Page 138 of The Difference of a Darcy
They went down together to the dining room, where lunch was being served. The smell of tea and warm bread met them at the door. Georgiana sat at the table, pale but composed, her hands folded in her lap. Colonel Fitzwilliam was beside her, a cup of coffee in his hand. Both looked up as Elizabeth and Darcy entered.
“Come, sit with us,” the colonel said, motioning to the empty chairs. “Now that your friend is here, Georgie-girl, there is something you should know. It may be unpleasant, but you deserve the truth.”
He hesitated, his eyes flickering to Elizabeth. She understood at once.
Elizabeth reached across the table and took Georgiana’s hand. “My dear, there has been an accident,” she said gently. “Your husband is dead.”
Georgiana blinked, her face blank for a moment. Then she looked to her cousin. “You did not—?”
“Good heavens, no!” Richard exclaimed, appalled. “It was not my doing.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “It was his own foolishness. He was drinking in Lambton last night and decided to ride home. His horse threw him.”
Silence followed. Georgiana’s gaze drifted to the window, unfocused, and then tears began to slide down her cheeks.
Darcy and Richard exchanged alarmed glances. “You cannot possibly be mourning him,” Richard said incredulously.
Georgiana only wept harder.
Elizabeth touched her shoulder. “Colonel, allow her a moment. Sometimes when women receive great news—whether happy or sad—tears are the first release. There must be so many emotions within her just now. Relief, perhaps, followed by guilt for feeling that relief. Guilt, too, that had she been a better wife, he might not have gone to the tavern at all. And now, uncertainty for the future. It is a great deal for one heart to contain.”
Richard studied his cousin for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “All of those feelings inside your little body, Georgie-girl? It is a wonder you do not burst.”
The absurdity of the remark drew a startled laugh from her, and soon all of them were smiling through the dampness of tears.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “None of this is your fault, my dear. Mr. Wickham made his own choices, and now he has paid their price. The question is what must happen next.”
Georgiana’s expression crumpled once more. “But what can I do now? My husband is gone, and I cannot own property. I shall fall under my uncle’s authority again, and now with a child. The child will inherit, but if my uncle petitions the court, he might take it from me. I have no power at all.”
Elizabeth took a deep breath. “Then it is fortunate that I have another idea.”
Both men turned toward her. Their gazes were attentive but wary, and her courage wavered for a moment. What if the colonel dismissed her suggestion outright? What if she made matters worse?
Still, she pressed on. “What if you had another husband, Georgiana?”
Georgiana blinked. “Another—?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said carefully. “A man you could trust. Someone who would care for you and for the child. Someone who would protect you.”
Georgiana’s brow furrowed. “But how could I know he was good? What if he proved just the same? I do not think I wish to marry again.”
Elizabeth met the colonel’s eyes deliberately. “But what if it were someone you already know? Someone whose honor is beyond question.”
Understanding dawned slowly on his face.
“Who?” Georgiana asked, still staring down at her hands.
“Me,” said Richard, and Georgiana’s head jerked up, startled.
He rose and came to stand beside her, then knelt so that he was level with her chair. “I know I am older than you,” he said quietly, “and I have been your absent guardian more than your friend. It would not be a great love affair such as one reads of in novels, but I do care for you, and for Pemberley. I flatter myself that I am a moderately good catch.”
She gave a watery laugh through her tears. “But there is no money to rebuild Pemberley. We have scarcely enough now.”
“Your dowry was withheld,” he reminded her, “because my father and I would not consent to Wickham. That fortune remains untouched. My father will grant permission for this marriage, and when he does, your dowry can restore Pemberley and provide for you and the child.”
“And your career?”
He smiled faintly. “My injury on this last campaign prevents me from being able to return to the front. They will have to defeat the little emperor without me, whether we wed or not.”
