Page 152 of Colour My World
“So long as she avoids the Germans.”
Georgiana lifted her fork. “I am learning a new piece by Beethoven.”
* * *
The Rosings maze lay still beneath a frost-laced hush, each hedgerow and yew dusted with silver. Pale light spilt through low clouds, casting long, softened shadows across the gravel walks. A thin sheet of ice veiled the ornamental pond. Somewhere, a thrush sang—bold, insistent, defiant of the cold.
Darcy stepped out onto the path, gloved hands in his greatcoat pockets. His breath hung in the air like smoke.Footsteps sounded behind him.
“Good morning, Brother.”
He turned.
Georgiana approached, her boots crunching softly over gravel, her cloak pulled close. Her cheeks were flush from the cold air, her expression clear.
“You were not late this time,” she said.
Darcy inclined his head. “No. Nor shall I be again.”
She studied him a moment, then looked towards the far end of the garden. “Will you stay through Twelfth Night?”
“If you wish it.”
She tilted her head. Stared at him. “I do.” Georgiana took his offered arm. They walked on together.
“I read your letters. Some of them so often that they crumbled. They were beautiful,” she said. “Even when you tried not to be.”
Still, he said nothing.
“I knew what you felt for her before you admitted it to yourself.”
A crow called once across the fields.
“You never said her name. Not once. Not in writing. But it was there—in the margins. In the breath between sentences.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “I did not think you would notice.”
“I did.” She glanced up at him. “And I believe I know her as well as you.”
“Anne is a gossip.”
Georgiana laughed. “She is.” Then, more softly, “But she sees more than you or I ever shall.”
Darcy looked down at her, but she faced ahead, eyes steady.
“Miss Elizabeth wrote to me,” Georgiana added, quieter still. “And I can safely say, I adore her.”
Darcy squeezed her hand. “I believed you would.”
Georgiana let the silence linger a moment longer. Then, witha glance sideways, she added, “Speaking of writing…”
“Yes?”
“Aunt Catherine has written to request a companion.”
Darcy looked at her.
“Not a servant. Nor a relation. With Anne planning to go to Town for the nonce, I recommended that she retain a woman of sharp mind and unshakable manners.”
