Page 8 of Colour My World
Inside lay her gloves, soft with wear. A silk shawl folded with care. A brooch he had once seen pinned to her gown. He unfolded a linen handkerchief and pressed it to his nose, hoping for a trace of her.
I shall see these are Georgiana’s when she is of age.
At the bottom lay a book. His mother’s gift to him.
“Lord, honour my mother for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. Amen,” he whispered.
He opened the cover and flipped the page:A gentleman’s first duty is to those he loves.
Chapter 2
Pemberley, January 1797
Snow clung to the windowpanes, the frost thickening as the night deepened. A single candle rested on the bedside table, its glow barely stretching beyond the heavy counterpane.
Darcy had meant only to look in on her before he retired.
“Bruvver.”
He turned.
“You stay?” Her wide blue eyes peered up at him.
“Not tonight,” he replied. “But I shall remain here until you fall asleep.”
He settled into the wingback chair beside Georgiana’s bed. Not yet four, her tiny frame curled beneath a mound of blankets, golden curls spilling over the pillow. She clutched a cloth doll to her chest.
She nestled deeper. Then, “Papa cross.”
“What makes you say so?” He adjusted her blanket, though it needed no straightening.
“He not talk to me.”
She noticed. “He is…busy.”
She frowned. “Wif you?”
“Yes.”
She turned her face into the pillow. “Not wif me.”
Darcy’s hands clenched around the armrests. She should not know what it meant to be ignored.
A whisper, small and fragile. “I be good.”
His chest ached. “Youaregood.” He smoothed her curls. “Very good.”
She peeked up at him. “If I be more good, will Papa play wif me?”
The words punched the air from his lungs. “It is not your fault, sweetling.”
She stared at him, unconvinced.
“I must go to school soon, but I will come back to you.”
Her lower lip wobbled. “But you be different.”
“I shall always be your brother.”
