He looked up from the stack of educational books he was sorting and gave her a warm, amused glance. “If you are a good girl and a good example to Miss Darcy, then yes—you may come out in the spring.”
Lydia lit up like a candle. “Truly?”
“Truly. But mind you, ‘a good girl’ means more than remembering your curtsies.”
Elizabeth watched her sister skip ahead with a pang of both amusement and worry. She turned to her father. “Do you think it wise to have them in lessons alone together? There is no longer a governess—what if Georgiana lashes out… physically?”
“I am afraid there is not enough time to hire someone from London,” Mr. Bennet said, his brow furrowing. “I cannot think of anyone in Meryton or the neighboring villages that would have sufficient training to handle a position like this.”
Before Mr. Bennet could reply, Jane entered, a thoughtful expression on her face. “What about Mrs. Odber?”
Mr. Bennet blinked. “The parson’s wife?”
Jane nodded. “She can be quite firm, but she is always fair. And she has raised a houseful of her own children, with all of them turning out respectable.”
“She also helps at the orphanage and teaches at the tenants’ school when needed,” Elizabeth added.
“Very well, let us send for her.”
By late morning, Mrs. Odber arrived—broad-shouldered, clear-eyed, and perfectly self-possessed in her matron’s cap and neatly mended gloves. She listened intently to Mr. Bennet’s explanation, her expression giving little away as he described Miss Darcy’s misbehavior and the temporary arrangement.
“I will need a list of household expectations and existing rules,” she said crisply. “And I will not tolerate interference in discipline. If you ask me to do this, I do it thoroughly.”
“We would expect nothing less,” Mr. Bennet replied with a polite bow. “You will have full authority in the schoolroomand nursery wing. Any physical discipline, however, will need authorization from myself.”
A generous wage was negotiated, along with her hours—from after breakfast until the hour before dinner. It was understood this would last no longer than three weeks. Mrs. Odber nodded once, then left to prepare her own household for the temporary change.
The rest of the day was spent in a flurry of movement. Lydia’s belongings were carefully packed and carried down the hall. Stephens assisted with the heavier furniture—bedframes, trunks, even a small writing desk. He worked good-naturedly with Kitty and Lydia at his heels, offering dry, teasing remarks as they fetched linens and arranged drawers.
Mrs. Bennet fluttered from room to room, her nerves strained by the upheaval. “She is so wealthy,” she kept saying, wringing her hands. “What if she expects everything to be gilded? How can we be of use to her?”
“She will expect what we give her,” Mr. Bennet said calmly, pausing long enough to tuck a loose wisp of hair behind his wife’s ear. “And if she does not like it, she may write a letter of complaint to His Majesty.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Do not jest, Mr. Bennet. This is a great responsibility.”
“So it is. And we shall handle it with grace.” He turned to Elizabeth. “She must not be permitted to mistake kindness for indulgence. When she is good, she should be rewarded. But if she shouts or pouts or sulks—no one reacts. No appeasing tantrums.”
Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “And if she attempts anything dangerous—running away, damaging things—?”
“I am to be summoned immediately,” her father said. “Stephens will also be close at hand.”
The preparations were nearly complete by the time the sun began to set. The nursery fire was lit, the bedding freshly turned down, and an air of quiet expectancy hung over the house. Elizabeth lingered by the window as twilight settled, watching for the carriage.
Everything was in readiness. Whether or not Miss Darcy was, only time would tell.
∞∞∞
Darcy returned to Netherfield with a tight jaw and heavier step than he had left with. The house was quiet, unusually so. After speaking with the butler, they learned Georgiana had not emerged from her room all morning. A request for a breakfast tray had come around noon, which was delivered without incident.
“She is likely feeling triumphant,” Darcy muttered as they retreated to the billiard room. “She believes she has won.”
Fitzwilliam snorted. “Let her. We need the silence more than we need to correct every wrong assumption.”
The hours passed slowly, punctuated by the dull click of billiard balls and the occasional muttered remark. It was nearly four o’clock before they climbed the stairs to Georgiana’schamber. Darcy opened the door without knocking, Fitzwilliam behind him. They both stopped short at the sight.
It was carnage.
Several gowns were strewn across the room, crumpled and stained. And in the corner—Darcy flushed scarlet and looked away—were discarded rags, smeared dark red.
