Chapter Thirty-Four
Caroline stared up at him, completely baffled by what had just happened, and by the sudden change that had taken place, transforming Fitzwilliam’s face from the sternest judge to the most exasperated of countenances.
“I had to test you,” said he. “I had to know that you wanted her beyond all else, that you would give up everything for her. Love is a selfish act, Caroline. It drives us mad with desire. It can be selfless too, in that we would do anything for the one we love.” His eyes grew distant for a moment, and she knew without a doubt that he was picturing Lizzy in some private moment. “It is my familial duty and the honour of my life to protect my sister by any means necessary.”
Caroline’s knees were weak. She held on to the back of the chair, steadying herself. “Was it also necessary to frighten me half to death in the process?”
“Both necessary and amusing,” he said, unable to repress a brief smirk. “You must have known that whatever my feelings on the matter, I would never have let your name be ruined, Caroline. I have saved lesser men from far worse.”
“I knew no such thing. You absolute devil,” she breathed. “I thought you were really furious with me.”
“Oh, I was. Until I understood what you truly meant to my sister. She has told me everything, which makes you entirely unlike her first match. Georgiana has always been... different, and though I did not foresee her happiness linked to a woman, I have suspected that she would never be satisfied with the kind of life and love that the ton considers appropriate. Her feelings cannot be confined to a neat box.” He sighed. “And had I been sought after to provide a female suitor for her amongst all the ladies of our acquaintance, trust me when I say you would have been the absolute last on that list.”
Ouch.She hoped that was his last barb, else she would have to revisit the idea of a stabby demise.
“But to quash the flame in her that you have lit would be both barbaric and brutish,” he went on. “I am her brother, not her jailer. If she cannot help loving, then she cannot help loving. All I have ever wanted was to see her happy. I doubted she would ever...”
He trailed off, then shrugged helplessly.He doubted it would ever happen, Caroline thought, her heart aching for Georgiana. “Where is she?”
“Waiting for you out there.” He pointed behind him, to the doorway leading to the private room. “Had you failed the test, I would have had Mrs Reynolds, who is waiting there”—he pointed at the hallway—“escort you to your room to pack forthwith. You would have been on a carriage within a quarter hour, and you would never have been permitted to set foot on my estate again.”
“You thought of everything, I see.”
“Not everything.” He cleared his throat, looking slightly ashamed. “I confess I was... Well, suffice it to say that I doubted your character and your constancy both. You are, infact, a much better woman than I once thought. Forgive me for that, Caroline. I shall never underestimate you again.”
“When last we saw each other, you listed my flaws,” she said, her voice shaky. “You were right about them, of course, but you mistakenly included stubbornness, when in fact it may be one of my few virtues. I am determined, sir.” She swallowed. “When I set my mind on something, I will pursue it to the ends of the earth.”
“Hmm. You know, I think you and my wife will get along rather well. You have a lot in common.”
Caroline couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. Darcy watched in bafflement as she clung to the chair, half-hysterical and completely unable to explain why it was so funny.
“Long story,” she gasped eventually, in response to his raised eyebrow. “Yes, I believe that Miss Eliz—I mean, Mrs Darcy and I shall henceforth get along very well indeed.”
He nodded, striding to the door which led to the hallway. “I shall leave you be for now and shall expect you both later for dinner.”
Caroline waited until the sound of his footsteps had died away before she turned the handle of the adjoining door, took a deep breath, and entered the private room. She had never been inside this one, for it was Fitzwilliam’s own domain. Georgiana, who had evidently been pacing the room in some agitation, froze upon seeing Caroline. The moment stretched on, neither willing to speak. The air was ripe with cedar and woodsmoke, but Caroline found herself searching for the dark scent of roses in every breath.
“Did you know I’d come for you?” she asked.
“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Georgiana’s throat bobbed. “Love is a leap of faith, is it not?”
Caroline crossed the room in two steps, pulling Georgiana to her in a tug so violent the impact almost knocked the breath from her lungs. “I told you once that I would never look back, were it my own heart on the line,” she breathed. “At the time, I thought it simply a sensible course of action. Now, I believe it the only course.” She pressed a tender kiss to Georgiana’s temple. “Dearest, I have but one question to ask you. Will you promise to always follow where I lead?”
“Always, darling,” Georgiana sobbed, a warm trickle of tears on Caroline’s shoulder. “As long as you will do the same.”
“I promise,” Caroline murmured, her own eyes stinging. “Let us only ever look forward.”
Dear Self,
It is not always easy to improve, is it? In fact, it may be the hardest thing we have ever done, made harder by the knowledge that the journey is an endless one. There is no point at which we will achieve the most perfect version of our self, no point at which we might rest our tired feet and say, aha, the thing is done!
That lack of true destination should not discourage us, though. Far from it. We should not try to better our self to prove someone else wrong, nor should we advance only to impress another. We ought to improve only in order to become the person we wish to be: kind, generous, unselfish, but with the strength to hold on to our convictions and values despite external pressures, and with the courage to follow love wherever it leads us. I think we finally understand that, do we not?
And, of course, one may do all that and still maintain one’s excellent tastes and opinions, even if one has learned to share them a little more... sparingly. Did not someone important say that “enough is as good as a feast”? If not, then consider the phrase coined by my own hand.
Hmm. Perhaps I shall write a book after all.
Yours, and mine,
Caroline Bingley
