“And my methods?”
“I suppose sometimes you do still, after all these years, manage to surprise me.”
“You would be the second person to thank me, you know. With all the appropriate references.”
“I would? Who was the other? My father?”
“Edmund.”
He lost his smile. “No one appreciates you. Except maybe Edmund, though I don’t know precisely what he said -”
“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Georgie said. “What you say matters to me.”
There was no real rhyme or reason behind what Geoffrey did next; it was all of his baser instincts rolled into one motion, one that he had been contemplating not as a rational thought but as something to be dismissed as impossible, ridiculous, and embarrassing. She was Georgie, his friend, his cousin, the girl who cut her hair short like a boy and could kick the snot out of anyone he knew.
And yet, he loved her. So he kissed her, and it was not the quick kiss of relative or friend. It lingered until neither of them could help it, and as he came to his senses, he panicked and pulled away.
“Oh God,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry.” He turned away. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
Now she said it with less shock and more feeling, “What?”
“I said, it shouldn’t have happened,” Geoffrey said, frustrated that his backtracking wasn’t helping. Why had he let himself go? The only other time he’d seriously considered what he’d just done, was when he’d been drinking heavily. Now he wasn’t even drunk! “You’re my best friend, Georgie. You really are.”
“That is all I am to you?”
“No. No, no – you’re my cousin, and my friend, and you’re like a – ”
“Don’t you dare say I’m like a sister to you,” Georgie interrupted. “Don’t you dare lie to me. I’m not a sister to you. Maybe I was at some time when we were little children, but you do not treat me like a sister. Or a cousin. Or a friend.”
“I said I was sorry,” he stuttered. “It was a mistake.”
“Don’t say that!”
She was making him nervous. He was already exposed and he didn’t want to feel nervous. “It was. I’m sorry – ”
“You’re not. You can’t be.” She nearly pushed him against the wall. He didn’t like the physical contact; it had already gotten him into trouble enough today. “You’re not sorry because it wasn’t a mistake and you wanted it to happen and if you say otherwise, you’re lying to yourself and you are lying to me.”
But it had been a mistake! And yet he would be lying if he told her it meant nothing. Because it had meant something, been the culmination of something that he – No, he was a Darcy. He was in control of himself and he would do the responsible thing. “It was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything. You know how boys are.”
“I know how you are. I don’t care about anyone else. I’ve never cared about anyone else in my life like I’ve cared about you.”
“Georgie, please don’t say it – ”
“I love you!”
He closed his eyes. He had to focus, to push down all of his instincts, contradictory as they were. None of them were good. All of them would get him into trouble. “Just – leave me be.”
“I tell you something I’ve been waiting to say for years and you tell me to get out? Open your fecking eyes.”
Unfortunately he did, and saw that she was crying. And if he had been telling the truth – that there was truly nothing between them except cousinly feelings and friendship -- he could hold her in his arms and comfort her and try to make her tears go away.
But he couldn’t do that.
“You don’t – understand,” Geoffrey said, speaking more to himself than to her. “All the things I’ve gone through – ”
“All the things that you’ve gone through! You slept through your little kidnapping and became the shire hero! Your parents don’t look at you like you have some kind of brain fever. Your siblings aren’t just wondering what you might do next whenever you walk in a room.” She grabbed him by the trim of his waistcoat. “I fecking lined him up for you, so you could be the hero and kill the villain who hurt our family! I didn’t care about all my secrets, because if you didn’t survive, I didn’t care if I lived or died, and no one else was going to save you. I did it all for you!”
“Georgie, you can’t ask me – ”
“Geoffrey Darcy, if you lie to me and tell me you don’t love me, you are a lying shite of a man.”
He swallowed, and just bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I know you sacrificed for me, and I didn’t ask you to – ”
“If you didn’t need me for everything – ”
“If you weren’t such a freak – ”
She didn’t hit him. She did worse. She grabbed his arm and pulled on it just right so that he spun around all the way almost twice, very fast and hit the bookcase very hard, because he could no longer tell up from down. And then she left him without a word.
She stomped out of the room the way a jilted woman should, because that was what she was. He had time to process that, and plenty of it, before a servant found him. With his vertigo set off, he was helpless to do anything other than stay on the floor where he was, since he needed the ground and the wall to have some semblance of location. He had time to ponder all of the ways that had gone wrong before someone found him on the cold stone floor, half-covered in fallen books and helpless against the spinning sensation and whirling thoughts in his head.
*****************************************
When Georgie didn’t return for dinner, Jane expressed concern. It was exactly the type of expression that her well-trained husband knew meant, ‘Go find her.’ He checked her room, of course, and her usual haunts, and was even considering heading to Pemberley when he decided, just in case, to check the grove in the back, beyond where he had planted all of the Indian flowers for whichever daughter was wed first. There he found her, not in costume or even in her wooden sandals, just in an ordinary, pretty dress and proper women’s shoes, seated on a carved stone that might have been part of a church ruin at some point. She looked up at him with unapologetically red eyes.
“I am happy to report,” Georgie said with a sad chuckle, “that I am weeping over a completely normal, ordinary thing that a girl my age should be upset over. If anything, I have every right to claim a headache and lie in bed for several days as if I am ill, because I have been jilted by the man I love.”
“Who hurt you?” Bingley said, already knowing the answer.
“He called me a freak,” she said, pulling at her hair. “He just said it in anger, but – he can’t do that. It’s not fair.” Bingley sat beside her, putting his arm around her and letting her head rest on his shoulder. “Papa, tell him it’s not fair.”
“I never succeeded at policing you as children, and I doubt I could do it now,” he said. “Georgiana – did I ever tell you how I met your mother?”
“At a country dance,” she said. “Mama told me.”
“I daresay the whole of our courtship was a bit more complicated than that,” he said, managing a smile for his wide-eyed daughter. “From the moment I saw her I was in love with her, and yet somehow, it took a full year of heartbreak and failed expectations and deception before we made it to the altar. I suppose I’ve never told the whole story because – well, it does not reflect well on anyone involved, including your father, your Uncle Darcy, and your Aunt Maddox. Especially them.”
It worked. She smiled, just a little bit. “Now I have to hear it. Even if it’s disgusting.”
“Courtship is not – Well, I suppose hearing about your parents might be, but we shall make an exception, and I shall tell you the very embarrassing story of how Darcy and Caroline conspired to muck up my courtship with your mother, and I spinelessly went along with them.” He sighed. “It all started when I decided to lease a house in Hertfordshire, and was persuaded to attend one of the assembl
ies...”
Chapter 24 – The Third Time
Geoffrey Darcy completed his packing mainly in solitude. He informed everyone that he did not want celebrations to see him off, and his wishes were for the most part respected, except for the obligatory dinner with the nearby relatives. He had a drink and was at ease in company, because Geoffrey was always at ease in company, but he did not linger at Chatton House like he usually did.
Between the two families, everyone knew that something had occurred between Geoffrey and Georgie. Most assumed it was a disagreement over something or other, even though they were not known for their disagreements. Most of the blame was put on Georgiana, the mysterious one, who could be so cruel when she tried. The more intuitive members of the family realized that whatever happened, the blame probably went both ways. The effect was awkwardly seismic; they hardly said another word to each other. As was general policy with Georgiana, no one said much of anything about it, at least not in front of the two involved, and assumed it would blow over. If anything, Geoffrey’s absence would speed along the resolution.
On the day he was to leave, Geoffrey sat down with his father in the study for a glass of brandy, and Darcy dispensed with a surprising amount of advice about Cambridge, not all of it related to schoolwork. “And don’t let them rob you. Decide on the price in advance.”
“Father!”
Darcy smiled. “I am giving you the advice bestowed upon me by my father.”
“Now you’ve made it worse.”
Darcy chuckled. “And don’t pick up any diseases.”
“Really! Father, please!” Geoffrey’s face was hot.
“While you’re in such a befuddled mood, I suppose I will bestow upon you the news that you will not be alone in missing Miss Bingley’s company this fall.”
Geoffrey’s demeanor changed. “What?”
“She is to go to France. To a seminary in the south.”
Geoffrey played with the glass in his hands, no longer willing to raise his eyes to his father. “She agreed to it?”
“My understanding is that she specifically requested it.”
Geoffrey said nothing. He wanted to scream why? But he already knew the answer.
“As to why she would do something so utterly contrary to her character, I suppose you might have some suggestions.”
“N-No.”
“Really? None whatsoever?”
Geoffrey shook his head. His dilemma was not whether he could hide it from his father, because he knew he couldn’t. The only thing in question was whether his father would let him leave without the proper answer. “Can I ask you a completely unrelated question?”
“Of course.”
“Totally unrelated.”
His father rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes.”
“Have you ever been unable to say something because you knew it would mean so much more, and instead said something awful?”
“On any number of occasions, yes. In fact, your mother has probably not only memorized, but counted and categorized the number of times and ways I have said something stupid, harsh or unintentionally insulting. You are fortunate to have inherited your mother’s silver tongue.” Darcy paused. “If you have, however, said something unintentionally insulting in fear of saying what you truly mean and now intend to run from it for as long as possible, then I will congratulate you in this respect: You are most thoroughly a Darcy.”
Darcy stood up and gave his son a hardy pat on the shoulder, and Geoffrey did his best to look reassured.
*****************************************
When all his trunks were finally in the carriage, Geoffrey was nowhere to be found, and Reynolds said he had just gone out and would be back, but was rather evasive about where precisely he had gone. He didn’t tell them that Geoffrey had sent a message to Georgie, through him and her lady-maid, that they should meet out behind Pemberley, on the edge of the woods.
Geoffrey arrived on time, but Georgie was already waiting, her expression best described as one of stone.
“I want to apologize,” he said.
“Good.”
“I shouldn’t have – said just about everything I said. Afterwards. You know.” He looked at his shoes. She didn’t budge. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” she said, without much emotion.
“Are you going to ...”
“Apologize? No,” Georgiana said, leaning against the tree. “I refuse to apologize for something I’m not sorry for. It’s like lying.”
“I’m trying to restore some kind of relations – ”
“I don’t want a friendship with you,” she said, “and you don’t want a friendship with me. And until you can say that, there’s nothing else to be said that won’t hurt both of us. Despite everything, I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You are doing a good job of it.”
She said nothing, but she did look away.
“You don’t have to go to France.”
“I want to go. It was my decision.”
“I’ll miss you.”
“What does it matter, if I’m in Derbyshire or some county in France? Either way, we won’t see each other, but this way, I don’t have to spend another year avoiding London. Don’t I deserve to see something other than the same walls of my father’s estate?”
“I will write.”
“If you want to write something meaningful, by all means. If you want to chatter away about drinking and fooling around as a Cambridge boy, don’t waste the paper.” She stood up, and turned to walk away from him. “Goodbye, Geoffrey.”
“Georgie.”
She paused, and looked over her shoulder. Her eyes were red. “What?”
“I will miss you,” Geoffrey said.
“I know.” And she turned, and did not turn back.
He stood there, tongue-tied, watching her disappear across the hill. Yes, he was thoroughly a Darcy.
*****************************************
Geoffrey did write her. He wasted a great deal of paper, in fact, because not a single letter was mailed. Somehow everything he wrote ended up balled up and tossed into the waste bin. He tried to do it when George wasn’t around, to avoid the snide comments, but they had stopped fairly quickly when George seemed to sense he was really hurt.
Not that there were no other demands on his time. Geoffrey discovered that though there were plenty of opportunities to indulge in pleasurable pursuits, more than he had imagined, most of his days were consumed with lectures and tutors, beginning with the awful bell for services and ending when they locked the gates at night. George, unsurprisingly, was a quiet roommate, often in the library, or “out.” It took Geoffrey some time to figure out what George meant when he said he’d be “out”, to the point where he was so confounded that he was tempted to ask Reynolds to follow him. But then he managed to piece together the picture, from watching George go out in the early evening and returned a few hours later with his hair tussled and his clothing obviously hastily redone.
“George Wickham! Of all people! Am I to have a rake for a roommate?”
George was unapologetic. “Rakes deflower maids and shopkeepers’ daughters. Surely your father gave you the embarrassing lecture about gentlemanly ways to pursue your baser instincts?”
“He did but – ” He did the math on his fingers. “How much are you paying?”
George just grinned. “Do you really want to know?”
“Not really, come to think of it.”
*****************************************
The rhythm of Cambridge life was established by the University, and Geoffrey fell into it easily. His studies were not too imposing and between George and friends both new and from Eton, he was only alone when he wished to be. He could do without their snickering when he used his ear horn, but Professor Matheson was too old and his voice too much of a mumbled growl for anyone to really hear him. George, who was in other lectures anyway, never said a word about it.
Geoffrey’s studi
es were primarily classics and mathematics, and like most students, he stayed far away from gruesome and complex medical lectures, so the only time he saw Dr. Maddox was in the hallways, and on Sundays when he was invited to dine with Dr. and Lady Maddox in Chesterton with Isabel and George. What made him the happiest was when he was fit enough to return to fencing, though he was not well enough to try for the team and likely would never be. He was limited in his movements and stamina; spending three days in bed with vertigo after a grueling session taught him that.
With some feeling of accomplishment he left Cambridge not for Derbyshire but for Kent, to attend the wedding of Amelia Collins and a Mr. Stevenson, a man who had inherited some small fortune from his uncle, who was heavily invested in the Bahamas. Amelia was a year older than Geoffrey, the oldest of the four Collins daughters. Her father had put up a surprising amount for her inheritance, and that had ensured the match, though from what everyone gathered, there was some genuine affection between the couple. The family had met when the man was investigating buying a home in the area. When asked more privately about his concerns, as he would need money to run Longbourn when Mr. Bennet died, Mr. Collins merely replied, “My daughters are more important than a building.”
“That is perhaps the wisest thing the man has ever said,” Darcy said to his wife.
“Though he has set a low bar,” she added, and left his side to congratulate an ecstatic Charlotte.
Geoffrey, still being caught up on all of the family news, was surprised to encounter his Uncle Grégoire and Aunt Caitlin at Rosings. Actually he encountered Patrick first, as the boy came running in and nearly knocked him over on his way outside. “I want ta go out!”
“I’m sure you do, Patrick,” Geoffrey said, “so much so that your cousin doesn’t deserve a greeting.”
Patrick frowned. “Hello!” And then in an overexcited scamper, left for the same tree that Geoffrey remembered climbing as a child.
The Knights of Derbyshire Page 27
