“I see Donaldson has not let you revert to wearing a sling even when riding,” I remarked. “Did you bring him?”
“He continued on to Netherfield while I stopped at Longbourn. You should commiserate with him as to my regimen of cure if it interests you,” he replied with a shrug of his uninjured shoulder, “but do not ask me anything about what I prefer not to describe.”
“Well, I hope you never get so drunk you fall off a horse again,” my sister said with prim disgust, startling us into exchanging a wary look. Having temporarily forgotten she had not been privy to the truth, we had been speaking too freely of his injury.
“For your sake, Georgie, I pledge never to do so again,” he said with a lightness that suggested he was not, in fact, seriously considering sobriety. Then directing us away from thattreacherous topic, he asked her what she thought of her friend’s family, which led the two of them to pull slightly in front of me to ride close enough to talk without raising their voices.
This left me free to fall back and to consider them as they talked animatedly of the visit. I admired Fitzwilliam’s gift for such adept manoeuvres executed so seamlessly, for Georgiana had no idea his intention was to make her think of something else. But by his posture alone I knew his mood had changed, and he was, in fact, newly preoccupied.
Our little slip had hung heavily over both of us. I would consider it a tragedy if, upon hearing his name mentioned, my sister was to be thrown back into a state of dejection over George Wickham. After seeming to have forgotten that rake’s existence, her happiness was so profound of late, I thought its loss might be much worse than it would have been had she only been mildly content for once.
The remainder of the day was full, however, and only late that night did Fitzwilliam come to my room to speak privately to me.
“By the grace of God I did not make a joke about being shot like a partridge,” he said. “Perhaps we should not have brought Georgiana with us,” he added as he paced in front of the fireplace. “What if Wickham’s name is brought up in conversation?”
By this time, he was gripping his forehead as if forcing his brain to know what to do. “But,” he continued, now engaged in dialogue with himself, “the militia is no longer here, and Colonel Forsterdidliberally brand the man a deserter. Would that his name has been struck altogether from this society because of it.”
Unable to offer him any reassurance, I listened to his wrangling. And when he fell silent, I said, “If Wickham’s name is mentioned in her presence, and if she is shocked and overborne by such memories as must beset her, the chances are MissElizabeth will be beside her. We have no choice but to trust her friend to pour enough sense into her that she might quickly recover.”
“And if they are not together?”
“They enjoy sufficient confidence that I believe Georgiana would confide in her. You and I,” I said resignedly, “cannot always protect her from that memory, and if she sooner or later must confront it, let us assume she can weather it. She has grown up a great deal.”
He conceded that she had and that was something at least. And when he left, I sat up for another hour, pondering this wrinkle along with every pitfall of this, my latest adventure.
What emerged from this spate of deep thinking was a map, per se, of how I should negotiate this visit to Hertfordshire. Ostensibly, we had come to provide Miss Bennet some support, aided by my cousin’s plan to take a few arrows for her. My sister’s felicity was perhaps as great a consideration. I was wholly invested in Georgiana’s first genuine friendship, which had grown deep and must at all costs be preserved. Other than finding opportunities for the two friends to meet, I had little else to do in that regard.
And as to the matter of my own standing with said friend—which was so primary an issue it had become an assumption upon which all else was based—I considered my first interaction with Elizabeth earlier that day while at Longbourn. I had been standing in the background, and unlike everyone else in the room, she did not forget me.Shehad approachedme.
For some reason, my cousin’s words of months ago returned to me. Napoleon’s strategy is his strength.I decided that I, too, should have a strategy, and though I wished to immediately march over to Longbourn and speak to her father, I felt that patient constancy was required. I would be as a tree branch toher ever-mutable bird, for she would, in time, need a place to land.
CHAPTER 35
Having settled on this plan, I went resignedly to bed with the expectation of a great many hours of useless waiting, punctuated by an occasional word or look upon which nebulous direction my next step towards an understanding would become clear.
Early the next morning, however, my strategy was thrown into the ditch by the arrival of Carsten at my bedside with a candle.
“My word, what time is it?” I mumbled petulantly.
“Not yet seven, sir. Miss Elizabeth Bennet is downstairs and has asked for you.”
“Good God!” I cried as I leapt out of bed. “What has happened? Is she in the?—”
“She is in the servant’s hall, sir,” he hastily explained, “and appears to be in fine spirits. She asked for me with the intention of discreetly enquiring if you would care to walk her home.”
Needless to say, my preparations were frantic and my morning shave sacrificed in order for me to throw on my coat, step into my boots, fly down the back staircase, and come to a panting, speechless halt before her.
“Good morning, sir,” she said brightly. “Might we step outside? I really should be getting home before the breakfast table is set.”
I instantly complied, of course, and resisting the strong urge to apologise for the shabbiness of my appearance, I steered her around the bustle of the stables at first light and, merely following her lead, found myself walking beside her down the lane commonly used by the servants and merchants who came to Netherfield Park’s rear door.
“I have shocked you,” she said with a sideways glance.
“Not at all. I am used to being rousted from bed in order to walk a lady home in the half-light of dawn. Should I be alarmed?”
Her gurgle of laughter suggested I had amused her, and she took the arm I offered. “I do not rightly know.Shouldyou be alarmed, Mr Darcy?”
“Until I know what is required of me, I believe I should at least be allowed to be confused,” I said. “What time did you leave Longbourn?”
