***
Georgiana sat on the bed of the room she had been assigned at Netherfield. The bed was soft, the room airy, fresh, and clean, but none of that mattered. For she had ruined her life, ruined her family, ruined everything!
And the worst was yet to come. What if she was with child? What then?
She buried her head in her hands and wept.
Chapter Fifteen
Matlock House
The Countess sifted through her morning mail. “Ah, something from Darcy!” She slit open the seal and read it aloud.
Dear Aunt,
Everyone here at Netherfield Park has been everything kind and welcoming, but alas! Georgiana joins us for dinner, but otherwise is in her room, just as she was at Pemberley. I had hoped that a change of scene would result in a change in her spirits, but so far, this has not been the case.
For myself, I will admit that this has been a welcome reprieve. Bingley is a cheerful sort, and his innumerable questions about managing his leased estate distract me from my pessimistic thoughts.
Dare I hope that your social and political lives are returning to normal?
Your affectionate nephew,
Darcy
A commotion in the entry way had the Countess rising from her chair just as the breakfast room door swung open. “Richard! Oh, Richard!!”
“Mother,” he replied, striding toward her and bending down to kiss her cheek. “Father,” he went on, turning to the Earl, who had risen from his chair to clap his son on the back.
“To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” his mother enquired. “I thought you on the continent! Sit, Richard. Tea? Coffee?”
“Coffee,” he replied, nodding toward a footman, who leaped forward to pour a cup. “I was on the continent, yes. But I am here in response to your letter.”
“But why? There is nothing you can do,” the Countess replied, puzzled.
“Oh, but there is,” Richard said, calmly. “First, I will find Wickham and kill him. Then, I will seek out Darcy and let him explain to me why I should not kill him as well.”
“Richard,” his father began, warningly.
“No, no, do not waste your breath, Father. Wickham is a dead man. Darcy, I will at least speak to first.”
“It is hardly Darcy’s fault.” The Countess said, weakly.
“Is it not? I confess that I do not understand your reasoning. He was to hire a companion for Georgiana. He picked the first one who sent in an application without bothering to check her references. Is that not his fault?”
“It was careless of him, of course,” the Countess said. She had condemned her nephew for this exact thing, but she now felt the need to tamp down Richard’s ire.
“Careless?Careless? When was the last time you hired a servant without checking the references, Mother?”
“That is different,” the Countess protested.
“Tell me how it is different. I am most attentive.”
The Countess had never heard quite this tone from her second son before. He was calm, but dangerous under that calm. He sounded like a sword in its scabbard, sharp and deadly, simply waiting for its moment. “Richard, you are scaring me.”
“I apologise, Mother. I had no intention of frightening you.”
“It is different because Darcy has rarely been in the position of having to hire staff. Mrs. Reynolds normally takes care of such things. But there is no need for you to harm Darcy. Believe me, he is suffering enough.”
