Page 37 of A Question of Character

“A man might lose his head in such weather.”

“Possibly.”

“Best take care, then.”

Darcy picked up the porcelain cup and saucer from the table beside him and carried them to the tea service, though the footman would have managed it perfectly well. Mr. Gardiner went back to his newspaper. The corner of the page trembled.

The remainder of the visit proceeded with a pleasure that now held an edge of approaching departure, though Darcy did not yet know it. Georgiana played the troublesome passage until Mrs. Gardiner applauded the improvement, Elizabeth turned pages and offered encouragement, and Mr. Gardiner eventually abandoned the paper to ask Darcy whether the Ramsgate house had been fully arranged.

Darcy, who had just been listening to Elizabeth explain to Georgiana why wrong notes were sometimes more useful than right ones, took a second to attend. “Yes. The lease is arranged.”

Georgiana’s hands rested on the keys. “Truly?”

“Yes. We shall go in July, if the weather is agreeable and Mrs. Younge has no objection to the arrangements.”

His sister sprang up with so much delight that the music slid from the stand. “Oh, Fitzwilliam!”

“Take care of the music,” he said, though he could not summon severity.

Georgiana caught the pages, laughing in a way he had heard too seldom during the past year. “I beg your pardon. I am so happy. Miss Bennet, you must see Ramsgate one day. There is nothing like the sea. When the sun is low, the water turns gold, and the waves come against the shore so constantly that one begins to think they are speaking.”

Mrs. Gardiner smiled at the girl’s enthusiasm. “You recommend it warmly.”

“I loved it,” Georgiana said. “At least, I did before we left. I have thought of it often.”

Mrs. Gardiner glanced at Darcy. “You are very kind to indulge her.”

“I hope the air will do her good.”

“And Mrs. Younge will accompany you?” Elizabeth asked, collecting the fallen music from the floor and handing it to Georgiana.

“Of course,” Georgiana said, hugging the pages to her chest. “She proposed the sea air herself.”

Darcy made a mental note to thank Mrs. Younge again. His sister had been far more animated since the plan was made. He could not like the idea of separation from Pemberley in summer, but if Ramsgate restored Georgiana’s spirits, he would endure every fashionable bathing machine on the coast.

Mrs. Gardiner stirred her tea. “How pleasant. We shall be much farther away by then, I am afraid.”

Darcy glanced toward her. “Farther away?”

Mr. Gardiner folded the newspaper and laid it aside. “I have business in Ireland this summer. Madaline means to accompany me, and we shall take Elizabeth as far as time allows before returning her to Hertfordshire.”

Elizabeth, who had resumed her seat near Georgiana, smoothed the edge of the sheet music with one finger. “My aunt insists I shall enjoy the crossing more if I do not think about it beforehand.”

“I insist no such thing,” Mrs. Gardiner replied. “I merely say that dread is a poor traveling companion.”

“When do you leave?” Darcy asked.

“In a few weeks,” Mr. Gardiner said. “By the end of May, if all goes well.”

A few weeks.

The phrase, plain and harmless as it was, emptied the room of a portion of its warmth. Darcy could hear Georgiana asking Elizabeth whether she had ever sailed before, could hear Mrs. Gardiner answering some concern about trunks, could see the tea table, the porcelain samples, the music scattered near the pianoforte. Everything continued properly.

A few weeks.

He had known Miss Bennet would not remain in London forever. He had not been fool enough to imagine Gracechurch Street would keep her like some family treasure until he found courage to speak. Still, he had allowed the days to accumulate as though they belonged to him.

“They are saying Ireland is very beautiful,” Elizabeth said, turning back to him. “I have never been.”