Page 11 of Dear Friend

“Then she must recover quickly, for I mean to write as often as I can if it will cheer her, even if I am obliged to fill my pages with the most tedious nonsense for want of anything better to say.”

Jane smiled, though the concern had not entirely left her face. “I am sure she will be glad of anything you send.”

Elizabeth looked again at the letter. It was a poor substitute for sitting beside Julia and hearing her laugh at whatever nonsense Elizabeth had contrived to distract her, but for the present it was the only kindness permitted her.

“I hope so.” She rose and took up the letter. “I shall send one of the servants with it to Mrs. Tunley now. There is no reason Julia should wait for it merely because I am forbidden to take it myself.”

Chapter Four

7th February 1811

White Club, London

Darcy

White’s was thin of company for a Wednesday evening, and Darcy had secured a table near the fire while he waited for Richard to arrive. He was glad of the quiet. Much of the day had been spent with Georgiana, and the remainder given over to correspondence requiring his attention, none of it difficult enough to deserve the time it had demanded. He had therefore no inclination for a crowded room, nor for acquaintances determined upon conversation merely because chance had placed them in his way.

Darcy had arrived in Town only the day before, intending to remain long enough to see how Georgiana fared under Mrs. Younge’s care. Her letters had spoken warmly of her new companion, and everything Darcy had heard since his arrival had confirmed them. Having sent word to Richard that morning, he had proposed they meet at White’s that evening, where they had passed many an hour together when both happened to be in London.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam arrived some minutes later, bringing a gust of cold air with him and calling for brandy almost before he had taken his seat. The usual greetings disposed of, he accepted his glass from the waiter and regarded Darcy across the table.

“You look considerably less harassed than when last I saw you. Am I to conclude that Mrs. Younge continues to impress you as well as your letter suggested?”

“She does, and very well indeed.” Darcy turned his own glass once between his fingers. “It has been only four months, and Georgiana is exceedingly fond of her already.”

“So I gathered when I saw her last week. I believe Mrs. Younge’s name occurred three times before Georgiana had finished telling me about a book they were reading.”

Darcy smiled faintly. “Only three?”

“I may have lost count.”

It was difficult to resent the observation when Darcy had noticed much the same thing himself. Mrs. Younge had been established with Georgiana for some months now, and whatever reservations Darcy had entertained at the beginning had steadily diminished. She had proved attentive without being officious, sensible without severity, and sufficiently young in her manner to draw Georgiana into conversation without appearing to demand it.

More importantly, Georgiana was happy.

“She writes to me twice a week now without being reminded,” Darcy said. “Every letter contains some account of what they have been doing. Their reading, their walks, some visit or excursion Mrs. Younge has contrived for her amusement. I begin to think I found precisely what I was searching for.”

Richard raised his brows. “High praise indeed. I recall a man not four months ago who appeared convinced that no woman in England could satisfy his requirements.”

“I was not so unreasonable.”

“You dismissed one for speaking too much about linen.”

“For speaking of nothing else.”

“An important distinction.”

“I was wrong to doubt whether a suitable person might be found,” Darcy said, ignoring him, “and I own the mistake gladly.”

That admission cost him very little. Georgiana’s improvement was evidence enough. There was greater animation in her letters and less of the diffidence which had sometimes made even the simplest decision appear troublesome to her. Mrs. Younge had not attempted to force her from her reserve, which Darcy suspected was precisely why Georgiana had begun to emerge from it of her own accord.

“She has even begun speaking of the summer already,” he continued. “She wishes to go to Ramsgate in June.”

“Ramsgate?”

“With Mrs. Younge. Sea air, bathing, a change of scene. Mrs. Younge believes it would do her good, and Georgiana has taken very warmly to the notion.”

“Then let her go.”