Page 103 of Companions of Their Youth
“Lean forward.”
She hesitated—then obeyed, trembling.
Darcy turned toward the window. He would not watch. He could not. But he would stay. He would bear witness to her shame and her pain, as he should have long ago.
Skirts were lifted. Pantaloons lowered.
Three sharp, clean strikes.
Each one cracked through the air like a pistol shot.
Each one drew a wretched scream from Georgiana’s throat.
Each one was agony for them both.
When it was done, Elizabeth stepped forward and gently helped her stand, murmuring reassurances as she assisted in putting the girl’s clothing to rights. Georgiana’s face was wet with tears, but she clung to Elizabeth’s arm like a child lost in a storm.
Darcy looked to Fitzwilliam, whose face was grim, eyes shuttered.
Mr. Bennet let out a breath. “Let us leave her to rest.”
Without another word, the three men turned and stepped from the room, the door closing softly behind them. The door latched shut behind them with a quiet finality, yet the sounds within—the soft rustling, Georgiana’s sobs, Elizabeth’s soothing murmur—seemed to linger, etched into the stillness of the corridor.
Darcy leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. His knees felt unsteady beneath him, and his heart was still thudding unevenly in his chest. He drew a slow breath. Another. It did little to calm him.
Beside him, Fitzwilliam stood rigid, arms folded tight. He stared at the opposite wall without seeing it, jaw clenched.
“I hated every moment of that,” the colonel said at last, voice low and raw. “And yet—God help me—I would do it again if I thought it would save her.”
Darcy swallowed hard. “I know.”
“I should have seen this coming. Ramsgate was not the start of it, only the moment it could no longer be ignored.”
Darcy nodded. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “You did what I could not. I am grateful.”
A pause. Then Fitzwilliam let out a breath and murmured, “I pray it was not too late.”
Mr. Bennet, who had been silent until now, shifted his weight slightly and clasped his hands behind his back.
“It is never too late,” he said quietly. “At least, not for the young. But yes—it is a heavy, heavy burden to guide them. I know something of it.”
Darcy turned to look at him.
“She is a long way from where she ought to be,” Mr. Bennet went on. “But the fact that she felt remorse at all… that she pleaded, that she understood what she had done—those are good signs. Hopeful signs.”
Fitzwilliam exhaled.
Darcy stared at the floor. “Then I shall cling to that hope,” he said softly. “Because I know not what else to do.”
Chapter 22
Georgiana collapsed into Elizabeth’s lap the moment the door closed behind the gentlemen, her slender frame wracked with sobs.
Elizabeth smoothed her hair back from her flushed face, then reached for the bellpull. When the maid arrived, she requested a salve and some soft cloths, and once the girl had gone, she knelt beside the weeping girl.
“I have a cooling balm that should help,” she said gently. “Would you like me to apply it?”
Georgiana nodded, her face still hidden in her hands.
