Page 47 of The Widower of Pemberley

“Yes!”

Betwixt the games with the child, Georgiana said, “I have never been so delighted! I could scarcely sleep to think about what great fun we shall have. Fitzwilliam left very early this morning, but I was up, and he told me to give you his love.”

Elizabeth felt an odd shock at that. “Did he say that—what were his words?”

“Oh, I do not remember… ‘Give my greetings to Elizabeth and tell her that I am eager to see her.’”

That did not amount to the same at all.

Elizabeth felt a little hollowness at the thought. She found that she craved, just a little, appreciation from Mr. Darcy.

She must discipline herself not to hope for such.

Georgiana continued, “Fitzwilliam said that he wishes us to all be home by Christmas! We always burn a great yule log, and it will be so much better this year than last—though Mama wasnearly dead then. She lived only two weeks into this year. Oh, but Lizzy, I am sorry, I did not think. You cannot be so happy right now as I imagine we shall be. You are full of anxiety about your father. It is terrible. And you have always been so fond of him.”

That touched on emotions that Elizabeth did not currently wish to explore. Instead, she asked, “What were your mother and father like?”

Georgiana frowned. “Papa was…he spoke little to me. But when he decided that I must do something, he would be terrible if I did not behave. I once was birched fiercely when I refused to stand from the pianoforte when it was time for my French lesson. I deserved it. I had screamingly insisted that I would continue to play, and I was old enough to know better. Mama was always angry with me that I had not made dear friends at school. But you must ask Fitzwilliam. Papa took greater pains over him than over me.”

“And your clearest memory of him is when he had you fiercely whipped,” Elizabeth said sadly.

“It sounds awful when I say it in such a way. But do not take that so seriously. Fitzwilliam always says that Papa was a great man whom we must all think back upon with respect.”

“My mother is often frustrated with me. But only since I have been in society, not before.” Elizabeth thought about how Mrs. Bennet would have responded had she refused both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins.

“My mother and my aunt—your cousin’s patroness—they sternly lectured me upon the importance of making connections, and how that was the reason I was at the school. They hit my wrist with a ruler if I did not attend closely to what they said. But I still made no friends at school, and when Mama was dying at the end of last year, Fitzwilliam would not let her send me back…”Georgiana looked away from Elizabeth. “I was not…the way she wanted me to be. I am too much like Fitzwilliam—quiet and reserved. It is good for him. He is a man, and he is respected for the way he is. But it is not good in a girl.”

“It is not so good for your brother.” Elizabeth paused. She thought about what he had said to her when he called himself a cold man. Mr. Darcy certainly attributed many of his difficulties in his first marriage to that reserve.

That was how he was in company, but it was not the entirety of his character. With Emily and Georgiana, he was warm, gregarious, considerate, and kind. And he even tolerated the child’s noise to a greater extent than most fathers.

Perhaps, in time, she could make a friend of him in the way she was a friend to Georgiana.

Yet he also thought that he was failing in some great way by not disciplining Emily. That was what he had said to Elizabeth. But she had seen nothing wanting in Emily’s character.

She must speak about this to Mr. Darcy. If she was to be Emily’s mother, it was her duty to demand some say in how the girl was managed. This talk of whippings, slapping the wrist to make the child attend, and a father who seldom spoke to his daughter all suggested a parent very different from either of Elizabeth’s.

While they had neglected to prepare for the future of their children, Elizabeth’s parents had given her a childhood where her chief memories were filled with joy, warmth, and a soft, happy glow.

It must be possible to do both—to attend to the future interest and well-being of the child while also giving them scope for love and the simple pleasures of noise.

Despite this notion of the importance of noise for the well-being of a child, Elizabeth firmly requested that Emily be quiet around her father when they went into the house.

The girl solemnly nodded and promised.

Then of course she hid, saying, “I must be very quiet,” behind the other sofa as soon as they entered the, by now familiar to her, drawing room.

Mr. Bennet smiled benignly to see the girl run past him. He then invited Georgiana to join him for a game of draughts while they talked.

His movements with his weak arm were erratic and uncontrolled, and his speech was slow. But his mind was as sharp as Elizabeth had ever seen—though after his second victory, he carefully chose poor moves to give Georgiana a chance if she played her best.

Emily emerged from behind the sofa, first peeking out, then immediately hiding again when Mr. Bennet looked at her. After another short period she simply walked out, came to look at the draughtboard, then scolded Georgiana for speaking too loudly.

This made everyone laugh, and Mr. Bennet said, “You need not be so quiet for me.”

After staring at him, Emily said, “You talk funny, and your face looks wrong.”

He laughed. “Is wrong. Yes. Sit here. Do you know draughts?”