“Yes, she is. Although quite unwell, her health keeps her from joining us but briefly before she takes a tray in her rooms.”
Georgiana indicated the shriveled woman leaning against a nurse, he presumed, on the settee where she had been sitting when Darcy had arrived.
He stifled a gasp and feigned less interest than he felt.
Their conversation was cut short by the demands of her husband. “Georgiana, you can’t be finished. Play something lively,” Wickham barked. She sat back in the seat and began a tune Darcy recognized as one she would often delight him with at Pemberley. Turning the pages, he looked from Elizabeth, to his aunt, and then to his sister.
“Miss Darcy?” Georgiana looked up from the keys, almost losing her fingering. It hurt to form the next words. “Forgive me.Mrs. Wickham. Pray, tell me about your home. I understand Pemberley to still be the most beautiful estate in all of Derbyshire.”
She shot a look at her husband, who was speaking with Elizabeth. “It is,” she said, slowing the pace of the song. “Pemberley was the most wonderful home any child could grow up in.”
“And you have no siblings? I seem to remember you did not, but I cannot recall.” At her questioning look, he added, “As I was telling Miss Bennet earlier today, I remember visiting Pemberley as a boy, and my father speaking of your parents fondly.”
“You visited Pemberley?”
“I was very young, but I recollect the kindness of your mother.”
“Yes, she was,” Georgiana said with an easy smile. “She imparted to me her love for the pianoforte.”
Darcy sputtered. “Excuse my intrusion, but you remember your mother? I thought she died upon your birth.”
“No, sir. She died upon the birth of my younger brother, who followed her but two days later.”
Younger brother?“And might I ask what became of your cousin Richard Fitzwilliam? He and I were also acquaintances at school.” Not doubting the stories from Elizabeth, Darcy still needed to hear facts from Georgiana’s lips.
“You must be mistaken, sir. You must be thinking of Alfred. I did not know my cousin Richard. He died in a sledding accident at Matlock House when he was a child.”
“He died? A sledding accident?”
“Yes. I am told he was a daredevil and sledded down a hill that lay near a frozen pond. The pond was not quite frozen through, and as he slid across, the ice cracked. His brother, Viscount Wenton, was the only one with him, and Richard slipped under the ice before Alfred could save him.”
Richard! Dead!The air was sucked from his lungs as he attempted to remain placid at the devastating news. It took all in his power to not sit on the bench next to his sister to absorb the physical blow he felt.He wasnot alone with his brother. I was there as well. The three of us—Richard, Alfred, and I.
The memory of that frigid morning rolled through his mind as a staged play in which he knew all the actors. He recalled the warning the previous day from both sets of parents tonotslide down the hill. And how Richard had convinced the two reluctant participants to take part in his plan.
We knew we were not allowed to sled on the hill, but Richard was determined. The only thing that stopped him was that I went first and, always cautious, traveled down the backside.
“I crashed into a tree and broke his sled,” Darcy whispered aloud.
“What?” Georgiana asked, breaking his reverie.
“My apologies. I was woolgathering. You are correct,” he said. “I must be mistaken. My mind is still muddled, it would seem.”
“Georgie,” Wickham snapped from across the room. “Why did you stop playing? Does Mr. Fitzroy not know how to properly turn the pages?” There was an edge in his voice, and he walked toward them. Darcy noticed Elizabeth’s eyes were on fire and wondered not only what Wickham had doneto upset her, but how she had responded to put him in such a state.
“I will take over from here.” Wickham sat next to Georgiana and placed his hand upon her leg. She startled. Darcy fought against his instincts to not lose control.
“Very well, Mr. Wickham. My head does ache, so I will return to my seat.” But he did not. Instead, he made his way to Lady Catherine and sat down on the other end of the settee, still attempting to control his grief for his cousin whose life ended at such a young age.
The old woman began to cough and soon gained his attention. Her outdated gown hung limply on her body. A glassy pair of gray eyes stared across the room, and her lips moved in silence.This is not the fearsome aunt I was raised to respect. This is a woman who is knocking at Death’s doors.
“Mr. Fitzroy, have you met Lady Catherine?” Elizabeth had come to stand before him, eyes still glowing with an anger he could not account for but understood the source.
“No, Miss Bennet. My memory does not serve.”
His cousin Anne appeared at his side and said, “Then, allow me do the honors.”
He shifted his attention to his aunt. His eyes rolled over the shriveled form of the woman who, for years, hadstruck deference into his soul.What ailment has caused Lady Catherine’s malady?
