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Georgiana frowned. “She only answers to the earl, and they act together in this, I am sure. My Darcy relations would never defy Lord Matlock.”
“Still no word from the colonel?”
“I do not know that the colonel could stop his father, regardless. His elder brother, the viscount, will be no use at all.”
“Who would the earl listen to? There must be someone!”
Georgiana shook her head. “No one, really. My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, the earl’s elder sister, might annoy him into some sort of delay. Perhaps. But one can never predict what she might do.”
Lady Catherine de Bourgh! Mr Collins’s adored patroness! “Is she the sort of person who would approve of a forced marriage to Miss Bingley?”
Georgiana laughed, albeit bitterly. “No. She has always wanted him for her own daughter. But I do not believe Anne—her daughter—would wed him without his consent. I do not believe Anne wishes to wed anyone at all.”
“Then you must write your aunt, and at once, to inform her of the situation. Tell her that a-a nurse from the hospital told you he is of sound mind and that she must halt any suggestion of a wedding while he heals.”
“I doubt any letter I wrote would reach her.”
“Write the letter with her direction, and I will have it posted. We must try.”
“She will be curious as to who I am writing. She snoops constantly, hovering over me, and if she did not sleep so late and run the house so slackly, I would never even be able to meet you.”
It was the most Georgiana had ever said of this mysterious ‘she’; such was her distress, that she did not appear to realise what she had spoken. Some near relation installed in the household as a companion, perhaps?
“It is fortunate that she does such a poor job of it,” Lizzy replied, not commenting on her suspicions of the woman’s identity. “Write two letters, one of the same sort as you have already written to Colonel Fitzwilliam. Let her read it. Allow her to believe you hopeless and helpless and she in control. I have heard of Lady Catherine—my cousin is her vicar, as it happens. He thinks quite well of her. Bring me the letter to Lady Catherine tomorrow morning.”
Georgiana looked dubious. “You must understand, Elizabeth—I have never known Lady Catherine to do aught but make situations worse. At least, any situation of import. She is not helpful in any ways that matter.”
“Can you think of anyone else? Anyone at all?”
The younger girl’s expression fell, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “No. There is no one.”
“Then we must try it and see. Georgiana, in all our fears and worries for Mr Darcy, let us remember: the worst did not happen. He yet lives, his mind is intact, and he is very much still the brother you have always loved. You must not forget or give up hope. Will you promise me that much?”
Slowly, Georgiana nodded. And Lizzy wondered whether Lady Catherine could possibly be as useful as Mr Collins had always claimed or as incapable as Georgiana feared.
