Mrs. Nicholls gave one sharp nod. “I shall see to it.”
Elizabeth looked down at Georgiana, whose breathing was still uneven and quick. “Come. Let us get you settled somewhere quiet.”
“I cannot go upstairs,” Georgiana whispered. “I cannot—if he comes back—”
“He will not reach you,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Not in this house. Not through your brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bingley, my uncle, and half the servants. And certainly not through me.”
That won the faintest flicker of attention through Georgiana’s tears.
Elizabeth helped Georgiana from the room. The girl leaned upon her heavily, though she was taller than Elizabeth had first realized, her body made clumsy by shock. They moved slowly up the stairs, a maid following with candles though it was not yet so late that they were needed. Netherfield’s halls, so full of celebration an hour earlier, seemed changed now, every shadow lengthened by fear.
In the bedchamber, Elizabeth guided Georgiana to a chair by the fire. Georgiana’s maid, pale and frightened, entered moments later, and together they helped her out of her gown and into a nightdress and wrapper. Georgiana obeyed without seeming to understand any of it. Her tears came and went, sometimes silent, sometimes bursting forth again whenever some new thought struck her.
“He will take me,” she whispered once. “He always gets what he wants.”
“No,” Elizabeth said, kneeling before her and taking both her hands. “He has frightened you. That is not the same as having power over you.”
“But the paper—”
“May be false. May be void. May be many things besides what he claims. Your brother and cousin will not rest until they know.”
Georgiana’s chin trembled. “If they must give him my dowry—”
“Then it will be a villain taking money, not a husband taking you. There is all the difference in the world.”
At that, Georgiana began to cry again, but less violently. Elizabeth settled her into bed, propped the pillows, and sat beside her.
Mrs. Nicholls entered with a tray. The brandy’s scent rose sharp and warm from the cup. The laudanum made Elizabeth uneasy, but the dose was very small. Georgiana drank only because Elizabeth held the cup and coaxed her through each swallow.
“There,” Elizabeth murmured. “That is well done.”
“I am sorry,” Georgiana whispered. “I am ruining everything.”
“No.” Elizabeth stroked the hair back from her damp temple. “You have ruined nothing.”
“But tonight was to be happy. For you and my brother.”
“It still is.”
Georgiana’s eyes opened, confused and wet.
Elizabeth smiled gently. “Happiness does not cease to exist because wicked people attempt to frighten it away. It may have to sit quietly for a little while, but it remains.”
A tremulous breath escaped Georgiana. “You truly will be my sister?”
“Yes.”
“I always wanted one.”
“So did I,” Elizabeth said, though she had four already. Somehow, the answer was still true.
Georgiana’s hand found hers beneath the coverlet and held tight. Elizabeth remained beside her, speaking softly of ordinarythings because ordinary things seemed to calm her: the walking paths around Longbourn, the music she liked best, the Bennet girls, Jane’s kindness, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s ridiculous observations, the likelihood that Lydia would one day terrify every officer in England. Once or twice Georgiana almost smiled. More often, she cried until the laudanum, the tears, and sheer exhaustion began to pull her under.
Her breathing slowed at last. Her fingers loosened around Elizabeth’s. A final hiccupping sob shook her, then another smaller one, and then she slept.
Elizabeth stayed a few minutes longer, stroking her hair until she was certain the sleep held.
Only then did she rise.
