“Well done, Master Ambrose,” Elizabeth conceded, allowing herself to be led back into the room’s centre. “Your detection skills rival those of Bow Street Runners.”
Georgiana emerged from her hiding place with considerably more grace, though her carefully arranged curls bore evidence of her adventure. “I fear I lack Ambrose’s natural talent for such games,” she said with a rueful smile. “Perhaps we should declare him the undisputed champion.”
Ambrose beamed at this praise, executing a bow that might have impressed dancing masters had it not been accompanied by an enthusiastic whooping sound. His exuberance proved infectious, and Elizabeth was surprised by how naturally she had slipped into this world of childhood games and laughter.
“Master Ambrose.” The stern voice cut through their merriment like a blade through silk. Miss Francesca stood in the doorway, her severe black dress and rigid posture suggesting disapproval that extended far beyond the current moment. “You have neglected your morning lessons entirely.”
The transformation in Ambrose was immediate and heartbreaking. His shoulders slumped, the light faded from his expression, and he suddenly appeared far younger than his five years. “But Miss Francesca, we were only playing—”
“Play is a luxury earned through diligent application to one’s studies,” the governess replied crisply. “Young gentlemen do not cavort about drawing rooms like common children.”
Elizabeth felt her temper stir at the woman’s harsh tone, but Georgiana intervened with gentle authority. “PerhapsAmbrose might rest before resuming his lessons. He has been quite active this morning.”
Miss Francesca’s mouth pursed with evident disapproval, but she could hardly argue with her employer’s sister. “Very well, Miss Darcy. His reading shall be resumed after his rest, and it must be completed before dinner, without fail.”
Georgiana knelt gracefully beside Ambrose, her voice warm with affection. “Go along now, dear one. A short rest will make your lessons much easier, and perhaps when you wake and complete your reading, we shall all have tea together.”
Ambrose’s face brightened at this promise, and he allowed Miss Francesca to take his hand with considerably less reluctance. As the governess led him from the room, Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s troubled expression. The easy companionship they had shared moments before gave way to a weighted silence that spoke volumes about the household’s tensions.
“She means well,” Georgiana said quietly, though her tone lacked conviction. “Miss Francesca believes structure essential for Ambrose’s development.”
Elizabeth chose her words carefully. “Structure has its place, certainly. Though perhaps balanced with affection?”
They settled in Netherfield’s elegant morning room, where tea had been laid with the precision Elizabeth had come to associate with the Bingley household. The delicate china and perfectly arranged refreshments spoke of wealth applied with taste, though she could not help contrasting the formal atmosphere with Longbourn’s cheerful disorder.
“I confess myself somewhat envious of your confidence,” Georgiana said as she poured tea with the careful grace ofpracticed gentility. “You seem so assured in your opinions, so comfortable in any situation.”
Elizabeth accepted her cup with surprise. “Whatever gave you such an impression? I assure you, I feel uncertainty quite as keenly as anyone.”
“But you spoke so naturally with Ambrose, engaged in his games without the slightest concern for dignity or appearance.” Georgiana’s voice carried a wistful note. “I shall be presented at court next spring, and the prospect terrifies me entirely. All those eyes judging every gesture, every word…”
The vulnerability in Georgiana’s confession touched Elizabeth deeply. She recognized the young woman’s struggle between her natural disposition and society’s demands for feminine accomplishment.
“May I speak plainly?” Elizabeth asked, setting down her teacup with deliberate care.
Georgiana nodded, though uncertainty flickered in her dark eyes.
“Society’s expectations matter far less than your own integrity. Those who would judge you harshly for your kindness are hardly worth impressing. Better to be thought peculiar by fools than false by those whose opinions truly matter.”
“But surely one must consider appearances,” Georgiana protested gently. “My brother’s position, the family name…”
“A brother who truly cares for his sister’s welfare would surely value her true nature over artificial accomplishment,” Elizabeth replied. “Would any reasonable guardian prefer a sister transformed into a hollow representation of fashionable expectations?”
Georgiana considered this, her expression brightening slightly. “You may be correct. Fitzwilliam has always encouraged my natural inclinations, even when they differed from convention.”
The clock on the mantel chimed three times before their peaceful conversation was interrupted by the sound of heated voices from the corridor. The door opened to reveal Miss Francesca leading a tearful Ambrose, her severe expression darker than before.
“Master Ambrose has awakened from his rest, but I fear his reading lesson has been most unsatisfactory,” the governess announced with clear displeasure. “He has made error after error, stumbling over the simplest words like a child half his age!”
Ambrose’s lower lip trembled as tears tracked down his flushed cheeks. “I tried to read properly,” he whispered, his small voice breaking. “But the words looked all twisted, and Miss Francesca said I was being wilfully stupid…”
Elizabeth rose before conscious thought could intervene. “Perhaps I might assist with his lessons? I have some experience with reluctant scholars.”
The governess’s expression suggested she doubted Elizabeth’s qualifications, but politeness demanded acquiescence. “If you wish to attempt it, Miss Bennet, though I warn you the child can be quite obstinate when corrected.”
Ambrose’s entire countenance transformed at Elizabeth’s offer. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked up at her with desperate hope. “Oh yes! Lizzy understands about reading, and she doesn’t shout when words are difficult!”
“Does she indeed?” Miss Francesca’s tone dripped scepticism, but she relinquished her charge with visible relief.
