“Naturally, her education is not within my purview, but I trust your ladyship will take up the matter with Colonel Fitzwilliam upon his return. I understand that he alone may direct matters pertaining to the estate and Miss Darcy, save those arrangements specifically delegated to others for the time when he was to be away.”
“Fitzwilliam would have left such matters to his family,” Lady Catherine waved a dismissive hand.
Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye, and they shared a mischievous smile. The girl tiptoed softly toward the writing desk that had become Elizabeth’s private work space. “I believe, my lady, that he did leave a signed directive here, and another copy with Miss Darcy’s solicitor. Is that it, that you have found in the writing desk, Miss Darcy?” Georgiana came round the desk, a folded note in her hand. She passed it silently to her aunt and then stepped back, shielding herself behind Elizabeth from the firestorm that was to come.
Lady Catherine had taken the letterhead, and her countenance washed white with rage as she read. Elizabeth knew perfectly well what it said;
“’Miss Elizabeth Bennet is to hold administrative authority over household affairs during my absence, her judgment subject only to Miss Darcy’s wishes. Any business affairs Mr Jefferson would normally report to the Master or Mistress shall be directed through my agent, Edward Gardiner of Cheapside, London.’”
The note went on to specify the dates and events through which his wishes should remain in effect, and even named Mr Edward Gardiner and Mr Charles Bingley as proxy guardians to Miss Darcy, should some accident befall him in his travels.
The note crumpled slowly in her hand as it fell, shaking and ice cold. “Lies!” came the savage whisper. “Impossible!” she ejaculated more forcefully. “You would deny the claims of family, of interest, in favour of this… this interloper! Georgiana Darcy, I—”
Georgiana was still cowering as her aunt warmed up to her tirade. Insults and threats continued to shower down, causing her to flinch with each one, but Elizabeth stood stalwart, her expression serene. After a moment, she nudged the young mistress with an elbow and whispered something that Lady Catherine did not trouble herself to hear. Georgiana gaped back in astonishment, but Elizabeth smiled, tipped her head, and whispered, “You can do it!”
Georgiana took a trembling step from behind Elizabeth and drew a galvanising breath. Lady Catherine was still raging. “—My sister’s daughter, and my brother’s own son, handing over authority that rightly belongs only to our family, to a tradesman and a country ch… what do you have to say for yourself, Georgiana?” She ceased her vitriol long enough to pause mid-insult and point an accusing finger at her niece.
Georgiana cleared her throat and dropped a nervous curtsey. “If you please, Aunt, I shall have Mrs Reynolds prepare your favourite room. I am afraid I was conducting some business with my steward when you arrived, which remains unfinished. I must return to it now.” She swallowed, blinked hopefully at Elizabeth, then curtseyed once more before walking quickly to the door. She summoned the footman and gave her direction, curtseyed a third time to her speechless aunt, and then disappeared from sight. Elizabeth had no doubts that the girl had broken to a run as soon as she could.
Lady Catherine turned slowly back to Elizabeth, her expression black and her jaw welded in fury. Elizabeth smiled sweetly. “Would your ladyship care for some refreshment after the long drive?”
The lady’s mouth worked and she spat out a sullen, “No!” before turning on her heel and swirling from the room.
Elizabeth released a shaking breath. She still could not decide whether it was for the best that she had been present for that particular confrontation. It had been Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wish, and Georgiana had been grateful for it. That would have to suffice, she decided, but she still did not like feeling the intruder in what ought to have been a family matter.
Lady Catherine had scarcely been gone a moment when Lydia’s furtive shape peeked around the door frame. “Laws, I thought she would never leave! Has she really gone?”
“Only above stairs. I believe she has determined to remain some while.”
Lydia entered the room fully, fanning herself as she had begun to do of late. “What a horrid woman! I thought she was going to eat poor Georgie. Is she always so friendly?”
Elizabeth chuckled. “She is more amenable if one compliments her, but her fireplace and her grounds were not at hand today for me to admire.”
Lydia made a face. “I can see why she likes that nit-wit Collins for a parson. Only think, Lizzy, if you had married him! You never did back down from a match of words, and you never fake a compliment. It makes me laugh to think how she would have had to put up with you all the time! Oh, better yet, think if you were to marry a relation of hers—Colonel Fitzwilliam, for example. I think he likes you well enough, and would it not infuriate her? Better still, if you had married her favourite Mr Darcy—oh, how terribly funny it would have been! I daresay she would have driven all the way to Longbourn in the middle of the night, just to have her say—oh, I think my side shall split from laughing!”
Elizabeth sighed, her shoulders drooping. “Surely even Lady Catherine would not do such a thing. Come, dear, let us look in on Georgiana. I believe this day shall see even more trials before it is over!”
Chapter thirty-two
Leicester
Bingley’shorsewasadrastic improvement over the hired mounts Darcy had ridden into Hertfordshire, but all too soon he had to part with it. With regret, Darcy watched as it was led away. Bingley’s gelding would be rested, fed, and sent back to its master on the morrow. Had he been willing to travel more gently, he could perhaps have done without changing horses for a while longer, but he did not dare tarry. Fortunately, the loan of the horse and the purse—not to mention the attire—had done some little to improve Darcy’s status at the coaching inns, and he was thereafter able to secure better horses and better accommodations.
Bingley had seen him go with some alarm. “Truly, Darce,” he had pleaded two days earlier, “you mustn’t leave all at once! Stay, and at least see my wife and take a meal with us. You look dreadful, old chap, and my Jane would be horrified to know that I let you go on so.”
“That is to her credit, particularly considering the injustice I once did her, but I hold you to your promise, Bingley. It is chance enough that one of your stablemen might have recognised me. You mustn’t tell your wife.”
“Not even she!” Bingley had mourned. “Certainly, I shall be true to my word, but must I keep this even from Jane? She would be as pleased as I that you have returned, and I would dearly wish to share all with her. You know Jane, she is discretion itself, and would never reveal a word, nor even a hint of one. Why, I recall a time when even you could not discern her thoughts!”
Darcy had paused here; half-turned away and staring at the ground. “Forgive me, Bingley,” he had spoken in a hushed voice. “I was wrong about her. You have done well, and I am pleased for you.” He had turned back to his friend, sorrow creasing his brow. “I nearly cost you the very greatest happiness, and it was naught but arrogance on my part.”
Bingley had smiled in that modest, boyish way of his. “If you were not just returned from the dead, I might find it in my heart to be cross with you—and Caroline as well, for I know what part she played. I ought to be infuriated at the deception, but you did send me that last note, which I take to mean you had come to think differently on the matter. Yes, let the past be buried. Do not think on it any longer, I beg you, for I do not count it arrogance that you attempted to guide me as you thought best. It was I, after all, who heeded when I ought not to have. Certainly, I have not profited by my marriage in aught but matters of the heart, but in that respect, I am as rich as Croesus.”
Darcy had dared to look his friend full in the face then, and what followed might have been a moment of such vulnerability as would have done him much good. Instead, he had simply given a brisk nod and turned away, taking a handful of mane and stepping into the saddle. “I thank you, Bingley. I shall write as soon as I may.”
He had sorted the riding crop in his hand in preparation to ride away when he had sighed and looked back down, a conflicted expression on his face. “I would take back my request—as regards Mrs Bingley, that is. I would be gratified to know that she was aware of my circumstances and wished me well. Such a blessing from a woman as generous as she cannot do me harm.” Bingley had beamed his satisfaction, and Darcy had ridden away, leaving much unsaid.
By this, the third day of his travels, Darcy had begun to recover some little of his physical strength. It came at a price—every muscle screamed in protest whenever he dismounted, and his once-strong thighs could barely grip the saddle from exhaustion. It would be a temporary state, he comforted himself, and he would be once more hale and robust ere long. For that reason alone, he would have continued on horseback as far as Pemberley, but his desire to avoid the close interior of a carriage—however private—added incentive to his desire to ride.
