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“Must…keep on,” he said again, more to himself than to her.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He cautiously, awkwardly turned himself, his head on her lap, his gory back facing away from her. She carefully rested her hand upon a spot on his shoulder that showed no sign of blood, hanging on tightly whenever the road roughened in attempts to keep him still.
It was, perhaps, the most scandalous, improper mode of transport she had ever or would ever experience. But she could not care about anything except getting Mr Darcy safely to his destination. Nothing else mattered.
* * *
Georgiana walked slowly back to the house, her heart pounding. It had only been luck that she had spotted Colonel Fitzwilliam speaking to the footman from the window, that she had been able to avoid the colonel’s notice whilst slipping out to give Bertie her own instructions. She waited at the door until she saw the Darcy carriage pulling out of the mews.
The sound of raised voices told her where the company waited; as she reached the parlour door, she found herself trembling and stopped for a moment to collect herself. Will my brother reach safety? Has he been irreparably wounded? Will Richard be furious with me? Might Matlock attempt a forced marriage? Will his son agree to it?
A final question occurred to her. In my place, what would Lizzy do?
Well, she would not snivel about what could not be changed, for one thing. Fitzwilliam was gone—to where, she knew not. It was a relief, as she considered it. She could not reveal what she did not know. Her relations had each had the opportunity to help him and, instead, had only treated him abominably, ignored him, or worsened his condition. Whatever happened now, at least he was nominally in control of his own fate.
Secondly, Lizzy might do any number of things she did not particularly wish, uncomplainingly even, but she would not simply roll over and marry someone without protest. Georgiana could decline, dither, and delay—possibly for years—and see what came of it all before accepting defeat. With these bracing thoughts, she straightened her spine and opened the door.
But no one noticed her standing in the open doorway; they were too occupied with their bickering. Richard was levelling questions at an angry Lady Catherine and an indignant-sounding Mr Donavan; he received no sensible answers. Only when the colonel threatened to tear the house apart looking for her and Fitzwilliam did she clear her throat.
Richard looked up at once. “Georgiana! There you are. Since entering the house, I have been accosted by accusations and ridiculous reproach. Where is your brother?”
She lifted her chin against her own nerves. “He is gone, and where, I know not. But he chose to depart of his own volition rather than continue to be tortured by our aunt and her physician.”
Her words led to a torrent of protest and denunciation.
“Cease your blathering!”
It was a sign of the colonel’s military command that Lady Catherine and Donavan did, indeed, clamp their mouths shut. He opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Mrs Taylor entered with an interruption.
“Excuse me, sir, but Mr Bingley is here upon a matter of some urgency, he says.”
At her words, Richard’s countenance lightened. “Bingley! Darcy has gone to him, I suppose. By Jove—”
But Mr Bingley, evidently, was impatient and poked his head into the parlour. “What ho, Colonel Fitzwilliam! It has been a long while, has it not?” Manoeuvring around the housekeeper, he moved purposefully into the room, trailed by a petite woman with golden curls.
All eyes turned to stare at the couple. Mr Bingley beamed back, but there was something about the tension in his posture that told Georgiana he was not quite so sanguine as he acted. The golden-haired woman could not even pretend nonchalance. Her blue eyes were large and distressed; she clutched a handkerchief, twisting it anxiously.
“I have recently married, as you can see. Mrs Bingley, darling, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy’s cousin. Best of good fellows. And Darcy’s sister, Miss Darcy.” He bowed. “A thousand pardons, all. Not wishing to interrupt, not for the world. Just here to collect my new sister, who has been, it seems, a guest at Darcy House since before our wedding. Might someone call Miss Bennet?”
