted, wilfully forgetting that it was Kitty who held that honour. Lizzy raised her eyebrows at her.
“If that is true then I am a long way second to Mary.” She sighed, but obediently perched on the piano stool and rested her fingers on the elegant black and white keys. “But I suppose I can find it within me to play something.” She began, haltingly at first, to play a piece that had been popular with young ladies several seasons previously and which Lizzy had slaved over until she had perfected it: her only party piece.
“Lovely!” Lydia declared, smiling to see her sister so agreeably occupied. She could not help but mourn the change that had come over Lizzy today. Before today, she corrected herself. At least where Georgiana is concerned. It ought to have pleased her to see Elizabeth so plagued by another. Had she not wished to be such a thorn in the flesh for her sister upon hearing of her marriage to Mr Darcy? Yet somehow all the anger Lydia had felt at being usurped by her sister in Darcy’s affections - a mistaken idea if ever she had known one! - had faded upon seeing Lizzy strive valiantly to be the type of wife Mr Darcy most needed, and the type of mistress that would most benefit Pemberley. It was this that put Georgiana’s elegant nose firmly out of joint, Lydia thought. With Lizzy’s arrival, Georgiana’s importance in the household had dropped, and she was bitter at the change.
I do not see why! Lydia thought, choosing to ignore that she would have acted entirely the same, had she been in Georgiana’s position, and had been quite as opposed to Lizzy marrying Mr Darcy before now.
The door opened and both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam strolled in. Mr Darcy wore the same scowl that had settled over his face at the moment of Georgiana’s accident and had not yet lifted, but Colonel Fitzwilliam did his best to lighten the mood.
“Good evening, ladies.” He smiled rather too widely at Lydia and she thought, fleetingly, that it must be painful to be so enthusiastically cheerful. “Ah, Mrs Darcy! How well you play!”
“She is concentrating, so I shall thank you on her behalf, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Lydia said, with a conspiratorial chuckle. “I rather bullied her into taking the seat, I am afraid, for she plays far better than I can.”
Lizzy chose that moment to hit several wrong notes in a row and Lydia winced until she found her equilibrium once more.
“I seem to remember this piece of music from a ball I had the honour to attend the last time I was in London,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, sitting down in a chair opposite Lydia and shooting her a knowing, mischievous look. “I danced with splendid partners that evening, Mis Lydia, I am sure you can well imagine -”
Lydia flushed, recalling their awkward first meeting, and thinking it entirely ungallant of him to recollect spying on her foolishly pretending to dance with many admiring suitors in the otherwise empty parlour.
Mr Darcy had not joined his cousin in sitting but marched straight to Elizabeth’s side, waiting tersely as she played the last few bars. Her final chord had barely been struck before he spoke.
“This is Georgiana’s seat. We shall not trouble you to play in her absence.”
It was not rude, exactly, but his tone certainly had not the kindness with which he ought to have spoken to his wife and Elizabeth leapt to her feet, practically running to join Lydia on the settee. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face grew serious as he exchanged a glance with Lydia.
“I, for one, think Mrs Darcy played splendidly. But then as I have no musical talent to speak of I always admire it in others. Will you not play something for us, Darcy? I am sure you know how.”
He was teasing, now, and his cousin scowled at him before stalking to the window to glare out into the darkness and allow the same silence that had haunted the dining table to settle uncomfortably over the parlour.
Lydia drew in a breath, trying to calculate how long they must sit here in awkwardness until they reached a suitable hour to retire, and she looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam, who wrenched his gaze from the back of Darcy’s head to meet her eyes. He raised his eyebrows and Lydia smiled, grimly, thinking that in him, at least, she had found an ally.
There is some unspoken estrangement between your cousin and my sister, she told him silently, in that one brief look. And we must work together to overcome it.