Page 100 of Companions of Their Youth
She sighed and settled back against the chair. Darcy resumed his place beside her, holding the handkerchief in place once more, though now it was soaked. His gloves were stained. He did not care. All that mattered was keeping pressure, ensuring no more blood was lost, no more harm done.
She had stepped between danger and her sister. She had taken the blow without hesitation.
And she might never know how much he admired her for it.
He clenched his jaw and looked down at her hand, still steady, still holding the linen where he pressed it. Steady, though her dress sleeve was torn and soaked, though her skin was pale, though she had to be in pain.
She was remarkable.
He would not forget this.
He would not let Georgiana forget it, either.
A maid was called in, silent and efficient. She curtsied, fetched a broom and dustpan, and carefully swept away the jagged remains of the vase. No one spoke while she worked—not even Kitty or Lydia, who sat huddled together on the settee, their expressions sober.
When the last shard had been collected and the door had closed behind the maid, the hush remained—deep, suffocating.
Elizabeth was the one to break it.
“Well,” she said at last, adjusting the handkerchief that still pressed against her arm, “as we are all to remain here until Mr. Jones arrives, we may as well address the matter which weighs most heavily on us all.”
Darcy tensed. He knew what must come next. They all did.
“Georgiana—or rather, her actions and the consequence,” Elizabeth said plainly.
Neither he nor Fitzwilliam spoke. Mr. Bennet remained seated by the fire, fingers steepled. The silence was its own reply.
Elizabeth gave a quiet sigh and continued, “We established the consequence for physical violence from the beginning. Ifinjury was caused, it would result in a switching. That was agreed upon.”
She glanced down at her arm, then back at them all. “I do not presume to say what must happen. I am the injured party—it would be improper for me to render judgment.”
Darcy’s eyes flicked to Fitzwilliam, who watched Mr. Bennet expectantly.
Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and leaned forward slightly. “At the risk of appearing partial toward my daughter, I must say that the consequence ought to be upheld.” His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “Miss Darcy has little control over her temper, and while Lydia’s words were ill-considered, it is the ease with which your sister resorted to violence that concerns me most. If we allow this to pass unpunished, we will undo every bit of progress made thus far—and perhaps invite worse.”
Darcy closed his eyes briefly.Georgiana. How did we come to this?He had only ever wanted to shield her. Always. From pain. From loss. From grief.
But instead, he had created a monster.
He turned to Fitzwilliam, who nodded grimly. “I have seen more men than I can count turn their lives around after a lash or two knocked the pride out of them. This is no different. She is not a child—not truly. Some women younger than she are married and mothers by now. She must learn there are boundaries.”
Darcy inhaled slowly. His chest ached. “It breaks my heart to agree with you,” he said, voice low. “I have always seen her more as a daughter than a sister. But…” He glanced at Elizabeth. “Wemust begin as we mean to go on. If there is to be order, there must be consequence.”
No one contradicted him.
A moment passed.
“Then we must decide,” Elizabeth said gently, “who is to carry it out… and what instrument is to be used. A ruler? A birch switch? How many strokes, and where?”
It was not said lightly, nor cruelly. Only with the calm decisiveness of a woman used to unpleasant necessities.
Darcy swallowed against the bile rising in his throat.
Mr. Bennet spoke again, slowly. “From my own school days, and what I employed sparingly with my children, I recommend three lashes to the buttocks, with a light birch switch. Enough to leave a stinging welt, but not to draw blood or scar. And I must say plainly, I do not feel comfortable performing the act myself. She is not my daughter. The burden must fall to one of you two gentlemen.”
Darcy froze.
He looked across at Fitzwilliam and saw the same horror in his cousin’s eyes. The same turmoil. The same sickening dread.
