“Georgie, are you certain this is what you wish? It is not too late to turn back.”
She drew in a trembling breath. “I want to go home—but oh, Richard, I am not equal to this! Surely, I needn’t do all you say just for now. Pemberley has been my home since I was born; may I not recover in peace for some months before—”
“Georgie, we have been over this,” he sighed wearily. “The moment you step to the gravel, everyone at Pemberley will be looking to you as their authority. Of course, they will view you with sympathy, but you must assert your command of matters from the start, or it will be all the more difficult when you do wish to take up the reins.”
“But I know nothing of managing the estate! I only wish to retire to the places I love.”
“I know your experiences have not prepared you for this,” he answered gently. “None could have expected that such a duty would ever become yours, but you must rise to it. Those people waiting for you deserve no less than the very best you have to offer them.”
She snatched her gaze back out the window, her teeth set. “I never wanted to be in authority over anyone!”
“And that is precisely why you will succeed. You have not your own interests at heart. Think, Georgie, of all the good Fitzwilliam did with his power. Your influence may be no less benevolent.”
She made no response, but his careful scrutiny discerned some easing of her breath, a slight slackening of her clenched jaw. The house was within sight now, and in only a few more moments, he was descending the steps, then turning to assist her.
From within the carriage, her black-clad arm emerged and her gloved hand tremblingly clasped his. Her bowed head was then visible, and as she lifted it, her blue eyes rounded in terror. Arrayed up the steps of the house, on either side of her path, were all the household staff. All were dressed in their own fashion of mourning, according to their respective stations, and behind them, black shrouds darkened the windows of Pemberley.
Mr Jefferson, the steward, was the first to approach, flanked by the head butler and the housekeeper. “Miss Darcy,” he bowed humbly. “On behalf of Mr Hodges and Mrs Reynolds and the entire staff, may we express our sincerest condolences on the passing of the master.”
Georgiana’s frame began to shake violently, her eyes filling with tears. Perhaps in her imagination she had expected to flee quietly within the house, her presence unremarked by most. This gentle formality on the part of Pemberley’s staff was likely a slap to the face—a harsh reminder that the pinnacle of accountability for the entire estate had now fallen to herself, and she could no longer shelter behind Fitzwilliam Darcy. She managed a broken nod, biting her lips together to prevent an unseemly outburst, and Mrs Reynolds quickly took her in hand.
“Come, miss,” she comforted. “I’ve a nice hot bath drawn for you upstairs. There’s nothing like that after a long, cold journey.”
Georgiana was now looking over her shoulder at him in some bewilderment. “Where is Mrs Annesley?”
“Oh,” Mrs Reynolds cast a doubtful look toward Colonel Fitzwilliam as she shepherded her mistress toward the steps. “Perhaps that is a matter best left for later, Miss. Here is Sarah—come, let us see you to your rooms.” Georgiana meekly submitted to the motherly housekeeper and her upstairs maid—her shoulders bravely squared, but her chin trembling as she passed each familiar face.
Richard Fitzwilliam lifted a brow toward the steward. The man came and Richard spoke lowly, “What of Mrs Annesley? We have heard nothing of any indisposition. Miss Darcy was quite anticipating her company.”
“I believe, sir,” Mr Jefferson answered softly, “that she has been called away on some family crisis.”
“Family crisis? She had only a brother, as I recall from our first interview. What could be so important that it would call her away from her post?”
“I do not know the particulars, but she pleaded that the matter was one of some urgency, sir. She received the summons earlier in the week and believed she could return before Miss Darcy’s arrival. The fault is mine for providing for her journey, sir, but Mrs Annesleyisa lady, and not answerable to me—”
“No, no,” Richard held up a hand. “I am sure you did right. She has always proved dependable, and Mr Darcy promised her that she might request any holidays she desired. It only seems strange that she would do so just now.”
“Indeed, sir. Colonel, if I may be so bold, three letters arrived for you this morning, and I took the liberty of sending them to your accustomed apartment. Also, I expected that you would wish to view the accounts and business correspondence of the estate. Shall I arrange for them to be brought to the study?”
“The study! Saints preserve me, but I dare not. No, the library shall suit.”
“Very well. I am at your disposal, at whatever time may suit.”
“Thank you, Jefferson.” Richard felt his chest freeze, contemplating the duty he himself was about to shoulder. Everything once in Darcy’s able care—how was he to oversee it all for Georgiana? He owed it to his cousins to try, but he would have greatly preferred to be once more astride his battle charger with a brace of pistols at his hip. Nevertheless, he gave the steward a quick nod. “I need little time to refresh myself. Perhaps we may meet in the library in an hour?”
“Very good, sir.” Jefferson bowed, and left to attend his duties. A footman approached, offering to show him to his apartment, but Richard waved him off. If there was one thing he did know, it was the location of the room he always took. His brow pricked as a new notion occurred to him. Georgiana’s things ought to be moved to the Mistress’ quarters—but not yet. Not until something had been done about the adjacent Master’s chamber and Darcy’s personal effects….
Richard closed his door and leaned against it. His head swam, and his stomach twisted nauseatingly. Were his hands shaking? How was it that he could stare fearlessly down the barrel of Boney’s cannons, with the dead and dying all about him, but the present civilian demands seemed too daunting? War was what he understood—war, and politics.
Unconsciously, he straightened his uniform front with a jerk. War was no more than his duty, he tried to counsel himself. His duty he would do, though his current post was a bewildering one. So reasoning, he made his way to the writing desk and the silver tray of letters.
The first letter was from his father—odd, since they had scarcely left Matlock House. The letter must have been sent in haste to arrive before them. Sighing reluctantly, he broke the seal.
Grosvenor St, 21 September
Richard,
I have received word at last from Darcy’s attorney here in London. It is as I believed; George Darcy’s will stipulated no more than that you and FD should retain guardianship of Georgiana upon his death, and that any further provisions were for FD to make. You were to have complete secondary charge of her in the event that FD should be incapacitated or deceased.
