London was finally cooling off. Georgiana was grateful for the change in the weather, as her daily chores were exhausting enough without the relentless heat of summer adding to her discomfort.
She had been plagued by bouts of nausea, coming upon her without warning at any time during the day. Today she had vomited upon a rug, earning her a ferocious scolding from Mrs. Younge.
“I do not do it on purpose, Mrs. Younge,” Georgiana protested. “I would run to the chamber pot if I knew it was coming upon me.”
“What does that matter? The rug is still soiled, on purpose or not. Clean up your mess, immediately.”
“Yes, Mrs. Younge.” Georgiana collected a pail and a scrub brush from the kitchen and rushed to obey. Mrs. Younge did not tolerate excuses or delays.
After the rug was finally clean – and it had certainly been none too clean even before Georgiana’s accident – she rose to her feet, her back screaming in pain, and lugged the cleaning supplies back to the kitchen. Once there, she rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat.
Mrs. Younge appeared behind her. “What are you doing?”
“I am hungry, Mrs. Younge.”
“And so?”
“Is there nothing to eat?”
Mrs. Younge pushed her aside, opened a cupboard, and pulled out a quarter loaf of hard bread. “Here.”
Georgiana took the bread, but then said, “I am carrying a child. Should I not be given more food?”
Mrs. Younge considered that, and then said, “I will speak with George.”
In the middle of the afternoon, Georgiana went upstairs to rest. Permission for this daily respite had only been given when her condition had become known, and she was grateful for it.
She heard the creak of feet coming up the staircase, then the sounds of a door opening and closing, and then muffled voices. Georgiana, by now quite familiar with the various sounds of the household, knew that Mrs. Younge and George were closeted together in Mrs. Younge’s room.
On tiptoes, she went to the room and put her ear against the door. It was dreadfully bold, as she knew she would be punished if she were to be caught.
She heard Mrs. Younge: “She is hungry all the time, and that means the babe is not being properly nourished.”
George: “And what do you wantmeto do about that?”
Mrs. Younge: “Wait – there is more. Once she becomes bigger, she will not be able to do as much work around the house. I was thinking we might have her get a job as a seamstress. That would bring in money, which would help feed all of us.”
George: “And she could do that right up until the baby comes, could she not?”
Mrs. Younge: “Exactly. And she would be in a back room in the shop, so no one would see her.”
George: “You always were a clever one, Evelina!”
And then – and then! – there was the sound of kissing! He was kissing her! Her husband was kissing Mrs. Younge! Then more sounds came, sounds Georgiana recognised from her own bedroom experiences. Georgiana almost gasped, but managed to clamp her hand over her mouth before any sound escaped.
Hurrying back to her room, she threw herself on the bed. She did not love George; no, she hated him! But he was her husband, and he should not be doingthatwith another woman. Especially not Mrs. Younge! But Georgiana did not weep; she was long past tears.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Miss Bingley had a feeling that something was going on. She had heard her brother, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam whispering in heated voices. They had disappeared together into the billiard room, with the door closed. Why would the door need to be closed if they were playing billiards? For a brief moment, she had wondered if Mr. Darcy had asked Charles for her hand – but what would Colonel Fitzwilliam have to do with it? No, that did not make sense.
She discussed it with Louisa, who promptly discussed it with her husband, Harold. Harold told Louisa that Colonel Fitzwilliam was vying with Charles for the attention of Miss Bennet, and they had agreed – over glasses of brandy, so it must be serious – that they would let the best man win. Louisa had asked if Harold remembered anything else. He had screwed up his face, thought hard, and said he recalled that in the billiard room, the Colonel had promised something about abandoning the field if Bingley could prove that he could control his younger sister. Or something like that, Harold added, shrugging.
Mrs. Hurst immediately passed this information on to Caroline, who retired to her room to think about it. Caroline would very much prefer to have Miss Bennet select the Colonel, rather than her brother. If she could assist Miss Bennet in making that choice, she would be pleased to do so.
There was, she thought, no time like the present. Was Charles going to Longbourn today? It was time to find out. Going back downstairs, she asked her sister where Charles might be.
“I believe he is in the library with Mr. Darcy and the Colonel,” Mrs. Hurst replied.
