The Road to Pemberley (42 page)

My brother is perfectly composed and relaxed in her presence—on the surface, at least. We stay with them for about a half an hour and then, just before we leave, my brother persuades me to invite them to Pemberley for dinner, which I do quite nervously. Mrs. Gardiner accepts for the party, and smiles encouragingly at me. We settle on the day after next, and then must take our leave. Fitzwilliam and I are both close to silent, but smile stupidly on the return to the house.

To my vexation and delight, Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet call upon us the following morning. Her uncle had accepted an invitation to go trout fishing at Pemberley, issued the previous day by my brother, and they had set out earlier in the morning with a party that included Mr. Bingley. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst greet our visitors coldly. I wonder if something happened between them
in Hertfordshire and rather suspect the sisters of being less than gracious neighbors.

Mrs. Gardiner is as open and friendly as she was yesterday. She talks easily with Mrs. Annesley, and Miss Bennet listens respectfully to their conversation, joining in occasionally. I, of course, say next to nothing, as I am afraid of saying something silly.

I am afraid Miss Bennet is not very comfortable in the presence of the Bingley sisters, for she seems quite anxious. After remaining silent since her arrival, Miss Bingley screws up courtesy enough to inquire after the health of the Bennet family, and receives a reply formulated with as much consideration as Miss Bingley showed in waiting more than a quarter of an hour to ask.

After this exchange, finally I notice Mrs. Annesley looking at me as though something is expected of me, and I am reminded that I am the hostess and must ring for some refreshment. Some lovely fruits are brought, and we all gather round the table, and not long afterward, Fitzwilliam comes to join us.

He issues a general greeting to the room, and I smile a little as I see Miss Bennet's cheeks flush. He explains that he had heard from Mr. Gardiner that the ladies intended to call at the house, and that all of the gentlemen were still enjoying themselves at the river.

I observe Miss Bennet as he speaks. After some moments she seems more relaxed and at ease, which pleases me, and I think her smiles must please my brother. It does not escape my notice that he seems particularly anxious for she and I to speak, and I do exert myself more to do so.

Miss Bingley, unfortunately, also notices that my brother is attempting to forward conversation between Miss Bennet and myself, and from the expression upon her face, she is not pleased by it. She proves it then, by asking Miss Bennet whether the regiment
of militia, which I knew Mr. Wickham had joined, had not removed from Meryton.

“They must be a great loss to
your
family.”

Knowing the nature of Miss Bennet's acquaintance with one in particular of those officers, I would feel more for my new friend if I did not more clearly recall what connection I had with the same officer. Miss Bingley has never heard a word of the incident, and would not have posed the question if she knew of it, but the comment was made out of anger and jealousy, and with the intention of injuring my brother's opinion of our visitor. It has the unintended side effect of silencing me for the remainder of the visit.

Miss Bennet answers quietly and disinterestedly, and they do not stay much longer. When they have gone, Miss Bingley begins abusing her abominably. I can see she wants me to join her, but I cannot. My first introduction to Miss Bennet through my brother's glowing descriptions in his letters was enough to ensure my good opinion. Now that I have met her for myself I have no objection whatever, and so I ignore Miss Bingley, and go quietly and smilingly with Mrs. Annesley to my French lesson.

Fitzwilliam does not join us for tea that afternoon, but Mr. Bingley does. He and I have pleasant conversation, while his sisters are uncharacteristically quiet. Soon Mrs. Reynolds pops in and tells me that my brother would like to see me. I cannot think what for, so curiously I go in the direction of her pointed finger. My brother is waiting in the hallway.

“I should like a turn in the garden with you,” he says, his hand extended. I smile and take it.

We reach the garden. It is so beautiful at this time of year. Fitzwilliam tucks my hand into the crook of his arm and smiles at me.
“You and I did not have the chance to talk yesterday evening,” he says. “What were your impressions of Miss Bennet?”

Honestly, Brother. Don't beat around the bush. A direct approach is always best, after all. “She is lovely,” I say, to quickly assure him of of my regard. “I very much like her.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he says. Then he stops and turns to me, squeezing my hand. “I think that it is time we had a talk.”

“What about?” I ask, my stomach aflutter.

“You know that I must marry,” he says, his voice low. “I know that you do not know her well...but…do you suppose that you might like to have her for your sister?”

Though I am rather inclined to call his valet and send him back to the inn with our mother's wedding ring, I consider the question. I do like Miss Bennet, very much. My first impressions of her are everything good and amiable, and adding to that my brother's own good opinion of the lady, the fact that the dogs do not growl at her as they do at Miss Bingley, and Mrs. Reynolds' rapture over her the night before, I do not think I have greatly erred. As to her fortune and connections, I am perfectly indifferent and always have been to anyone's. But if she is my sister, then she is my brother's wife. This means many things and I sit on a bench to ponder them. Fitzwilliam looks nervous and a little surprised.

“I should very much like to give over housekeeping to your wife, Fitzwilliam,” I say, which is not the answer he was expecting at all. He stares uncomprehendingly at me for a moment but then realizes where my thoughts have gone, and sits next to me. “I should have to share you,” I say quietly. “Rather a lot, I conjecture.”

“But with a woman worthy as I believe Miss Bennet is,” he whispers to me, “would you share willingly?”

I look up at him. “Do you remember the Weldons?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Of course—Philip and his sister Agatha. What makes you think of...oh.”

My cheeks are crimson, but I meet his eyes. Agatha was several years older than me, but the only other young lady who lived in Portnam Square, so I knew her reasonably well. Like Fitzwilliam and I, there were more than ten years between her and Philip, and their parents had passed on.

“She adored Philip,” I remind my own, dear brother, “but when he married, she was left in London without a visit from him for an entire year.”

“I would never do such a thing,” he replies. “Georgiana, you know I would not.”

I feel silly for even thinking such a thing, and smile sheepishly at him. “I do.”

He tilts my chin up with his crooked finger. “And—assuming everything turns out the way that I hope it shall—Miss Bennet would not hear of leaving you behind.”

“I should dearly love to have a sister,” I tell him, smiling. “And I do like Miss Bennet very much.”

“And so,” he continues, uneasily, “if I were to court Miss Bennet—properly—and if I could show her that I am not the vicious beast she must have thought me at times, perhaps she would consent to marry me. You would approve?”

I smile at him. It is rather endearing to hear him speak in terms so uncertain. “Yes!” I declare. “Unless of course, you think Miss Bingley would like to fill the office.”

He raises his eyebrow at me. “If a lifetime of torture was what I wanted, I would choose Anne first. At least it would be quiet torture,” he retorts, and we continue our walk. He is smiling all the way, and I know his head is full of Miss Bennet. “We will have a new
family at Pemberley,” he declares just before we reach the house again. He kisses my forehead and leads me inside.

The next day I rise and practice early in anticipation of spending the remainder of the day getting ready for, and enjoying, Miss Bennet and the Gardiners' visit. My brother leaves the house before I am finished and when he returns he has distressing news: Miss Bennet has been called home unexpectedly and will not be joining us today. I am disappointed, but my brother—who had the day before been talking of marriage and new families—is, quite clearly, both angry and brokenhearted. This combination of emotions I have seen before, regarding the same woman, and I do not know what to do. He is close to silent for the remainder of the day, and in the evening I want to suggest that perhaps he should join Mr. Bingley when he returns to Hertfordshire, but am too afraid to speak to him.

I try to outlast Mr. Bingley's sisters, but as I do not wait until ten o'clock to rise, I cannot. Fitzwilliam approaches me and recommends that I retire with a kiss on my head, which I know is not a suggestion, but a command. I sigh and bid him good night, walking slowly to my room. The day has turned out quite differently than I had expected and hoped and I wish that I knew why.

When the house is finally dark and quiet I hear his footsteps. They are distinctive—strong, sharp, and quick. He is pacing. He walks up and down the hallway at least four times before his steps slow down, and before long he is shuffling his feet. When I hear his footsteps stop at the end of the hallway opposite his chamber door, I rise and put on my robe. I step out to the hall.

He is sitting slumped on the cold marble floor, his arms resting on his legs, bent at the knee. There is—not surprisingly—a bottle of wine resting between his feet. I sit next to him.

“Go to bed, Georgiana.”

“Tell me what is troubling you.”

“No.”

“I am not a child, you know, Fitzwilliam. You can confide in me. I may not be able to do anything for you, but at least I can listen and help bear your burden.”

He looks at me with eyes swollen from sorrow and narrow from anger. “Go to bed, Georgiana.”

“No,” I say emphatically, quite perturbed with him. “I beg you, Fitzwilliam, just talk to me. It will do more good than drowning your troubles in that bottle of wine.”

His head thumps against the wall; I wince for him but he does not seem to feel it. “Oh...my dear sister.” He shakes his head now, back and forth, in a rather exaggerated manner. “You would be too distressed by what is going through my head.”

“And what is going through your head?”

“The fact that I am in love with a woman who will never have me.”

In any other circumstance, I would rejoice at his confession of love. “You are speaking of Miss Bennet?”

“I am.”

“And why will she never have you?”

“Because her youngest sister has run away with damned Wickham, and she knows that I could have prevented it.”

Stunned, I stare for a moment. “What has Wickham done?”

Fitzwilliam flops his head in my direction. “He ran away with Miss Lydia Bennet.” He reaches for his wine. “She has nothing—no money, no connections, few friends. Nothing that will tempt Wickham to marry her. She is lost to her family and I could have prevented it.” He lifts the bottle by its neck to his lips and takes an untidy swig.

“He has ruined that poor girl,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand. “Miss Lydia Bennet could so easily have been me.”

“No,” drawls Fitzwilliam, “for Wickham would have married you. He will not marry Miss Lydia Bennet. She has nothing to offer him.”

“Truly, they have nothing?” I ask, beginning to worry for my new friend. How distressed must she now be! “There is no way he would marry her?”

“If she had what you have, perhaps,” he replies with another swig of his wine, “but she has not, and so he won't.”

We fall quiet for a moment. I know not what my brother is thinking, but my head is swimming with the words that he used to describe Miss Lydia Bennet's situation.