Page 106 of The Difference of a Darcy
“She can be very softhearted when she thinks no one is looking.”
Georgiana folded the gown gently and returned to her stitching. After a long pause, she said, “I do hope this baby is a boy.”
Elizabeth glanced up from her work. “Why is that?”
“Because then he may inherit,” Georgiana said simply. “He could be the master of Pemberley and stand on his own. If it is a girl…” Her voice trailed off. “A girl will be nothing but a pawn. Like I was.”
Elizabeth set her needle aside and leaned forward. “That may be true in part. But even pawns can move. Even within the constraints of our world, you have choices. Not all of them, but some.”
Georgiana looked unconvinced.
“You choose to get out of bed each morning,” Elizabeth continued softly. “You choose to sew, to speak, to come down to this room. You may not choose everything in your life, but you can choose how to fill your hours. You may decide what books to read, what colors to wear, how to spend your time.”
“I used to play,” Georgiana said suddenly. “All the time. The pianoforte, I mean. I would sing, too. For hours. But I have not touched it since I married.”
Elizabeth’s brows rose. “Then I think it is high time you did.”
Georgiana shook her head. “It does not feel right.”
“Your husband has already taken so much from you,” Elizabeth said gently but firmly. “Do not let him take this, too. Do not let him win one more thing.”
Georgiana was quiet, her needle still. Then, slowly, she straightened her back and looked toward the hallway.
“Very well,” she said. “I shall open the music room today.”
Elizabeth smiled with quiet pride. She bent again to her mending just as a sudden noise from outside made her freeze.
Raised voices.
A shout. Then another.
She rose quickly and crossed to the window.
“Oh no,” she gasped.
Behind her, Georgiana turned sharply in her chair. “What is it?”
Before Elizabeth could form a reply, the door burst open and Mrs. Reynolds hurried into the room. Her usual calm was nowhere in evidence; her cheeks were pale, her eyes wide with something like fear.
Georgiana stood at once. “What is going on?”
Mrs. Reynolds’ voice was clipped and tight with urgency. “It is your husband,” she said. “Mr. Wickham. He… he has returned.”
∞∞∞
Darcy watched in shock as Wickham fought to bring his horse under control. The animal was spirited and barely broken, wild-eyed and frothing, its bridle askew.
It was far too majestic a creature for a coarse man like Wickham.
“Stupid beast!” Wickham bellowed, jerking the reins and lashing its flank with the crop.
The horse reared again in protest, hooves slicing the air. Wickham barely held his seat.
A low grunt of disgust sounded just behind him.
Darcy turned, startled to find John standing at his shoulder, arms folded and jaw clenched.
“Pity the brute was not thrown,” the older man muttered under his breath.
