AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But then how could he comfort his sister? He was so out of his depth that he scarcely knew which way was up. He had always understood such things from the man’s perspective, and the world was much more forgiving of men’s mistakes—as well as their deliberate acts. “I wish you had someone you might talk to. Perhaps when we hire a new companion….”
His sister shook her head. “No more companions.”
Georgiana’s last companion, Mrs. Annesley, had been kind and very good at guarding her charge’s virtue. However, he did not imagine that his sister had found the woman—as ancient as she was—to be a great confidante.
She might talk to Aunt Edith, the Countess of Matlock, but Georgiana found the woman intimidating. And if she could not confide in Marianne and Emma, Darcy doubted she had other friends who might serve the function.
Apparently, the voyage to Canada had only put a bandage on the wound in Georgiana’s soul; it had not healed. Traveling with two men, she could hardly have felt comfortable unburdening herself about what was ultimately a very feminine set of concerns. What she needed was another woman, but one who was understanding and trustworthy.
Of course, he knew someone who would be perfect. But it was a terrible idea.
Actually, it was a brilliant idea. He could think of nobody who would be more sympathetic than Elizabeth Bennet—and he could absolutely trust in her discretion.
She understood Wickham’s character and had been similarly deceived by him. She had experienced shame and endured judgment following her sister’s elopement. She would not judge Georgiana through the lens of conventional morality.
But would it be fair to add to Elizabeth’s already copious burdens? Might it be a selfish act? He should not be encouraging connections between their families when nothing could come from it.
But his sister’s face was striped with the tracks of her tears. No, he was not being selfish. He would do anything to help his sister. He wanted her to be happy, and Ramsgate clearly still haunted her. He knew deep in his soul that Elizabeth could help.
Unfortunately, he could not write to Elizabeth and inquire whether she would take on this burden. Any communication between them would be highly inappropriate. He could only convey Georgiana to Hertfordshire and trust that Elizabeth would speak with her.
He took his sister’s hand again. “Dearest, I have an idea about someone you might speak with—another woman—who could set your soul at ease but arranging it will take some time.”
Her hopeful expression nearly broke his heart. “I do think I would like to talk to another woman. If it is the right woman. Not Miss Bingley.”
He laughed. “Not Miss Bingley.” She gave him a watery smile. “Very well. I will see if I can arrange for you to meet…her.”
“You are being most mysterious.”
“It is not intentional. I will tell you who I have in mind, but this actually relates to something I planned to ask you about. I have a project I think you can help me with…”
Chapter Eight
The cat had caught another mouse but had not consumed all of it. The remains in the corner of the kitchen were fresh enough to be disgusting but old enough that the smell had not immediately drawn her attention. Hill had been running up and down the stairs all day. Baby Robert had been colicky and Charlotte herself unwell with a cold. Collins, unaccustomed to doing without his comforts, had complained about everything from the consistency of the breakfast eggs to the temperature in his study.
Elizabeth could not bring herself to add a dead mouse to Hill’s list of concerns. She returned to the kitchen and found one of the long-handled spoons they used when making soup. Gingerly, she used it to scoop up the rodent, cradling it in the bowl of the spoon without needing to touch it.
She hurried out of the back door and deposited the thing under a shrub near the kitchen garden, saying a quick prayer for the mouse’s soul—if mice had souls.
Hurrying back into the house, she set the spoon in the sink to soak and gave Jane a quick smile as she descended the stairs. “Do you think mice have souls?”
Her sister paused at the bottom step. “I have never considered the question. The things you think of, Lizzy!”
Elizabeth shrugged. “My mind has a tendency to wander as I work.” The truth was that she found working in the kitchen tedious. At first it had all been new and challenging, and even now she was pleased to be feeding her family. But the work was the same day after day, and she longed to be outside—where the air did not smell like onions and potatoes.
“A parcel arrived for you by post,” Jane said.
“For me? From where?” Elizabeth could not imagine why.
“It appears to be from a mantua maker in London.”
Now Elizabeth was completely perplexed. “Are you certain it is for me and not Charlotte?”
“It is definitely your name on the package.”
Elizabeth pulled off the apron and hung it up; Collins would be irritated if he noticed her wearing it above stairs. Jane ascended the steps briskly ahead of Elizabeth; no doubt her sister was just as eager to solve the mystery.
Jane had laid the package on the table in the breakfast room, where Kitty was regarding it with eager anticipation. “Kitty was with me when the post arrived,” Jane explained as she closed the door behind her. This was a prudent move. Collins was not at home but he could appear at any minute, and they would not want to explain the gown’s provenance to him.
