Chapter Seven
Now
At Pemberley
Iwalked into the drawing room and saw – and saw –“ Mr. Darcy stopped, his face twisted in torment.
“Go on,” the Countess said, grimly.
“He was all but on top of her, his mouth pressed to hers, his hand up her skirt,” he concluded in a torrent of words.
The Countess gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “Did he – did they –“
“I do not know. He leaped off her when I walked in and she burst into tears. Then she said that it was all right because they were betrothed and liberties were allowed. This, I was given to understand, was the opinion of Mrs. Younge.” His voice was bitter.
“And then?” The Countess whispered.
“Wickham tried to brazen it out, saying that Georgiana had promised herself to him. But once he understood that she could not marry without my consent, nor would the dowry be paidwithout my consent, he lashed out at her, calling her a trollop and a fool, and she began to weep. I did not know whether to comfort her or lash out at him, so I suppose I did what was easiest.”
“You lashed out, of course.” The Countess’ tone dripped with sarcasm.
“Yes. I broke his nose, which is my only satisfaction.”
“And Mrs. Younge?”
“While Wickham and I were fighting, she ran up to her room and packed her bags. When she came back down to the drawing room, I told them both that I would kill them if they ever breathed a word of this to anyone. And then she left with him.”
“I wonder that you did not kill them both on the spot.”
“I wish now that I had.”
“I wish you had as well, for now we have a very terrible situation. Thetonwill never forget this.”
“But there is no proof! It is just gossip!” Mr. Darcy’s words were torn from his throat.
“You know as well as I that it does not matter. What has Georgiana said?”
“Very little. She could not stop crying; she wept for hours. I tried to comfort her, telling her that it would be all right, that no one would know, but it was no use. She spoke not a word on our journey back to Pemberley, and as soon as we got here, she locked herself in her room. When she finally came downstairs for breakfast, I thought she would manage to put all this behind her, and then she saw the newspaper article. I tried to hide it from her, but she was too quick.”
“And then?”
“Then she returned to her room and locked herself in again. She has not come out since.”
“All this time? She has been in there for – what, a week?”
“Well, a week before the article and then – yes, another week after. I have had trays left outside her door, and she eats, but only a little. She allows a maid to come in once a day, but that is all.”
“She must come out.” The Countess’ voice was stern.
“I agree, but you have heard her. She will not come out and she will not speak to anyone.”
The Countess thought for a moment. “No doubt this bit of gossip was fed to the paper by one or both of the miscreants.”
“No doubt, but there is little I can do. I imagine that they have both disappeared into London’s stews.” Mr. Darcy’s tone was acid.
“We will pay to have a retraction printed,” the Countess said. “I will write to Henry at once. It is the right thing to do, but it will not matter. The harm has been done.”
“But, Aunt…” He trailed off.
