“No, but I play.” She brightened at once. “I have been learning to play the harp you had delivered! May I play it for you?”
He began to smile in truth. “I had nearly forgotten. I would like nothing better, Georgiana. Perhaps tomorrow evening, after dinner?”
She dipped her head in something akin to a nod, and took a swallow of tea. Perhaps his response had been too lukewarm for her taste. He watched as she resumed staring at her lap, fingering the handle of her cup.
He sipped of his own drink, more to hide his own frustration than out of a desire for the refreshment. He never had been skilled at conversation, and his sister was little better. How, then, were they to go on? He thumbed the rim of his cup and tried to imagine what Elizabeth would say. What was the first interest Georgiana had mentioned? He closed his eyes in dread, but resolved to try.
“Has Mrs Wickham been faring well here at Pemberley?”
Her eyes widened. “Why, yes, she says she loves it. She says that no one ignores her here, and I believe that pleases her.”
He lifted his cup to conceal his mild astonishment. How anyone could ever have contrived to ignore Lydia Wickham, née Bennet, was beyond him, but he wished he could have known the secret. His cheek flinched. “And her… her health has been sound?”
Georgiana giggled. “Lydia eats like a horse. She loves Mrs Reynolds like a second mother, and says that if all ladies in her condition were treated so well, England would soon be overrun with babies!” She laughed, then with a glance at her brother’s horror-stricken face, quieted.
“I think you would be impressed, Fitzwilliam. I was teaching her some of what I learned in school about table settings and… well, some of the etiquette that she had not the opportunity to learn. She really is a very gracious hostess now, we have been practising.”
He had difficulty believing that, but he allowed it to pass. Mrs Wickham was Elizabeth’s sister, after all, so perhaps some qualities had found their way into her character, but the last thing he desired to do was to search for them. “I am glad to hear that she has been a friend to you,” he answered diplomatically.
“Fitzwilliam? Do you intend to marry Elizabeth?”
His spoon clattered on his saucer. He spared a moment to evaluate her expression, but could not read it. He drew a deep breath and decided to risk the truth. “Yes, I do. I have intended to marry her for some while, and she has now accepted me.”
“She did? Lydia seemed to think that you had some quarrel last year. She says—”
“I would prefer not to know Mrs Wickham’s opinion of my affairs. The truth of the matter is that Miss Bennet and I have not always been on equable terms. She revealed to me some parts of my nature that I had thought under good regulation, but I discovered myself to be wrong. We had reconciled somewhat last summer, just before….” He sighed and returned to his tea cup for another pensive swallow. “If you are concerned that Miss Bennet merely desired a fine match, you need not be. It was not easy to win her good opinion, but I am secure of it now.”
Georgiana’s eyes were wandering over the walls, a faint pout twisting her mouth.
“Georgiana, are you not fond of Miss Bennet? I thought you would be.”
“Oh,” she lifted her shoulders again, “I am. It is hard to dislike Elizabeth. Yes, yes, I suppose I am terribly fond of her. She has been very kind to me.”
“You do not sound overly sincere. May I ask what troubles you?”
She looked him directly in the eye and seemed to take a brazen risk. “Fitzwilliam, where have you been?”
He released a troubled sigh. “Georgiana… I would rather not discuss it.”
“Do I not deserve to know? Do you think me too much of a child?”
“No! I… of course not.”
“Then why do you tell Elizabeth everything? Why can you not bear for anyone else to be near you? I am your sister, Fitzwilliam. I have known you all of my life, but you seem terrified to be around me!”
He set his cup down with a clatter and pressed his lips, looking at the wall.
“Fitzwilliam, please forgive me!” she began to apologise. “I did not mean—”
“It is not your fault, Georgiana. Please do not ask me about the time when I was away. It is not that I object to you knowing, but rather that I do not wish to relive that time.”
“But Elizabeth—” she began to protest, then bit her lip and fell back against her chair.
“I did not have to tell Elizabeth.” He spun his cup slowly around on the saucer, trying to express his feelings. “She already knew, somehow.”
Georgiana’s face pinched sceptically.
“I do not expect that to sound logical. Georgiana, when you thought I was dead, you mourned me, did you not?”
