He realized though, that despite the strength of his feeling towards her, that had been growing, and he realized that it had been seizing him more and more over the weeks since their marriage, he had no objective reason to believe she felt anything for him. There was nothing she had said or done, except letting him sleep by her without any comment. He had no reason to think that she cared for him as more than a tall, reasonably well featured possessor of a great fortune and estate with which she could raise her own status and that of her family.
He was a walking, clinking coin purse. That was how women saw him.
Of course she is in love with Mr. Wickham. He always was better at being loved than me.
Darcy said, “It does not matter. No. Butnever, neveragain speak against my orders.”
He stared at Elizabeth. It appeared for a moment as though she meant to argue, but instead she nodded slightly, and sat next to Georgiana.
Darcy asked his sister. “Why? Did you not know better? Have you not learned your lesson? Did you want the picture to feed your foolish infatuation? Did you — had you notlearned?”
“It wasn’t right!” Georgiana exclaimed. “Not right to burn Papa’s portrait of him.”
“If Papa had known what he did, he would have burned the portrait himself.”
“But Papa didn’t. And Papa is dead. And it was me… my weakness. I should never have—”
“Georgie—”
“You shouldn’t have! You shouldn’t have! It was Papa’s room. And I was the one who was stupid enough to agree to elope with him.” Georgiana turned to Elizabeth. “That's what happened when I saw him this year. I was ready to throw myself into the arms of a fortune hunter… A real one. Not just ugly rumors created by people who are jealous. Someone who really cared nothing for me. He… he said he loved me. But I know he didn’t. I think I even knew then. ButIloved him. I still do. You do not cease to love a man just because you know him to be bad… it wasn’tright. Without my mistakes, you would never have destroyed the portrait.”
“That was my decision.”
“It belonged to all of us.”
“Tell me where you hid it, and—”
“No.”
“Georgiana, you are better than this,” Darcy said, slumping, his anger leaving him for a terrible sickness in his heart at hearing what Georgiana said, and because he feared that Elizabeth also loved him. “You cannot love Mr. Wickham.”
“I do. I do. I do. I know that makes me terrible. And you should… you should banish me to that estate in Scotland. Youshould. IknowI’m not worthy of the Darcy name. But I… I can’t stop… thinking about him.”
“He is a man who abused the confidence of a fifteen-year-old girl. You are nothing but a victim, and you must learn—”
Elizabeth put her arm around the girl. “You poor thing. You poor thing. And you were so young.”
Georgiana cried softly into Elizabeth’s shoulder.
Mrs. Reynolds came into the room. “It is done.”
Eyes wide, Georgiana asked though her sniffles. “Did you—”
“The portrait has been burned,” the housekeeper confirmed, not looking at any of them.
Georgiana went paler. Quiet.
Elizabeth squeezed her arm.
Then Georgiana nodded, wiping her eyes, hiccupping with tears. “I wish I had not disappointed you. You should punish me. How do you wish to punish me?”
“I do not know,” Darcy said, deflated. He was tired, his rage at Wickham had left him, and he still needed to deal with Elizabeth and make her understand that he would not permit her to behave in such a way ever again. And he wanted… her to tell him that she did not love Wickham. And then he could embrace her, and find comfort in her warmth, her smell, and even her kiss.
More.
He needed her to convince him that she did not love Wickham.
But what were words that they could convince a man?
