"Oh."
He was wasting his breath, he realised. Darcy could see the curtains lowering behind his sister's eyes.
"Goodnight," he said again, exhaling tiredly. "Sleep well. You know where I am if you want someone to talk to."
"Goodnight," the girl responded once again, just as politely, and closed the door.
*~~*~~*
He let his body fall backward onto the bed, enjoying the brief weightlessness before the heavy blankets engulfed him and he bounced to a stop. Once there, he stared at the ceiling, studying the bland white space. It wasn't very interesting. Stamped tin ceiling tiles were becoming popular. He should put those up to give him something to look at.
"Well?" Elizabeth asked from her dressing table, brushing out her hair before bed. "Did you talk to her?"
"Well, she didn't tell her Anne was in Hell. Lillian said they were talking about my aunt's funeral, about souls and spirits, and she asked if she could talk to Anne."
Elizabeth put her hairbrush down and looked at him questioningly.
"Lillian knows things about dead people. Apparently, Georgiana asked if she could talk with Anne. When Lillian said she couldn't, Georgie believed that meant Anne was in Hell. It was just a misunderstanding. And she said Georgiana was embarrassed being upset about aunt's death, so I tried to talk to her about that. And made a mess of it." He stretched his arms above his head, letting his heels drum restlessly against the bed rail. "Lillian said Georgiana felt slighted, second best, that I paid more attention to you, Jane, and Humfrey than to her."
"And you believe her?"
"Why wouldn't I believe her?"
"I think she is lying about those magical things about death and she shouldn't put those ideas in Georgiana's head. The girl is too vulnerable, too suggestible. And-"
"She doesn't," he interrupted.
"Then why did she think to ask if she could talk to Anne? She does not resent Jane. She plays with her all the time, pretending she is Anne's daughter, I think. She seems interested in our unborn child but worried and I understand why. Aside from that, she barely seems to notice me. Or you. Or Lillian. Or anything except her music and drawings."
"Why wouldn't Lillian tell me the truth?"
"Because she is a liar."
"Oh, be serious. Why would Lillian lie?"
"That woman would say or do anything to control you. Anne relied on her very much. You rely on her. She nursed Georgiana. Over time, Lillian thought of herself as the lady of your house, as your wife in everything but name. Did you know that she tells people the two of you are lovers? Or, at least, she lets them assume that you are? She named her son close to what you'd planned to name your child. You cannot see a pattern?"
"I think someone is just tired and cranky," he said lightly. "Come here and I'll rub your back. Or front –whichever."
He heard her lay the brush on the dressing table and footsteps as she walked to the bed. Darcy sat up, supporting his weight on his hands, and smiled at her. She didn't smile back.
"Why are you treating me like I am a slow child?"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to," he said after several tense moments.
"And please do not ignore me. If you think I am wrong, say so, but do not act as if what I say is too foolish to even acknowledge. This fascination you have with why I married you, part of the reason was because you treated me like a person instead of a possession. Now you are putting me on the shelf between your father's statue of Shakespeare and your mother's Oriental vase. I am another of your things. At least I am productive," she added, putting a hand on her swollen belly. "That must be nice."
"You are not," he intoned, leaning toward her, reaching for her hand. "I never dismiss what you say. You know how much I care for you."
"Yes, I do. Would you care for me on my back, on my knees, or on my hands and knees?" she answered, ignoring the hand he offered. Her cheeks flushed angrily. The last six inches of her hair was still unbraided and splayed over the front of her nightgown in thick curls. She waited for his answer and she had to wait a long time.
"I was just trying to think," he finally said, explaining his silence, "If anything you could have said would have hurt more."
"I did not mean to hurt you. I mean, I, we-" she started, searching for words. "We cannot solve these problems in bed. If you want me, fine, but you will seduce me just to keep from talking to me. And I want to talk about this. It is important. This woman is dangerous to you and to your sister. Perhaps you could depend on her once but now her behaviour is becoming more and more unpredictable - and you either cannot or refuse to see it."
"What do you want me to do?" he shot back, aiming below and slightly to the left of the real problem. "Yes, I know Lillian is manipulative and dramatic but I also know why she likes having power over men. And she doesn't have it over me. Or Georgiana. She'd never hurt Georgie. Yes, she uses men, but no more than they've used her over the years. Imagine what it was like for her."
"I understand more than you can imagine but that is not the point. She hurt Georgiana. She told your fragile, fifteen-year-old sister that Anne and her baby were burning in Hell. She upset her so much she talked to me and she usually talks to me even less than she talks to you. And you just nod and accept her explanation that it was all a misunderstanding? How can you do that?"
"Maybe because it's the truth," he answered before he thought, then swallowed guiltily. "I was there. Anne was confused, but she knew that if she jumped, she would die, and the baby would die with her. What you told Georgie that's not the truth. Anne knew what she was doing."
"I knew it was not the truth when I said it, but Georgiana needs to believe it right now. Just like you needed to believe it. How long did it take you to tell me Anne had died, let alone how she died? Georgiana already has had to face enough of life's grim truths."
"Yes, I know of that." He glanced down at his feet dangling above the bedside rug. "Again, what do you want me to do? Georgie loves her. She needs her. If you're confusing me with Daniels, and Lillian with Teresa, you're wrong. She's my cousin, Anne's half-sister, and that's all."
"Lillian does not see it that way. Well, she doesn’t even know who she really is but behaves like she knew and plays it against you."
He looked up, meeting her eyes. "Well, what if she doesn't? I love you. I loved you when I didn't have to. Even when I didn't want to."
"I know. I loved you, too. Even when I do not want to. Even when I would like to shake you."
"I will talk to Lillian again. I promise. Until then, would it make you feel better to shake me now?" he asked.
The argument seemed to end but he could be wrong. He could never tell when his diversionary tactics worked with Elizabeth and when she just tired of arguing with him and let them work.
"No, unfortunately not. Can I shoot you instead?"
"Anytime you want," he promised. "Will you lie down? Please? You're still doing too much." He helped her manoeuvre onto the bed, laying on the mattress so she faced him.
"I love you," he repeated, stroking her dark hair. "I need you to tell me the truth and keep telling me the truth, whether it's what I want to hear or not. I need you to because there's no one else who will. It's just us now. I have a few relatives and your family is out there somewhere, I guess, but we're all that's…" He inhaled again, looking away. "It's going to be fine. Georgie's getting better and you're going to have this baby, hopefully in the next week, and then we'll get to London. I just need time, Elizabeth. I know I keep saying that but I need you to trust me."
"I know. I do trust you. I know how hard you try. I feel foolish for getting angry when I know how bad it could be."
"Will you ever tell me how bad it can be?"
"Will you?"
*~~*~~*
As Elizabeth slept, Darcy listened as the wall-clock struck three o'clock, and then three-fifteen and three-thirty, slowly eating away at the remains of the night. He was too restless to sleep and too weary to get up, so he'd spent hours lurking be
low the surface of consciousness but just short of dreams.
Though the only sound was Elizabeth's soft breathing, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and Darcy opened his eyes to see his sister watching them silently from the doorway. A candle burned far down the hall, silhouetting Georgiana with a ghostly yellow glow, like the eclipse of a distant sister. Her handsome face, half-hidden in shadow, was impassive.
Darcy pushed up on his elbow, glanced back at Elizabeth, and then back at Georgiana. He didn't think he'd been asleep but, once again, he hadn't heard her approach or the door open.
"What's wrong?" he called softly but Georgiana didn't move or respond. "What is it, Georgie?"
The young girl continued staring at them and, unnerved, Darcy sat up, running his hand through the hair. Elizabeth shifted, resting her hand on the indention his body had left but she didn't wake as he moved away.
"What's wrong?" Darcy repeated as he got up, feeling like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. He'd dropped his breeches on the rug earlier, so he slipped them on over his drawers and glanced around at his shirt or undershirt.
"Did you want to talk to me?"
His sister still didn't seem to hear him and continued to stand steadfast in the entrance. Her pale face reminded him of his late mother's spirit. He had found his undershirt, but he shivered, anyway.
"Georgie?" he said again, stepping closer, and realised she was only sleepwalking, not lurking. He breathed out slowly. "Come on," Darcy whispered, trying not to wake her. "Let's get you back to bed. Come on Georgie. It's all right."
He put his hand gently on girl's shoulder and turned her toward the hallway. Once she was pointed in the right direction, the girl moved obediently, letting her brother guide her through the dark house. Their bare feet were quiet against the cool, polished floor.
When they reached the candle halfway down the hall, Georgiana stopped and looked at the large mirror that hung on the hall.
"Come on, Georgie," he prompted. "Back to bed. It's all right."
Instead of moving, she turned her head, looked at Darcy vacantly and then back at their dim reflections in the looking glass.
"We're wrong," Georgiana whispered expressionlessly like someone else was using her voice to tell a secret. "All of us."
Darcy, uncertain what the girl meant, nodded mutely as the hair prickled on his neck again.
"We shouldn't be here," she said to their reflection in the same vacant voice. "We're already dead."
He shivered and then swallowed dryly. "No one's dead, Georgie," he said finally. "Come on."
Darcy, knowing he was too old to get spooked by dark shadows in corners, tried to guide sister forward again but she didn't budge.
"Not her, though," Georgiana added, looking back at the master bedroom where Elizabeth slept. "Not yet." She looked at her brother blankly, with a dead man's eyes, seeing something he couldn't. Darcy's heart beat double times inside his chest. He took a slow breath, reminding himself that her eyes were open, but she was still sound asleep and talking the nonsense of dreams.
He would not be afraid of his own sister.
He would not be afraid of his own sister.
"Back to bed, Georgie," he said, putting his hand on her back and giving her a firm push. "Let's go."
The girl didn't speak again as her brother walked her back to her chamber and had her lay down. She rested her head on the down pillows, eyes still open and following Darcy as he retrieved the blankets that had fallen to the floor.
"Sleep," Darcy whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'll be right here."
He took another slow breath, telling himself to calm down. It was late, he was tired, and finding his sister roaming the house was nothing out of the ordinary. As he waited, she shifted, opened his eyes, and asked, "Fitzwilliam?" Uncertainty as she woke, sounding a decade younger. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong. You just had a bad dream." Darcy smoothed the blond hair back from girl's forehead, his hand shaking slightly. "Go to sleep. I'll be right here. Sleep."
After a second, Georgiana's eyes closed trustingly and her face relaxed, looking young and peaceful.
As he waited, to calm his nerves, Darcy lit the candle beside girl's bed, telling himself it was so his sister wouldn't be frightened of the shadows.
Chapter 8
“Everything that happens,
Happens as it should,
And if you observe carefully,
You will find this to be so.”
- Marcus Aurelius
Regardless of what Elizabeth insisted, he hadn't done right by his sister. All those years ago, when Edward Darcy was dying and had asked if Fitzwilliam was certain he wants to be the guardian to his little sister, he'd understood the consequences of answering affirmatively. From that moment, Darcy had wanted to take a broom and sweep his sister's path clear. He could buy her every physical comfort and opportunity their world could provide but it seemed he'd never been able to give Georgiana what the girl needed the most.
Anne had spent the weeks after Edward's birth wandering around in a daze, refusing to eat or talk to anyone or leave the bedchamber. She wanted nothing to do with Edward and Georgiana. The doctor had explained she was young, delicate, and just had to get to know her new baby and little niece. Which had seemed like a suitable explanation until Mrs. Reynolds caught her holding Edward underwater in the washbasin. After that came a series of doctors. By the time Georgiana was five, she knew the difference between "Sad Anne," and "Nice Anne," and "Silly Anne," which Darcy supposed was what one called it when Anne painted the windows black so no one could see into their chamber.
After Edward's death, caused by riding the horse with his mother, Darcy had worried that Georgiana might resent Anne but she'd understood her far better than he ever had. Georgiana and Anne were kindred souls, artists who found beauty in a grain of sand and passion in the contrast between middle C and G tone.
And Darcy wasn't.
As much as he loved his sister, he often felt as if he barely knew her. Over the years, he had learned more about arias and linear perspective than he'd ever wanted to, but he was still the foreigner in his sister's land, floundering and struggling to comprehend the language.
Anne had understood Georgiana and, because of Darcy's impulsiveness and carelessness, Anne was dead. He couldn't take back Christmas night he'd gone to her, and she'd conceived. He couldn't take back the evening when he'd fallen asleep on the parlour couch and she'd she jumped from the window, taking Georgie's unborn niece with her into death. And he couldn't take back the horror Georgiana must have seen, watching her cousin and friend taking her life by jumping from her bedroom's window.
And since then, she seemed to only continue drifting farther away.
That afternoon, Georgiana had the horse saddled and was fitting the bit into its mouth when Darcy entered the stable, still wearing his coat and hat. He slowed to a stroll as he passed the other stalls, putting his hands in his pockets and trying to look casual.
"I hear you're taking a trip."
The girl nodded, biting the lip in concentration as she struggled to hold back tears. Apparently, there had been some sort of unpleasant exchange between her and someone about fifteen minutes before he'd arrived home. Elizabeth had sent Darcy hurrying to the stables to calm Georgiana down who apparently wanted to ride horseback to her aunt Eleonora.
"Would you like to tell me what you are doing?"
"I am going to Hillcrest."
Darcy leaned against a post and crossed his arms. "Does your aunt know you are coming? And alone, without escort?"
"I don't care. She will receive me anyway."
"Georgie, what happened?" Darcy asked. "What's wrong?"
"I don't belong here. I can't stay here. I'm sorry, but I can't." She said with the tears in her eyes.
"What's happened?" He repeated the question.
"Please just let me go. I want to leave. I shouldn't have ever come back here." She grimaced as if str
uggling not to cry. "Please," she repeated earnestly.
"What happened? Tell me."
Georgiana vigorously shook her head.
"Did you and Elizabeth have an argument?"
"No."
"She's tired, and she's uncomfortable right now, Georgie. I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Let me talk to her about whatever's happened and-."
"She's not my mother. And she is not Anne! She shouldn't be barging around our house like she is."
Darcy took a slow breath, trying to get his stomach to stop churning.
"Tell me what happened."
"Can we- Can we go to London? Right now?"
"Elizabeth can't travel right now," he tried to explain. "But soon-"
"No, without her. Just us. We could stay there until you divorce her."
"Divorce her?" he echoed in shock.
"You can divorce her, right? And we could keep Jane."
"Elizabeth is my wife just like you are my sister. Neither of those things is going to change. Are you serious? Divorce? Who put that idea into your head? Lillian?"
"What if she dies?"
"No one is going to die! Stop that! Don't even say that," he barked and realised Georgiana was cowering. "God, Georgie! How can you say that?"
There was no answer. Darcy exhaled slowly, trying to think of some way to pacify his sister.
"Elizabeth will have to stay at Pemberley for at least two months after the baby comes. Yes, you can stay in London with me. Maybe you two just need a break from each other. I'm sure it is hard to see her in Anne's place, especially when she's about to have a baby. I'm sure those memories-"
Instead of arguing, Georgiana just pulled the horse's reins to turn it toward the door.
"For God's sake Georgie, stop. Stop and think about what you're saying. I love you and I know you're hurting, but I love Elizabeth too. And Jane. And the baby. This is our family now, and it's a nice family. You're asking me to choose and you're not even giving me a reason you suddenly dislike Elizabeth. You've gotten along with her for months. I know she's not Anne but I can't bring her back, Georgie."
Mr Darcy's Second Chance Page 15
