“Honestly, I don’t wish to,” said Mr. Darcy. “I wish to make plans, go to Scotland, marry the love of my life, and take my chances with whatever scandal it is you think you can stir up, Caroline. Good luck with it.” He tossed his napkin on his plate. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me? I seem to have lost my appetite.”
Elizabeth watched him go.
Caroline got up with a huff. “We shall most certainly be leaving in the morning. And when I get back to London, you mark my words, I shall ruin everyone associated with the Darcy name.” She stalked out.
Miss Darcy shook her head, quite worried.
Louisa shrugged at them both. “I shall try to talk some sense into her. But you must realize, Elizabeth, that the only thing I can say to my husband to convince him not to be very angry with me is that the baby is Mr. Darcy’s. Then, if Caroline speaks up, she’ll have him seeing it cannot be Mr. Darcy’s in only moments. I shall be forced to agree that Mr. Darcy insists on marrying you, anyway, and there is simply no way to keep it quiet unlessyou appease my sister.” She walked out, too, not waiting for a response.
Miss Darcy massaged her temples.
Elizabeth took a bite of food and chewed. She swallowed. “I am sorry to be such a bother and a problem, Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, call me Georgiana.”
“I know it’s not proper to dine with me, Georgiana,” said Elizabeth. “But I am very hungry.” She continued to eat.
“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” said Georgiana. “It’s not your fault, you see. But Fitz has treated you like some wounded princess now that it’s you who have been sullied by George, and when it was me, he treated me as if I were tainted and untouchable.”
“You call him George?” said Elizabeth.
“I have known him since I was very small,” said Georgiana. “He was George to everyone then.” She picked up a glass and took a drink. “I don’t suppose you have any interest in seeing him again?”
Elizabeth set down her fork. “I don’t think so, no.”
“That’s a pity,” said Georgiana. “I should like to see him myself, but I don’t wish to go alone, and I certainly can’t have Fitz there.”
“What do you want to see him for?” said Elizabeth.
“I know not, exactly, only that I feel I would like it,” said Georgiana. “Fitz says he is bound to his bed. I daresay I should have nothing to fear.”
Elizabeth eyed the other woman. Did she wish to see him? Oddly, perhaps she did, and she could not say why either. Perhaps she wished to rage at him. Or to sob at him, to make him watch her sob. Or perhaps to hurt him. She picked up her fork. “All right. I shall accompany you.”
“Truly?” said Georgiana, surprised but pleased. “Well, that’s marvelous, then. How about this evening, after dinner?”
“So soon?” said Elizabeth.
“Well, I think my brother intends to take you off to Scotland to marry you tomorrow,” said Georgiana. “If we intend to go, we must make haste.”
Elizabeth supposed this was true.
ELIZABETH AND GEORGIANAwere shown into Mr. Wickham’s bedchamber in the cottage by his father himself, who spoke fondly to Georgiana, as if she were his own daughter.
Wickham was sleeping.
He snored softly, lying on his pillow, his face pasty. His shirt was open and the wound on his chest was bandaged, but Elizabeth could see that it was very red and swollen, little tendrils of redness going out from it, reaching out into his skin.
He might die yet,she realized. That wound did not look good.
Georgiana and the elder Wickham spoke in gentle tones at the foot of the bed until the young Wickham awoke suddenly. When he saw the both of them, his eyes widened and he cowered under the covers, shivering. “Go away, Papa,” he gasped out.
“Well, he is fond of dismissing me,” said the elder Mr. Wickham, amused. “I am not going anywhere, George, you know. I am going to be here with you.”
Wickham’s eyes sought out his father. “No, Papa, I don’t wish you to hear this.”
And so they were all alone soon enough. Elizabeth and Georgiana stood at the foot of the bed, looking down on the man, who was shivering a little, his hair pasty with sweat against his brow.
“You are angry with me,” he said, looking back and forth between them. “You would be, of course. I am sorry for it.” A long pause. “It’s pointless, I suppose, to bother with an apology.What does it matter? As if you really could forgive me. As if it’s a thing that can be repented of. As if there’s a way to make amends.”
