Richard managed to not roll his eyes. His cousin was a brilliant man, of that there could be no doubt, but his understanding of the finer points of human emotions was often lacking.
“Do you think Miss Elizabeth wrong?” he asked.
“I suppose she is not wrong.”
“So will you speak with Georgiana?”
“I will have to, evidently.”
“Be aware, Darcy, that Georgiana is angry with you as well.”
“Angry atme? On what possible grounds?” Mr. Darcy was genuinely bewildered.
“I think you should hear it from her. But remember this, Darcy: evil triumphs if good men do nothing. I know not who first said it, but I believe it to be true. If England did not send men across the sea to stop Napoleon, he would conquer all of Europe.”
“You are doubtless referring to me not having Wickham locked up years ago for debt.”
“I am, yes.”
Mr. Darcy left the room. He managed to make his way to his bedroom without encountering anyone other than an upstairs maid; she took one look at his countenance and scurried quickly out of his way.
That night, he was tormented by thought of Georgiana, of Wickham, of his father, of collecting debts, of Wickham in prison, of Georgiana working for Mrs. Younge as a scullery maid…the images went round and round in his head, depriving him of sleep. By the time the sun crept over the horizon, he had come to understand.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Mrs. Bingley was pleased to find that her cousin and her husband were at the breakfast table, but her brother was not. Both gentlemen rose and bowed as she entered the room. Her husband beamed at her, as he did every morning. What a happy disposition he had! What a pleasure it was to see his smile each morning!
“Good morning, Charles,” she said, smiling at him.
“Good morning, Georgiana. I trust you slept well?”
“I did, I thank you. And you?”
Mr. Bingley hesitated.
“Oh, Charles! Is something distressing you?”
“Well, to be frank, I cannot like the way Darcy treats you. It is my place to protect you, and I think I should say something to him. Fitzwilliam, do you not agree?”
“I wish you would not,” Georgiana said, anxiously, before her cousin could respond.
“And why is that? You are his sister and his hostess; he owes you courtesy and respect,” Mr. Bingley insisted.
“I do not want to hear him tell me how badly I have behaved.”
From the doorway, Mr. Darcy said, quietly, “Georgiana, it is I who have behaved badly.”
Georgiana gasped and almost dropped her teacup. “Brother!”
“I have come to understand that I scarcely deserve the title, Georgiana.”
“But it was I who –“
Mr. Fitzwilliam interrupted them. “Perhaps this conversation should be held somewhere more private.”
Georgiana glanced at the two footmen in the room; their eyes were trained on the ceiling and they were doing their level best to pretend deafness. She nodded and rose. “Perhaps the library,” she suggested.
The four of them made their way to the Netherfield library. Mr. Darcy noted that a few new volumes had been added to the sparse collection. Georgiana’s novels, he surmised.
