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Though he tried to dispel his annoyance by telling himself it was petty, Darcy found that the arrival of the babies meant he saw much less of Elizabeth. Mrs. Bingley had refused to hire a wet nurse, although Bingley worried twins would be too much for her. He confided this to Darcy, along with the midwife’s assurance that most mothers had no difficulty nursing twins. The lack of a wet nurse seemed to necessitate someone constantly attending to whichever babe wasn’t nursing. In spite of a maid who helped, that someone was most often Elizabeth, though Georgiana assisted as well.
As far as Darcy was able to tell, Elizabeth and Georgiana were constantly shuffling babies about, carrying them from the nursery to Mrs. Bingley’s room and back again. The two boys seemed incapable of sleeping at the same time, meaning Elizabeth was almost never free to spend any time with him. Darcy told himself it was a boon, for time away from her would allow him to lay his inappropriate feelings for her to rest and focus on the letters he must write concerning Georgiana. Instead, he found himself constantly lurking places he hoped Elizabeth would appear, waiting for a few stolen moments with her.
In pursuit of that, he entered a parlor he knew Elizabeth preferred to sew in, only to find Georgiana there. She’d obviously been crying. Darcy immediately set aside his petty frustrations and crossed to her, sitting beside her on the sofa. “Georgiana, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He eyed her, wondering if he should press the issue of her obvious lie.
Georgiana sighed. “Nothing new. I was speaking to Miss Bennet about George. It got me to crying, but I’m fine now.”
“What did she say that got you so upset?” He was surprised Elizabeth was to blame.
“She hardly said a thing and certainly didn’t say anything to upset me.”
“Then why were you crying?” he asked, relieved to know Elizabeth hadn’t been unkind to his sister.
Instead of answering, Georgiana stood up. Before she turned away from him, he saw more tears welling in her eyes. She ran out of the room as fast as she could move her pregnant body. Darcy could have caught her, but she clearly wanted to get away from him. It seemed unkind to press her in the state she was in.
Besides, there was another source of information. He stood and headed for the section of the house where he knew Elizabeth would be. He found her walking slowly down the hall, carrying Charlie. She had him high on her shoulder and his eyes were wide open.
“He’s not falling asleep,” Darcy said.
“He’s not complaining,” Elizabeth replied over her shoulder. “He likes being carried this way and will usually fall asleep in a quarter of an hour or so.”
“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable if you carried him lower?” he asked, his curiosity momentarily overcoming his desire to question her about Georgiana.
She lowered Charlie and he started crying. She raised him up again but he didn’t stop. “Please walk behind me,” she said as Darcy made to walk beside her. “He’s better when he has someone to look at.”
Darcy did so, wishing he hadn’t spurred the demonstration, for the sound of Charlie’s cries grated on his ears and the baby looked miserable. Charlie’s eyes didn’t look like they were focused on him, but, in moments, the strange procession soothed him enough that he stopped crying. Elizabeth started to sing softly. After a few more minutes, Charlie’s eyes slid shut and he fell asleep.
As Darcy was thinking of pointing out that Charlie wasn’t awake anymore, Elizabeth turned around, walking back to him. She kept the same tune but sang, “Please open this door so I can put him to bed.”
Darcy complied, once again assailed by the idea of it being his and Elizabeth’s child she was soothing. He ruthlessly reminded himself of her lack of suitability, and of his responsibilities to Georgiana, which must take precedence over his own desires and needs. He stood outside the room, for it would be inappropriate to enter it with her, and watched as she gently placed Charlie in his crib, singing to him all the while. Giving the baby one final, gentle smile, she came back out, closing the door softly behind her.
“You could have informed me he would cry,” he whispered, fearing to wake Charlie. “You didn’t need to prove the point.”
She gave him a sheepish smile. “I wanted to test it, to see if he was still set on being carried that way. I knew he would settle back down quickly with you to look at while I carried him, so it was a good time to try.”
She said it all in a normal voice. Darcy glanced significantly at the door. “Aren’t you worried to wake him?” he said, his own voice still low.
“He’s sound asleep now. I’m not saying we should yell, but you don’t need to whisper.”
“I was hoping to speak with you,” he said. He couldn’t quite bring himself to use his normal speaking voice. He didn’t want to wake Charlie and set him crying again.
“About what?” she asked.
“It’s of a somewhat sensitive nature,” he said.
He gestured that she should lead, allowing her to select the location of their talk. She gave him a look bright with curiosity, but turned and walked down the hall. He was a bit surprised when she led the way outside, to their customary haunt in the open area along the back of the house. He’d assumed she would want to stay near the babies. She breathed in deeply as they walked, and he realized she must welcome the excuse for a short break.
“Georgiana was upset after talking with you,” he said, once they’d settled into their usual stride.
“I’m not surprised,” she replied, her tone thoughtful but not apologetic.
“What did you say that upset her?” He contained a grimace, for the question had emerged more harshly than he’d intended.
She gave him an impish smile, apparently immune to his show of temper. “Let me see, I said, ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ ‘I’m not surprised. You were very young,’ and ‘That’s too bad.’ I also said, ‘Maybe that’s a good thing.’ I can’t remember if I said anything else, but it was along those lines. Oh, and I asked her why she went to a bank.”
Darcy hadn’t thought to ask her that. “Why did she?”
“She got lost and realized that she could get directions to Barclays Bank. She couldn’t remember the addresses of anyone she knew and was afraid they wouldn’t be home, even if she found their houses.”
“What was said that upset her so much?” Georgiana shouldn’t be upset by any of that.
Elizabeth’s face turned serious. “I know you’re her brother and I know that you care for her, but if you gave her situation any real thought, you wouldn’t have to ask.” She turned abruptly and headed back to house at a quick pace.
Darcy stood where he was for a moment, as surprised by her angry tone as her departure. Hurrying after, he caught up with her. “Why is she so upset? She’s had months to accept her situation. Nothing has changed.”
She stopped and turned around so abruptly he almost ran into her. “Nothing has changed. That is the problem. Nothing has changed since she agreed to elope with him.” Her gaze searched his face, as if she tried to will understanding upon him.
“What do you mean?” he demanded, narrowly resisting the urge to take her by the shoulders and give her a little shake. When had Elizabeth become so exasperating?
She shook her head. “It really isn’t my place to say.” She turned and continued to the house.
Darcy kept pace with her, trying to find something in her words or tone that would tell him what was upsetting his sister. When she reached the door, a footman opened it and they both entered. She crossed to the stairs but stopped, turning that searching gaze upon him again. “You really don’t understand, do you?” she asked, her voice too quiet to be overheard.
He shook his head, moving as near as discretion allowed, to avoid being eavesdropped on. “I wish I did.”
Elizabeth sighed. “You spend a lot of time thinking about what it is right to do, and what it is best to do, but you’re missing one crucial point. Georgiana is a woman grown, a married woman, and has the ability, some might argue the right, to make her own choices. In all of your debating and planning, have you ever once asked you sister what she wants?”
Darcy stared at her, feeling suddenly embarrassed, though he wasn’t sure quite why. He shook his head.
Elizabeth leaned closer. “If you’d ever thought to ask Georgiana,” she said, her voice a mere whisper, “you would know that, while she knows he is still irresponsible, she also still loves him. Sometimes, Mr. Darcy, you might want to consider valuing peoples’ feelings as carefully as you do your sensibilities.” Giving him a little shrug, her lips curled down into a frown, she turned and went upstairs.
Darcy stared after her, shocked. His first thought was that Elizabeth had invented Georgiana’s love for Wickham out of some misbegotten romanticism, but he rejected it. He considered that she might have led his sister into saying such a thing, but rejected that as well. No, as well as he’d come to know Elizabeth over the past weeks, he couldn’t imagine her inventing or perpetuating the idea. It must have come from Georgiana.
Yet, how could Georgiana still love Wickham? Darcy knew he was charming, but how could she continue to care after his neglect? He’d abandoned her to be put out onto the streets of London. That was unforgivable.
Or was it? Georgiana wasn’t shallow. If she loved someone, Darcy had trouble imagining her giving up on that love. Looking back on the months they’d stayed in Pemberley, he could grudgingly recall Wickham routinely conducing himself in a caring manner with Georgiana. Not that he’d dare behave otherwise in Darcy’s sight, but he had seemed genuinely affectionate.
If his sister did still love Wickham, did her love really matter? No matter how much she loved George Wickham, Darcy could not let Georgiana risk herself and her child by going back to him. Elizabeth had wondered if he was doing the right thing. He wondered if he was doing the right thing. Yet, what choice did he have? Wickham had left his sister to wander the streets of London alone, with child, defenseless. She’d been robbed, and was lucky no greater harm had befallen her.
Darcy stood at the bottom of the staircase for a long moment, but he was unable to sort out his sensibilities, as Elizabeth called them, from what was truly right. Always before, the two had seemed one and the same. Realizing the footman was eyeing him, he decided to take a ride to clear his head. That usually helped.
Only, in his agitated state, it turned out that all riding did was further irritate him. For one thing, Bingley’s second best horse was more than one step down from Darcy’s favorite steed. Bingley wasn’t the connoisseur of horseflesh that Darcy was, so even his best mount wasn’t quite up to Darcy’s standards. The gelding he’d been given to ride was a biddable beast, not at all challenging and possessing no true spirit, stamina or grace.
Darcy sighed, letting the gelding set a slow pace along his favorite course, the open road. Darcy preferred to ride cross country, but the beast was lazy. He didn’t want to fight with it today, worried he wasn’t in a suitable state of mind to refrain from losing his temper, something impermissible.
He’d deliberately tried to make Mr. Harvey at least a step down from Bingley. Wickham would be searching for someone affluent, though even Wickham didn’t know the extent of Darcy’s investments. Darcy doubted there were five hundred men in England with as much wealth as he had, but there were many who had one or two thousand a year. That sort of wealth blended in and became unremarkable.
Unfortunately, being unremarkable was more of a hardship than he’d expected. He supposed it was a trifle petty of him, but he missed his favorite horse. He missed his impeccably fitting, highly fashionable clothes, the skilled valet who anticipated every need, and the carriage with four horses, nearly matched in color and perfectly matched in speed and endurance. Most of all, he missed his estate. Netherfield Park was run very well, but it wasn’t Pemberley. Worse, he had no notion of how long it would be before he could return home.
A steady plodding intruded on his musings and Darcy looked up to see an open carriage coming his way. To his chagrin, he saw Sir William Lucas, who knew him as Mr. Harvey, and Mr. Collins, who knew him as Mr. Darcy. He pulled down his hat and turned the gelding into a field, but he had little hope they hadn’t both seen and recognized him. He supposed it was possible they may not compare notes, but both of them talked so much they probably would.
He’d nearly forgotten that Mr. Collins was married to Sir William Lucas’s daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Collins were probably visiting her parents. Why hadn’t anyone thought to warn him? Elizabeth should...but Elizabeth was helping Mrs. Bingley, and almost completely absorbed in the task. Even Mrs. Bennet had spoken of little else than Mrs. Bingley and the babies on her visits. Of all the times for her not to gossip, she had to select such a disastrous one.
Darcy urged the gelding into a quicker pace as he headed back to Netherfield, but he knew there was nothing to be done. Mr. Collins was certain to tell Lady Catherine he’d seen Darcy. He doubted his aunt could be persuaded to conceal the information, though he would write immediately. He would need to keep his phrasing delicate, on the chance Lady Catherine didn’t receive word from Mr. Collins, but too much discretion would result in an unconvincing argument of his case.
If only it wasn’t already too late to move his sister, he would simply relocate them, but he didn’t dare. Not in the state she was in, both physically and mentally. Besides, she was surrounded, as much as she could be, by people she cared for and who returned that care. He had a suspicion Georgiana needed that very much right now.
