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Chapter Text

It had been two years since Elizabeth Bennet married Fitzwilliam Darcy, the happiest two years that she could remember, and she had no reason to believe that the next one would be any different. She was married to her favorite person in the world, she was the mistress of a beautiful estate, her dear sister-in-law was her constant companion, and her most beloved sister lived only thirty miles away.

If things were not quite perfect, they were very nearly so, and as she simply chose not to think about those few things that kept her from complete happiness, it amounted to the same thing. 

The Darcy family had celebrated a quiet Christmas Day that year, the third of their marriage and the first one in which only the Pemberley party were in attendance. Their previous companions in years past - the Gardiners, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. and Mrs. Bingley and their little boy - had all been otherwise engaged: the Gardiners had a houseful of flu-stricken children, Colonel Fitzwilliam was still fairly newly-married and content to stay in his own home, and Jane, nearing her confinement and suffering more severely from her condition this time around, was not up to any kind of travel. Even Mr. Bennet, who had made an unexpected and memorable appearance at Pemberley late last Christmas, had stayed home at Longbourn this year. 

Elizabeth had not minded. As much as she loved the other members of her family, she never regretted having Fitzwilliam and Georgiana to herself.

They had spent some time after dinner talking cheerfully by the fire, and Georgiana had gone to bed early, as was her wont. It was a habit that Elizabeth had fretted about when she had first arrived at Pemberley.

"I hope she does not go on my account," she had said. "I do not wish her to feel she is in the way in her own home."

But she had been reassured that Georgiana tired easily, that she did not sleep well, and that she had always turned in at around this time. 

Elizabeth loved Georgiana dearly, but she hadn't been sorry for the time alone with just Fitzwilliam either. 

"It was a very agreeable day," Elizabeth said with a contented sigh. 

Fitzwilliam murmured his assent. 

"I hope the little Gardiners are feeling better."

"It was strange, not having your aunt and uncle here. They have become quite a fixture at Christmas."

"Indeed. But I enjoyed it being just the three of us this year."

"I almost expected your father to turn up again."

“There is still time before midnight; he might yet.”

She felt his soft laugh, nestled as she was against him, rather than heard it. 

They lapsed into a sleepy silence, his hand in her hair, and Elizabeth was feeling cheerful and untroubled when Fitzwilliam suddenly spoke.

"Did you find Georgiana rather quiet this evening?"

Elizabeth considered. It could be difficult to tell. Unlike Fitzwilliam, who was perfectly eager to talk in company he was fond of, Georgiana was more generally reticent. This had not always been the case, apparently - Fitzwilliam spoke of her as being a little more open and chatty before Ramsgate, with people she knew well, at least - and it was not always true in their little family party, but there were plenty of instances that Elizabeth could think of where Georgiana had been content to listen rather than contribute to the conversation.

Even so, she could not deny that Fitzwilliam's observation was correct, and she had recently begun to have her own suspicions about Georgiana.

"I believe she is thinking of her future," Elizabeth said carefully. 

"Yes," said Fitzwilliam with a heavy sigh. "I think so too."

Georgiana’s future was a bit of a tense topic. Fitzwilliam did not particularly like to talk about it as it meant his little sister was growing older. The lady herself was equally reluctant to broach the subject; in vulnerable moments, she declared it impossible that anyone would ever like her enough to marry her, and Elizabeth had seen how painful she found the thought.

About a year ago, an attempt had been made to bring Georgiana out more, to attend balls and to meet more young people, but there had been an incident (in her mind, Elizabeth referred to it as The Incident, capitalized, italicized, and occasionally underlined) and Georgiana had fled back into semi-reclusion at Pemberley. 

The Darcys had been in Bath, visiting Fitzwilliam and Georgiana’s aunt Darcy. Georgiana, with the experience of a few balls and parties behind her, had just begun to relax a little more in company (a development Elizabeth had observed with pleasure), but it had all come to an abrupt end when they had spotted George Wickham at one of the assemblies. Whether they had received bad information or he had lied to his wife about his whereabouts, they never knew (they had heard that he was in town); it had been enough to destroy whatever self-assurance Georgiana had attained in the previous months. Elizabeth could still picture the scene clearly: Georgiana, smiling one minute, her face stricken the next, suddenly pale and weak and faint; Elizabeth, panicky and urgent, searching for Fitzwilliam, unsure that she could keep Georgiana upright on her own; the absolute necessity of not creating a scene and of removing themselves before Wickham saw them. They left quickly and headed back for Derbyshire the next day, Georgiana’s progress undone. The wound had reopened; the healing would need to start anew.

By unspoken agreement, none of them ever mentioned the episode, and Georgiana had seemed to take solace in the tranquility of her own home.

But Elizabeth had noticed that Georgiana had started dropping little hints in the last several months, hints that she might be ready for another attempt. Elizabeth thought it might have started with her own sister Mary's wedding at the end of September. It was a marriage that had surprised everyone in its occurring as quickly as it had; an unworthy thought, perhaps, but an uncomfortably universal one. Georgiana, however, had also seemed to find the event aspirational. 

Since that time, she had mentioned, quite unprovoked, several balls and parties that had been held nearby, and who among their acquaintance might have been there, and had wondered idly about the Miss Thomases and their very public affairs (there had been an extremely sudden marriage, a hastily broken engagement, and a deeply inappropriate flirtation respectively among them, all of which had been local scandals). She had taken to watching Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam wistfully, whenever the two of them were being more than usually affectionate, and to leaving the room suddenly whenever they were being a little too adorable.

Georgiana seemed to be lonely for a companionship that neither Elizabeth nor Fitzwilliam could give her. Elizabeth had noticed it, and Fitzwilliam, an uncommonly watchful brother, certainly had too.

Elizabeth thought it must be difficult for Georgiana, who had such romantic hopes, to feel so thwarted in them. It had been particularly cruel of Wickham to prey on such a girl, to maliciously dash the dreams she had already begun to cherish. 

“I think it might be time for her to try again,” Elizabeth said softly.

Fitzwilliam looked rather conflicted about this, though he endeavored to hide it.

“The moment was bound to happen eventually,” she said with a little smile. 

She understood his mixed emotions; his protectiveness as a brother warring with his desire for Georgiana to be happy. She knew, moreover, that her husband was a man who always wanted to rush in to fix things for the people he loved - he had done it for her, in the whole Lydia affair, and he had meant well with Bingley - and he was powerless here. Georgiana would meet someone or she wouldn’t, and there wasn’t much he could do about it.

“We can start small,” continued Elizabeth. “The Metcalfes’ ball is next month--”

“That will not be small.”

“--and there will be Sir Richard's dinner party before that.”

Fitzwilliam grimaced.

“She will never meet anyone if she stays hidden away here,” Elizabeth pointed out.

He accepted the truth of that. 

“We will see how it goes,” she said. “After all, there is no need to be in too great a hurry. Georgiana is still young. She has time to look around a bit.”

She glanced up at his expression, moodier than she wished it to be.

“Come now,” she said, “Georgiana was perfectly happy this morning. She grows a little more thoughtful, perhaps, at times, but I do not think she is wholly miserable.”

She reached up to smooth his brow. 

“It was a good day,” she said, giggling lightly as he caught her hand and kissed it. “I will not let you worry about something so entirely beyond your control.”

“Just try to stop me,” he said, but his countenance had cleared and she relaxed against him once more.

The clock struck eleven.

"Shall we go upstairs?" Fitzwilliam asked her.

"Not just yet," Elizabeth answered. She was warm and comfortable by the fire, curled up next to him, and she wasn't ready to move. 

Chapter Text

Sir Richard Fanshawe was exceptionally devoted to hosting dinner parties, and the Darcy family was always sure to be invited to them. He was an old friend of the late Mr. Darcy; a good-hearted, well-meaning, generous man, but best experienced in small doses. He was garrulous in a way that was particularly irksome to Fitzwilliam, and unpolished in a way that made his conversation occasionally awkward, but Elizabeth did not mind this much. She was sure his novelty would wear off eventually, but she still found much to be amused by in him. 

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!” he exclaimed when they arrived. “And Miss Darcy, too! How good it is to see all of you! It has been too long!”  

He bowed to the ladies and shook hands energetically with Fitzwilliam.

“I hope that you see many of your friends around you here. I do like a nice crowd. I was sure that Milton would be able to come tonight, you know, but it seems he has gone off traveling somewhere.”

James Milton was the young man Fitzwilliam had deemed worthy of the living at Kympton (the very same living that George Wickham had both disdained and hoped for). He was a very good sort of man and the Darcys were all fond of him.

“I believe he is visiting some friends, sir,” said Fitzwilliam discreetly.

“And leaving all of his work to his curate, I am sure!” 

“He expects to return on Saturday.”

“Lucky for his parishioners, but not so lucky for our party!”

Fitzwilliam agreed that this was true.

Sir Richard turned to Elizabeth. 

"You grow handsomer every time I see you, Mrs. Darcy," he said, gallantly kissing her hand. "I wish my dear friend had lived to see you become his daughter. He would have boasted about you to all of us."

He told her the same thing whenever they met; the late Mr. Darcy was one of his cherished topics and he repeated the same anecdotes tirelessly and with great enthusiasm. Fitzwilliam knew them word for word and his Sir Richard impersonation was startlingly accurate. Elizabeth made him perform it after every meeting with the man. 

"And Miss Darcy, I believe you must be the prettiest young lady in the country by now."

Georgiana did look especially pretty tonight, her dark hair elegantly arranged and her cheeks faintly flushed. She demurred quietly, looking at the floor.

“You are too modest, my dear. I am sure you will hear your praises sung all evening. You will be pleased to know that I have invited plenty of young people for you to mingle with. You need not spend all of your time in the company of an old coot like myself."

Georgiana smiled uncertainly. 

“And there is one among the company who I am particularly eager to introduce you to: my nephew, Mr. Augustus Fanshawe.” He gave her a mischievous sort of look. “He is very agreeable, I dare say, and the young ladies tell me he is quite handsome.” 

Georgiana's gaze had dropped back to the ground again.

"But do not let me embarrass you now, Miss Darcy. I will leave it to you to decide for yourself whether or not you like him.” 

And he left them to greet his other guests, winking roguishly before he went. 

***

Georgiana found dinner excruciating. She was seated next to Augustus Fanshawe, which was uncomfortable enough, but Sir Richard’s eye was often upon them both, with a knowing look that made her want to dive beneath the table and never be seen again. 

Mr. Fanshawe, it must be admitted, was very handsome. He was not tall - she thought she was probably taller than he was - but his features were good, his hair thick and wavy, and his eyes dark and expressive. 

If he would have stopped talking for half a minute, she may have found herself intrigued by him.

Unfortunately, Mr. Fanshawe had not stopped talking, and his subject of choice was himself: his skill as a sportsman, his longing for a good day of shooting, and his impeccable judgment in horses were all covered before he had made up his plate.

Georgiana did not mind not talking - she did not think she was capable of contributing much, as nervous as she was in such unfamiliar company - but Mr. Fanshawe, a man who was clearly very pleased with himself indeed, seemed incapable of seeing how displeasing he was to others. 

She tried her best to look polite anyway.

"Just look at them over there," Sir Richard called, beaming at his nephew. "Getting along famously already! And he is my heir, you know, Miss Darcy."

Georgiana looked at Fitzwilliam in agony. He grimaced in commiseration and gave a tiny shake of his head. Pay him no mind, that shake said. It will be over soon.

"I am not sure you will find my being his heir very impressive," Mr. Fanshawe said, "when you compare Easthill to Pemberley.”

Georgiana mumbled something that sounded magnanimous.

“But it is not so paltry an inheritance, I do not think. There are not many of my acquaintance who could boast a better one.”

She hastily started eating, so her mouth would be too full to answer.

“You would not dislike such a house, would you, Miss Darcy?”

She choked; the coughing fit that ensued was both embarrassing and inelegant.

***

Elizabeth raised her voice to a level that was considerably louder than her usual one in an effort to distract from Georgiana’s distress. 

“Have you heard any news of Mrs. Thomas, Sir Richard?” she asked. “I do hope she is feeling better.”

“Quite cured,” Sir Richard answered. “I just received word from Alexander this morning. She is up and about and none the worse from this little bout of ill health.” He took a large gulp of his wine. “She will need all of the strength she can get, with Horatio returning. Had you heard that he will soon be back in the country, Darcy?”

Fitzwilliam was wearing his most carefully polite expression. “I had not.”

The Thomases were one of the more notorious local families: the parents were respectable people and had been good friends of Fitzwilliam’s parents, but their six children gave them varying degrees of trouble. Elizabeth knew the family more by reputation than anything else. Fitzwilliam did not often socialize with them, now that his parents were dead, and Elizabeth had only met them a handful of times herself. She would not have minded seeing more of the parents, but she was quite content to keep her acquaintance with the children a slight one.

Miss Thomas - Mrs. Harding now - was a year or two older than Fitzwilliam and had had her eye on him for many years. It had been quite clear, when Elizabeth had met her, that the woman despised her and wished her all manner of evil for winning the prize she had coveted. The younger Miss Thomases had been scarcely less hostile.

The two younger sons were made in the George Wickham mold - careless, dissipated, and irresponsible - though Fitzwilliam gave them credit for being less malicious and more thoughtless and foolish than that man.

But Horatio, the eldest son, she had never met. He was Fitzwilliam’s age, or a little younger; he had been living somewhere on the Continent for several years now, she had heard, was rumored to have been involved in several catastrophic business affairs, and was thought to have hovered perilously close to financial ruin, dependent on his father’s wealth and influence to lift him out of it. She knew there were whispers of a more salacious nature surrounding him, but she had never heard the particulars herself.

“Well, we will all need to stay vigilant about him,” said Sir Richard heartily. “We have enough trouble as it is with his younger brothers.” 

Fitzwilliam made a bland sort of answer but looked pensive.

***

“I did not like Mr. Fanshawe very much,” said Georgiana delicately as they rode back home.

He had ended the second half of the evening in the same way he had begun it: talking too much, staying too close, pushing where he should have yielded, and praising himself all the while.

“I am afraid that one often meets many unpleasant young men before they find the right one, my dear,” said Elizabeth.

Georgiana nodded, but still felt rather disappointed.

***

“Well, it may not have been the most agreeable evening I have ever had, but at least it was not a disaster," said Elizabeth when she and Fitzwilliam were alone. "No tears and no bloodshed. Only a dozen stories about your father."

Fitzwilliam smiled wryly. 

“Are you particularly upset by the news of Horatio Thomas?”

“Not particularly, no. I do not like him, and he is not a welcome presence wherever he goes, but it is not as though we see much of the family in general. It is not like Sir Richard, who one meets with far too often.”

“Mr. Fanshawe seems--”

“Obnoxious?”

“Well, quite,” said Elizabeth. “Poor Georgiana.”

“Should I speak to him, do you think?”

“Oh, not yet; not unless he becomes something more than merely unpleasant. It is good for Georgiana to learn how to manage these sorts of men.”

“She handled herself well, I thought, upon the whole. Better than I used to, at her age.”

“All she needs is more practice. The only thing she really lacks is confidence.”

“It is unfortunate that there are not a greater number of young men for her to meet with here. Not all of them will be as offensive as Fanshawe.”

“Oh, Fitzwilliam,” she said, brushing the curls from his forehead and kissing his cheek, “let us not pretend that you will ever meet a young man that you find perfectly acceptable for her.”

She laughed as he swept her up, and soon Georgiana and her future suitors were entirely forgotten.

***

The next morning brought a piece of news that Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had anticipated.

“Kitty is engaged,” Elizabeth announced, reading her sister’s excited and hastily-written letter.

Kitty Bennet’s intended was the very same Mr. Milton whom they had briefly discussed with Sir Richard the night before. Kitty had seen him often when she had stayed with the Darcys at Pemberley, and they knew that some very tender feelings had arisen between the young pair over the course of her time there. She was visiting with the Bingleys now, and when Mr. Milton had announced his intention to visit a little village in the neighboring county where the Bingleys lived, the Darcys had been left in little doubt as to his true purpose.

“I believe she and Mr. Milton will be very happy together,” said Fitzwilliam, looking up from his newspaper. “She is much improved in the last year and they are certainly well-suited.”

Georgiana voiced her own approval of the match. A sort of cautious friendship had grown between her and Kitty, and she did sound genuinely pleased for her, but there was something guarded in her expression.

“I can imagine that she is relieved,” Elizabeth mused, reading over some of Kitty’s more enthusiastic lines. “She is the last of us to marry - she was starting to worry."

Georgiana looked suddenly stricken and excused herself, exiting quickly and shutting the door noiselessly behind her. Elizabeth had realized her mistake as soon as the remark had left her mouth, and she immediately stood to go after her. 

Fitzwilliam placed a hand on her wrist.

“Let her go,” he said softly.

“I did not think-- I did not mean anything by it.”

“She knows that,” Fitzwilliam soothed.

“I must go apologize.”

“She will want to be alone for a while, I think,” he said. “She would have in any case; she was always going to receive this news with mixed emotions.”

Elizabeth felt thoroughly miserable about the whole thing. 

What a thoughtless thing to say, just when Georgiana was feeling especially vulnerable. She would feel this development keenly - Kitty was only a little older than she was, and though neither girl was advanced enough in years to be considered anything near an old maid, one could not expect rationality to prevail when the subject was so close to their hearts.

Fitzwilliam tugged Elizabeth gently to him so that she ended up halfway in his lap. She allowed herself to be pulled the rest of the way there, grateful for the comfort. 

“Just give her some time, my love,” he murmured into her hair. “She will recover soon enough.” 

“I wish she could meet someone she likes and avoid this section in the middle, with the waiting, and the wondering, and the stupid men, and the heartache. It would be much better to go straight to the good parts,” said Elizabeth. 

“One might argue that it is the middle that makes one truly appreciate the good parts.”

“Oh, I do not know about that. I do not imagine that I would have minded if we had been less foolish from the beginning and had just gotten on with it! The lowest time of my life was when I thought I had lost you forever, and I do not like seeing Georgiana have to trudge through her lows, either." 

“Nor do I,” he sighed.

Chapter Text

Darcy had been acquainted with the Metcalfes, a prominent family in the area, for many years. The late Mr. Darcy had preferred the comparatively humble side of the Metcalfe family, an opinion Darcy himself shared. Mr. Lewis Metcalfe was a respectable gentleman, a good friend of his father’s, and Mr. Metcalfe’s son, Jonathan, a sweet-natured and quiet young man around Bingley’s age, had become something of an occasional protege of Darcy’s.

His mother’s family, the Fitzwilliams, had been particularly intimate with the more affluent Metcalfes; there had been talk, if Lady Catherine was to be believed, of marrying his mother off to Sir Philip Metcalfe, but the baronet had lacked the wealth of Mr. George Darcy, and so the honor of becoming Lady Metcalfe had gone to another. This woman had been a close friend to both his mother and his aunt; Lady Catherine still meddled shamelessly in her affairs. 

Sir Philip had died the year before, and the current baronet, his son, Sir Edgar Metcalfe, was to be their host this evening.

The ball at Fairview, the Metcalfes’ estate, was a bit of an annual event; these grander Metcalfes only ever stayed in the county for a month or two every year, preferring their larger house in the south, and there was always a self-created fanfare whenever they were to leave Derbyshire again. They could never go without giving everyone the chance to see them off. It was not a tradition that Darcy was overly fond of. It was Georgiana’s first time attending the Fairview Ball and she looked similarly uncomfortable. Elizabeth, of course, was totally at her ease.

Fairview was, from the outside, a handsome house, smaller and newer than Pemberley, but the Metcalfes’ taste left much to be desired. It made Rosings look understated by comparison.

“Who would have thought that Sir Philip would be considered the member of the family with the most restraint?” he whispered to Elizabeth as they looked around the changes that had been made since their last visit. The place had always been ornate, but now it was positively garish.

Elizabeth widened her eyes at him and squeezed his arm, but he could tell that she was biting back a laugh.

“Quite a horror, from top to bottom. I was not aware that one could gild an entire house.”

Another squeeze.

“What is the betting that the baronet is overdressed to the point of absurdity?”

“Do not make me laugh, Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth. “It will look most undignified, and all of these people already think me beneath them.”

“Further proof of their want of taste.” He glanced around at the particularly unattractive ballroom. “Though it is not as if that were ever in doubt.”

Very unfortunately for Elizabeth, they caught their first glance of Sir Edgar, whose cravat was tied very high and in a ludicrously complicated fashion, and whose coat they could see, even at this distance, was ostentatiously embroidered in gold. 

Darcy raised a triumphant eyebrow and Elizabeth let out an involuntary giggle, provoking a glare of disapproval from a haughty-looking woman near them.

“If you persist in this way, Fitzwilliam, I will refuse to dance with you,” Elizabeth hissed, but her eyes were sparkling and she could not entirely hide her smile. 

Darcy gave her a tiny wink and turned to his sister.

He had deliberately excluded Georgiana from the conversation until now; she had looked overwhelmed as they entered the house and had needed a moment to compose herself. He had not wanted her to have to attempt it with an audience. 

“How are you feeling?” he whispered. 

“Quite well,” she said, and though her voice shook slightly, she appeared much calmer than she had just a few minutes before. 

He gave her an encouraging sort of smile. “If you feel that you have to escape at any point this evening, you need only say the word. I know all of the good hiding spots.”

She let out a breath, quavery with both nerves and amusement, and nodded.

“And you can always stay near us if you are uncomfortable.” 

She nodded again, beginning to look more cheerful. 

“Elizabeth has already threatened that she will not dance with me, so I may be free as a potential partner for the whole evening.”

Elizabeth, overhearing this last sentence, pinched him.

Georgiana smiled; he had successfully distracted her from her discomfort. He would keep an eye on her, of course, and his work for the evening might not be entirely finished, but it was going reasonably well so far. 

***

As tempting as it was to stay near Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, Georgiana was very unlikely to find a partner in their company. Her brother was often intimidating without meaning to be (he could be downright menacing to anyone he considered a danger to her), and he tended to scare away all but the most intrepid of young men. 

Feeling excessively anxious, but trying to emulate all of Elizabeth’s courage and ease, Georgiana looked around the room for someone - anyone - she was acquainted with. There were not many faces here that she knew, but there were more than she had expected. If even half of them asked her to dance, she would have a successful evening indeed. 

She had just worked up the nerve to position herself at a better angle to be seen by Mr. Sanderson, a young man she knew from church, when she spotted a familiar blond head.

Oh, no.

She turned quickly, but Mr. Fanshawe had already seen her.

"Miss Darcy!" he exclaimed. "I had hoped you would be here!"

Georgiana responded civilly but looked around for Fitzwilliam. She was not above using him to subdue this particular threat. He and Elizabeth were speaking with Sir Edgar; his back was to her, but she could see enough of Elizabeth's profile to tell that her sister was greatly amused by something. 

Georgiana tried to catch her eye - Elizabeth would always help her too - but it was useless. They were too far away, too preoccupied, and Georgiana was quite on her own. 

How did you discourage a young man's attentions? she wondered. She would have to remember to ask Elizabeth. 

Mr. Fanshawe was talking about himself again, and his new dog, and his new coat, and some money he had won at a card party; perhaps he would never get around to asking her to dance.

As if the very hope had reminded him, Mr. Fanshawe held out his hand to her. 

“Well, Miss Darcy, shall we?”

“I am afraid she has already promised these dances to me,” said a voice from over Mr. Fanshawe’s shoulder. 

Georgiana, who had been staring at the floor, looked up quickly to see Jonathan Metcalfe. 

Mr. Metcalfe was a tall young man (not as tall as Fitzwilliam, but few men were; he was taller than Georgiana, at any rate), with auburn hair and hazel eyes. He was not quite handsome, but his expression was always so pleasant that it hardly mattered. Georgiana had known him for years; his family was a good one and he and Fitzwilliam were friendly.

Mr. Metcalfe gave her a quick, small smile, which she returned. This claiming of dances was an uncharacteristically bold move from him, but one she appreciated. Mr. Fanshawe, looking very put out, bowed slightly and walked away.

“I apologize for my presumption, Miss Darcy,” said Mr. Metcalfe immediately. “It is just that you looked so horrified and I could not think what else to do.”

“Oh, no,” said Georgiana. “I am very much obliged to you. I did not want to dance with Mr. Fanshawe.” 

Perhaps she should not have said so, but she really was feeling almost dizzy with relief.

“You know that I am no great dancer, but I hope I will not be a disagreeable partner,” said Mr. Metcalfe. “We have danced together before, at least, and so you already know what is in store for you.”

“You will not be a disagreeable partner at all,” she said, taking his hand. 

Georgiana had danced with Mr. Metcalfe before, at her very first ball at the Bingleys’ last year. He had been a great help to her then, too, when she had been scared that she would be sitting down the whole night. 

He was a very good man, Mr. Metcalfe; a sort of quieter, more thoughtful Mr. Bingley. Or, rather, he was not like Bingley at all, but Georgiana always seemed to think of them in the same way, as they were both so brotherly to her. This was becoming a pattern, she saw: every young man she knew was either disagreeable, married, a brother figure, or her actual brother.

Still, she liked Mr. Metcalfe, and dancing with him was certainly better than dancing with Mr. Fanshawe.

"This is your first ball at Fairview, is it not?" asked Mr. Metcalfe as they took their place in the set.

Georgiana confirmed that it was.

"It is an event to be borne with rather than enjoyed, unfortunately."

Georgiana thought it might be rude to laugh, but she could not help smiling.

"But do not let me ruin the night for you," Mr. Metcalfe continued hastily. “This is my own prejudice, as I do not enjoy a ball in general. I have already told you that I am no great dancer; your brother and I used to stand off to the side and avoid everyone."

Georgiana did laugh now; Fitzwilliam’s disinclination towards dancing was infamous.

"He seems perfectly happy to join in now though, since he has married."

"My brother enjoys everything more since he has married. But he and Mrs. Darcy are particularly well-suited." 

She glanced over at them. Elizabeth was laughing at something Fitzwilliam had said. They were leaning towards each other, their faces very close together. Georgiana felt a pang of jealousy, followed quickly by guilt. She could not help it; she dearly wished for someone to look at her the way Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth looked at each other.

But she could not stay melancholy for long. Mr. Metcalfe was an amiable man, attentive and good-natured if not a particularly skilled dancer, and he soon had her smiling once more.

***

It had been a harrowing few minutes with Sir Edgar; Fitzwilliam had said nothing outwardly impolite, but every word had been chosen to make Elizabeth laugh and she had had several close calls.

"You seem to think, Fitzwilliam, that I will not make good on my promise not to dance with you."

"You could not make good on that promise even when you hated me," he teased.

Unfortunately, he had a point. 

"Very well. I will dance with you, but only because you find it a punishment."

"Not with you, I do not."

She couldn't keep up her play-acting when he became so sweetly earnest, and she looked at him fondly as they took their places.

"Should I remark on the size of the room or the number of couples?"

"Fitzwilliam, I had just decided not to quarrel with you."

But she had undermined herself by laughing. 

He grinned at her, eyes sparkling, and then made a bit of a show of looking around them as they waited for their turn.

“You are the most beautiful woman in this room,” he announced decisively.

“You always say that,” she smiled.

“It is always true.”

“Or you know that I am particularly susceptible to flattery and you shamelessly use that knowledge to your own advantage.”

“I can assure you that I am merely making an observation.”

“Entirely unbiased, of course.”

“Naturally.”

“I do recall being in several rooms, early in our acquaintance, where your observations were rather less favorable.”

“I was in a particularly foul mood at the Meryton Assembly. And the lighting was bad.”

“Was it? This is the first I am hearing of it.”

“Very, very bad indeed.”

“I always think I look best in low lighting.”

Fitzwilliam murmured something rather indecorous into her ear, unusual for him, and she burst into laughter. The disapproving woman from earlier was again nearby to hear it; she looked equally reproachful now.

Elizabeth was quite sure that she did not care.

***

How odd, Darcy thought, to be standing off to one side at a ball, but with Elizabeth by him. They had chosen not to dance the next two dances, and though neither of them said it, they both knew it was in order to carefully observe how Georgiana was faring.

She was dancing now with Mr. Sanderson, her face a little flushed and her smile a little nervous, but she was clearly not suffering.

"She looks happy," said Elizabeth.

"She does."

He felt a strange mix of emotions: pleased for Georgiana, of course, that she was having a pleasant ball, but there was a sense of loss, too. He had a suspicion that his sister would not need him for much longer. 

He felt Elizabeth’s gaze; she had been watching him closely. He smiled reassuringly at her, but there was a knowing look in her eye. 

"Fitzwilliam, I do not believe that I have ever seen Sir Edgar's library. I think we should go find it."

He allowed himself to be led away.

***

It had not started out promisingly, but Georgiana found that, upon the whole, she had enjoyed the evening. She had avoided Mr. Fanshawe and had danced every dance - including, startlingly, two dances with Sir Edgar - and though she had not been particularly interested in any of the young men she saw, she had found most of them pleasant company.

Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

Chapter Text

It was a cold, quiet morning. Darcy had risen early to attend to various matters around Pemberley and had thus been absent from the usual family breakfast. It was silly to miss one’s wife, when one had seen her only a few hours earlier, when one would be seeing her again soon, and yet…

He grinned to himself, a little foolishly.

It was moments like these when he regretted that his house was so large. He had not been able to find Elizabeth after a cursory look around and he was growing impatient. He had tried all of her usual spots to no avail and had begun a more thorough search of the lesser-used places; he wasn’t sure why she would be in his father’s favorite room, but it was next on his list.

He opened the door quietly, not expecting success - it was a room he and Georgiana tended to avoid, and he did not think Elizabeth went there often either - but there she was at his father’s desk, her back to him. Silly or not, he felt a little burst of happiness in his chest at the sight of her.

But in the next moment, he knew that something was wrong. She did not usually sit that way, hunched over and head lowered. 

“Elizabeth?” he said gently.

She jumped and whirled around to look at him, swiping at her eyes and making a valiant attempt to smile. 

“Is everything settled?” she asked. She had tried to sound cheerful but her tone was all wrong. Surely she did not think it was going to trick him.

Elizabeth was upset and she was trying to conceal it. He did not know why, but he was going to find out.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, crouching to be at her eye level.

“Elizabeth, what is the matter?” he said, taking her hands. She would not look at him.

“It is nothing,” she said. “I am quite well.”

“You are very clearly not well.”

Her bottom lip was trembling and she still would not look up. He ducked his head lower, trying to meet her eyes. He could see the teardrops on her eyelashes, the tracks glistening on her cheeks. 

It was this feeling of powerlessness and helplessness that he hated. Elizabeth was crying and he needed to do something about it.

“I have received a letter from Jane,” she said finally.

Darcy went cold. His sister-in-law’s second pregnancy had not been as easy as the first - she had been miserably ill for months - and the Darcys had all been rather anxious for everyone’s safety.

“It is not-- is everything-- is she--?”

“She is well,” said Elizabeth quickly, swallowing hard. 

“And the baby?”

“A healthy little girl. They have called her Sophia.” 

Darcy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. He still did not know why Elizabeth was upset - and it was essential that he know why Elizabeth was upset - but this was a relief.

“Elizabeth,” he said, “pray, tell me--”

“I thought you were out for the morning,” she said with a tiny sniff. “I meant to have a little self-indulgent cry and be better when you returned. I did not want you to see me like this.”

Elizabeth was not usually this indirect. That alone was alarming. 

“Do you think--” she started, then broke off abruptly. He kept holding her hands, trying to comfort her. “Do you think it will ever happen for us?” she choked out, her eyes welling up with tears again.

His heart fell. 

He and Elizabeth both hoped for children; they had talked about them as a certainty and had never doubted they were on the way. He was not yet concerned - things were not desperate - but he could not deny that he had assumed it would have happened before now. 

"Of course it will." They were empty words; he could not know.

Elizabeth, however, seemed willing to grasp at his optimism. "Do you really think so?"

"I do."

That, at least, was the truth; he could not say why, but he felt certain that things were merely taking a little longer than expected. He was not particularly sanguine by nature, but he was hopeful on this point.

He wanted to tell her that he was sure things would turn out, that even if they didn't, their family was perfect already, but he did not have the right words.  

Instead, he tugged her gently out of her chair and into his arms; he could not fix everything about this, but he was determined to do his best.

***

It was not often that Elizabeth gave into her low spirits, but she needed to today. She sat curled up next to Fitzwilliam, her head on his shoulder, his arms around her. She did not think she could talk about it anymore; her heart was too full; she felt too much. This was her one secret heartache, the one blight on her otherwise happy life. She always tried to shove it into the far corner of her mind, to not let it see the light of day; she was so content in every other way.

But the fact of the matter was that the Darcys had been married for two years and remained childless, and not for lack of trying. There was a stubborn, niggling feeling in Elizabeth’s stomach that something was wrong. Her mother had not had this problem; Lydia and Jane hadn’t. Perhaps she was like her aunt Philips. She had always expected that she would have children one day - she wasn’t sure if this fierce desire had always been there or whether it was a new development that had come with marrying Fitzwilliam - and it was growing more and more painful to hear of Charlotte's and Jane's and Lydia's babies without knowing if she would ever have one of her own. 

"I am being silly," she mumbled into Fitzwilliam’s neck. 

He demurred softly, but she knew that she was. She would feel better tomorrow; she always did. Her life was so good; she had so much. She could not stay sorrowful for long. 

But for today, she just wanted to stay nestled here next to Fitzwilliam.

***

Darcy was not sure that a visit to the Bingleys was a good idea. Elizabeth had returned to her usual cheerful state very soon after receiving Jane's letter, had spoken easily about the Bingley children and without the slightest change in countenance, but if she were feeling fragile, he did not think that surrounding her with her sister's young family would be entirely wise.

Elizabeth had noticed his anxiety.

"Pray, do not worry about me, Fitzwilliam."

Darcy had never stopped worrying just because someone told him to.

Elizabeth was perfectly well aware of that fact. "What can I do to keep you from fretting, then?" she asked laughingly, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He took her face in his hands. “I want you to tell me whenever you are hurting, Elizabeth.” There was a pleading tone in his voice; he needed to know that she would come to him. “I do not want you to keep any of it from me.”

His parents had been distant and formal with each other; their marriage had been civil rather than happy. He would not be able to bear such a relationship with Elizabeth.

“I never do, generally speaking," she said. "I was ashamed of myself the other day. I was being selfish and I did not want you to see it."

He opened his mouth to argue but she did not let him.

"I promise, I will not keep any of it from you again. You are always my greatest comfort.” She smiled reassuringly. “And you know how I am Fitzwilliam: never despondent for long.”

He looked at her closely, searching her face. To be sure, Elizabeth did not hang on to things the way that he did, but he did not want her to be brave for his sake. 

She submitted to this examination for a minute, then crossed her eyes at him. He laughed, in spite of himself, grabbing her tighter and kissing her nose. 

They wouldn't be like his parents. He would never allow it. 

***

Jane was a little pale and pinched, not as healthy-looking as Elizabeth wished to see, but she looked wonderfully happy and claimed to be feeling very well indeed.

“Well, your Sophia is very sweet, as I knew she would be,” said Elizabeth, holding her niece and looking down at her sleeping face. “And since little Charles looks so much like his mama, I am going to guess that Sophia will take after her father. It is only fair.”

Jane expressed her hopes that this would be true.

Elizabeth looked up and smiled at her sister. “I was surprised that you did not call her Jane.”

“Charles wanted to.”

“I am sure Mama wanted you to.”

“Oh, she did. I heard from Kitty this morning; Mama is greatly disappointed to hear that she does not have another grandson, and wonders why her first granddaughter was not named after her .”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “She will have Janes aplenty soon enough, I am sure.”

“You know Mama,” said Jane. “She speaks hastily, but she means well.”

Elizabeth said nothing; she doubted this very much, but she would not trouble Jane about it. It would only distress her.

“How is Kitty?” she said instead. 

“Very happy, but she mentioned trouble with her nerves.”

Helped along by their mother, no doubt.

“She should have come to us when she left you, instead of going back to Longbourn.”

“She did not want to deny Mama the chance to fuss over her, not when she will be her last bride, and then living so far away.”

Elizabeth hoped all of Kitty’s progress was not being undone as they spoke.

“Kitty has some news from Lydia,” said Jane.

“Oh? She is not at Longbourn, is she?”

The Darcys’ visit to the Bingleys was to be a short one, due to the imminent arrival of the Wickhams, and Elizabeth had been under the impression that her youngest sister was somewhere up north. 

“No,” said Jane, “but she wrote to Kitty to say that she is expecting again.”

“Oh?”

That was unfortunate; the Wickhams’ finances were bad as it was, and Bingley had implied what Jane never would, that Lydia was a rather indifferent mother.

If she felt any other pang at this news, she was not going to indulge it.

“Yes. Some time in late summer, she thinks.”

“I hope she is well.”

“Kitty seems to think so.”

“Perhaps Mama will get her Jane soon after all.”

“Lydia is convinced it is another boy, apparently, and Mama thinks so too.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes again. “Well,” she said, handing Sophia back over, “whenever I have my own Jane, I want you to know that she will be named after you .”

***

Darcy and Bingley had left their wives alone to talk, taking little Charles with them. Darcy was on the floor, playing with the boy and looking considerably less dignified than usual.

Little Charles was breathless with giggles, clinging to Darcy tightly and looking up at him with glee. Darcy grinned back. Those blond curls could have come from either of his parents, but his expression was all Jane’s: pure, wide-eyed sweetness.

“You are good with him.”

“I should hope so, as his godfather. But I have had plenty of practice.”

“With me, do you mean?” Bingley joked; Darcy and Bingley had met when the younger man was around thirteen.

“With Georgiana.” He smirked. “But also with you, yes.”

“I might ship him off to Pemberley with you, so he is not around the Wickham boy.”

“We would be happy to have him,” said Darcy, knowing with certainty that Jane would not part with her son. He tickled little Charles, who let out a delighted shriek.

“I might come along too.”

“You are just as welcome at any time.”

Bingley looked uncharacteristically sullen.

“You can tell the Wickhams how long their visit is to last, you know,” Darcy said.

“That is not as easy as you make it sound,” Bingley argued. “We are not all so terrifying.”

“You will need to become stricter or your children will end up horribly spoiled.”

“And when did you ever deny Georgiana anything?” snorted Bingley. “Your children will end up at least as spoiled as mine do.”

Darcy felt a little wistful at the thought, but he only smiled and went back to playing with little Charles.

***

The rest of their stay passed similarly, with long talks and cheerful companionship, and all too soon it was time to say goodbye. They did not see enough of each other anymore, what with one thing and another, and their time together was highly valued on all sides. With promises of a longer visit soon, the Darcys bade farewell to the Bingleys and returned to Pemberley, their feelings bittersweet.

Their time with the Bingleys had brought Darcy's feelings into sharper focus, had clarified his thoughts and made him sure of what he knew. He envied Bingley his growing family and still had strong hopes for his own, but Darcy understood what was most important to him. He had to tell her now, whether his words were clumsy or not.

"You do know, Elizabeth, that even if we were never to have children, you are all that is necessary for my happiness."

She looked at him softly and laced her fingers through his. They stayed that way the whole ride home. 

Chapter Text

The Darcys had resolved on spending several weeks in town, all of them feeling the necessity of a change in scenery, and it was a convenient way to push Georgiana a little more into society. They were busying themselves now in preparations for a ball being held by a distant relation, one that Elizabeth had only met once. She could not quite remember how Harriet Warleggan was connected with them - the niece of a cousin of the late Mr. Darcy, perhaps, though she was not sure about this. She had long since given up trying to keep track of her husband’s family.  

"I am very proud of how well you are bearing this," said Elizabeth, adjusting Fitzwilliam’s cravat. "I know you would prefer not to attend so many balls."

He looked a little rueful and she kissed his cheek. 

"You are a very good brother."

They glanced over at Georgiana. She looked especially elegant this evening, her dark blue gown a particularly flattering color for her, and the combination of nerves and excitement on her face was a more evenly-mixed one than usual. 

“I told you that she would become less anxious with practice,” whispered Elizabeth, squeezing Fitzwilliam’s hand. "And it is good practice for you, for when we have daughters of our own. You will not suffer so much when they are out.”

Elizabeth had been dropping these casual references to their future children into her conversation with more frequency than usual lately, to reassure Fitzwilliam that she was quite well. She still caught him looking at her closely, searching for signs of distress; they had recently heard from Colonel Fitzwilliam that his wife was expecting, which had caused a flurry of renewed anxiety over her on her husband’s part.

"I do not think any amount of practice will prepare me for that," he said dryly.

She thought he was probably right.

Upon their arrival at the ball, Mrs. Warleggan immediately whisked Georgiana away to introduce her to some of the more important-looking young men. Elizabeth gently steered Fitzwilliam away so that he would not be tempted to glower menacingly at them. 

"I do not believe Georgiana needs our help just now," she said. "I assume that you have not engaged another partner for the first two dances and that I will have that particular honor."

"Who do you imagine that I would have asked?"

"Oh, I do not know, Fitzwilliam. You are a very handsome man. I believe any woman would be happy to dance with you." 

"And yet, I will only be dancing with you."

"Falling back into your old ways, I see," she teased.

Fitzwilliam put on his haughtiest expression, so reminiscent of the one he wore at the Meryton Assembly that she had to laugh.

"It will leave us free to sneak away after the first two dances," he said in a low voice. 

"My word, Mr. Darcy, how scandalous. Will not people talk?"

"I believe we will find the enjoyment worth any gossip that ensues."

"That does sound promising. Let us see how our dances go, and I will judge whether the performance is adequate enough to risk my reputation."

They joined the rest of the dancers. Fitzwilliam's eyes went instantly to Georgiana, whose partner was a dark-haired young man; there was something about him that Elizabeth immediately disliked. Georgiana did not look overly pleased either, and Fitzwilliam, if anything, seemed even more disquieted. He watched the man through narrowed eyes, and his arm was very tense in Elizabeth’s.

“Do you know that young man?" she asked in a whisper. 

"He is Mrs. Warleggan’s stepson," he muttered through clenched teeth.

“You do not approve of him, I gather.”

“He is very wild."

Elizabeth did not thank their hostess for ruining the opening dances for her whole family. She and Fitzwilliam spent their time watching Georgiana, whose earlier excitement had entirely evaporated. She looked as timid and uncomfortable as ever as she endured her partner, and rushed over to them the moment the dances had ended.

Elizabeth sighed. There would likely be no sneaking away in her future.

***

Georgiana was relieved to escape from Mr. Warleggan. There had been a predatory sort of look in his eye that she found alarming, and he spoke with rather too much freedom. He had said many things to make her uncomfortable - about her looks, and her gown, and her figure - and had left her feeling very exposed and embarrassed. There was nothing wrong in her own behavior; why, then, did just being in his company make her feel so contaminated?

In desperation, and after a particularly inappropriate remark, Georgiana had pointed out her brother to him. Fitzwilliam had been wearing his worst and most forbidding look, and Georgiana’s partner became considerably more polite, though his eyes continued to wander. 

She had practically run back to Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam when the dances were over, almost before the music had stopped. She had left without a word; that had been rude of her. She hoped no one had noticed. She was glad that Fitzwilliam was here; he would protect her, from both the whispers of the crowd and the attentions of unworthy young men. She doubted very much whether Mr. Warleggan would have the courage to approach her again, with him around. 

She was revived somewhat in her brother and sister's company, and from the encouraging talk Elizabeth gave her and the way that Fitzwilliam had drawn himself up to his greatest and most intimidating height. She was asked to dance by a much nicer-looking young man, Mr. Baker, whom she had been introduced to earlier - not at all handsome but with very kind eyes - and she accepted gratefully. This second pair of dances was much more agreeable than the first, and Georgiana faced the rest of the evening with considerably more cheer. 

***

Darcy's head was beginning to throb. Good Lord, how he hated balls. They were bad enough when he had been the only sufferer; they were agonizing when he had Georgiana to look after too. She seemed to be doing better now, and he thought she was beginning to enjoy herself once more, but all of his instincts as an overprotective older brother had been awakened and he was unable to concentrate on anything else.

Elizabeth, thankfully, was of a similar mind. She held his arm, keeping her own watchful eye on Georgiana.

“Tell me about Mr. Warleggan,” she said.

“I do not know much,” said Darcy truthfully. “I believe he lives in Cornwall, like the other Warleggans. I am surprised he is here tonight at all. I was under the impression that he was estranged from his father.” 

“I assume his character is questionable.”

“Quite. He has lately married, but there was evidently some impropriety surrounding the whole affair.”

“Oh, but if he is married--”

“From all I have heard, it scarcely matters.”

“Is his wife here tonight as well?”

“I do not know; I have never seen her. It is only by chance that I recognize him. Most of what I know about him I have learned from my aunt Darcy.” He smirked. “She rather despises her cousin, Mrs. Warleggan's aunt, and is happy to spread all of the worst gossip about that side of the family.” 

"Well, it does not seem as though he will trouble Georgiana again. All of your glaring was effectual."

Darcy hoped so.

"I am sorry that I have been a negligent husband this evening," he said with some guilt. Georgiana's welfare had superseded his usual attentions to Elizabeth. 

"Do not apologize, for I have not found you so." She gripped his arm a little tighter. "Georgiana has needed us both more than I have needed to dance. I have been perfectly content to walk around and terrify young men with you."

They made a very good team.

***

After Mr. Baker, Georgiana danced with Mr. Sutton, and after Mr. Sutton with Mr. Leigh. It was still rather a surprise to her that she was able to find so many partners at a ball. Much of it, to be sure, was because she was Miss Darcy of Pemberley and possessed a considerable fortune, but she fancied (or she hoped) that some of these young men seemed genuinely interested in her. 

She did not see any of them as anything more than pleasant partners for a couple of dances - no one had fascinated her, or turned her head, or any of those things that one read about - but she supposed it was a start. Perhaps one did not stumble upon one’s future husband right away. There was a certain amount of dancing, both literal and metaphorical, to be gotten through first.

***

Fitzwilliam had not been able to resist having words with young Mr. Warleggan; he returned looking grim but satisfied, and Elizabeth saw nothing more of the other man that entire evening.

“Do you know, Fitzwilliam, your being so powerful and intimidating is rather alluring. You always look especially handsome after you have been threatening someone.”

She smiled as he blushed. He appeared considerably less frightening now.

***

Georgiana reviewed the ball with feelings divided between contentment and bitterness. It had not been a bad evening, overall, even though she had hoped for more; she thought she had recovered well, and being in company was becoming slowly less awkward, but she resented young men - like Mr. Warleggan, and Mr. Wickham before him - who seemed to view young women as sport. All she wanted was to attend a ball, and dance, and meet pleasant people, without having to constantly wonder if one of them was going to harm her again. 

She just wanted young men to be less exhausting. 

***

The remainder of their time in town passed unremarkably. It was pleasant enough, they each thought, but each had hoped for something better, and it was with disappointed expectations that they returned to Pemberley.

Chapter Text

Kitty’s wedding was quickly approaching, and though Elizabeth took very little part in the preparations, she was kept well informed of the latest news regarding the important event. 

Her parents, her sister Mary, and Mary’s husband, William Cartwright, were all staying with the Bingleys, to the Darcys’ great relief. Mrs. Bennet’s stream of missives (sent daily) told Elizabeth, in minute detail, of the state of everything, and most particularly the condition of Mrs. Bennet’s own nerves. She did not have much to say about the bride - whose nerves, at any rate, were considered quite secondary to her own - as Kitty was to stay with the Darcys at Pemberley. 

“To be closer to her dear Mr. Milton,” her mother had written.

“Well, yes, to be close to James,” said Kitty, with a slight blush. “But honestly, I required a little reprieve from Mama.”

Elizabeth could not blame her.

Mr. Milton was at this time a constant visitor at Pemberley, and often brought along with him his cousin, Mr. Stephen Marchbanks, a pleasing young gentleman who lived in a neighboring county.

Mr. Marchbanks was good-looking and amiable, with easy manners and plenty of conversation. He and Elizabeth were the chattiest members of their party, filled as it was with many more reticent than they, and provided the cover necessary for the engaged couple to gaze lovingly at each other without attracting much attention. 

It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice, however, that Georgiana had started to look at Mr. Marchbanks with something very like interest, and though she did not talk to him much, she did look at and listen to him quite closely indeed. Elizabeth, her eyes flicking repeatedly over to Fitzwilliam, saw that he had observed this burgeoning attraction himself, but she could not tell how he was taking it; his expression was inscrutable. 

Mr. Marchbanks, for his part, seemed to have felt the growing frequency of Georgiana’s gaze, for his eyes were drawn more and more often to her, and with a growing interest of his own. He began to address her regularly, asking her opinions and coaxing from her more answers than she was wont to give in company. Georgiana’s face had taken on a more or less permanent flush, though Elizabeth did not think it was an uncomfortable one. She looked pleasurably fluttered; neither at ease nor in agony, but that silly place in between. 

Elizabeth felt her own interest rising. Perhaps Kitty’s life was not the only one about to change.

***

Georgiana’s face was hot, her stomach was in knots, her palms were clammy, and she could not seem to quit nervously tapping her foot.

She had never felt this way before. It was both horrible and thrilling.

More to give herself the privacy to compose herself than anything, she escaped to the pianoforte; she would be able to hide her face, force her fingers to play instead of shake, restore some degree of poise, and be able to function normally. That was her hope, anyway.

Very unfortunately, Mr. Marchbanks had other ideas. 

She sensed him rather than saw him, focused as she was on her playing and in calming her jangling nerves. She gave a little start when she realized how close he was, striking a discordant note and flushing brilliantly scarlet again.

“I did not mean to startle you, Miss Darcy,” he said apologetically. 

“No, no,” she said, looking back at her music and pretending to laugh, “it is nothing. I did not expect anyone to come this way, that is all.”

“You play very well.”

“Thank you.” 

He pulled a chair closer to the instrument; she could feel his eyes on her face. She was determined not to let him discompose her any further. Plenty of people had watched her while she played; she never usually minded. It was the one area of her life where, if not wholly comfortable with an audience, she at least did not particularly mind one. It was easier to play than to speak. She knew she was an accomplished musician; she did not second-guess herself the way she did in conversation.

And yet, it was more difficult to play than usual with Mr. Marchbanks watching. She wanted to impress him, and that made her fingers feel clumsy and slow. She breathed a little prayer of thankfulness that she had not chosen a longer piece to perform; she did not think she would be able to keep this up much longer.

“I am very fond of music,” he said, when she had done. “I have rarely heard anyone play so beautifully.”

She protested against any great proficiency, looking down at her hands. They were trembling quite noticeably; she clasped them together to disguise it.

“You may object all you want, Miss Darcy, but it will not make your performance one jot less delightful.”

Good heavens, it was warm in this room. She dearly wished for some air.

“Would it be terribly impertinent of me to ask that you continue to play? It is not often that I get to hear so accomplished a performer, and I should like to sit here and admire you.”

Well, perhaps she did not need to move after all.

***

“So,” said Elizabeth that night, forcing herself to sound matter-of-fact, “Mr. Marchbanks.”

She and Fitzwilliam were in their own room, readying themselves for bed.

“Mr. Marchbanks, indeed.” He was still enigmatic.

“Do you know much of his family?”

“They are unobjectionable. I believe he is well-situated.”

He seemed determined not to betray an opinion.

“Is he?” Elizabeth said, remaining very neutral herself. 

“Yes; he has a good income; four thousand a year or thereabouts. He has recently purchased an estate.” 

Not dissimilar to Bingley, then, and Bingley had been considered quite a good option for Georgiana at one point.

“And you have not associated with him yourself?”

“No, but I have heard no harm of him.” 

Her husband was still occasionally infuriating. 

“Georgiana seems to like him.”

Fitzwilliam gave an odd jerk of his shoulders. Acknowledgment? Irritation? Both?

“And he seems to like Georgiana.”

There was definitely something stiff in her husband’s expression now. 

“It does not sound as though it would be an unfortunate match,” she said carefully. 

“I do not know him well enough to say.” His response was immediate and firm.

“You could get to know him better.”

“Yes, if there was a reason to.” 

She smiled at him. “There may well be a reason to, my dear.” 

“Perhaps,” he conceded. 

“Well, we shall see,” Elizabeth said. “It may all come to nothing.”

Fitzwilliam looked encouraged by that idea.

“But I have never seen Georgiana so interested before.”

He acknowledged the truth in that, but did not look particularly happy about it.

*** 

Georgiana would usually confide in Fitzwilliam or Elizabeth, but somehow Kitty seemed like the best person with whom to talk about Mr. Marchbanks.

“He is very close with James, of course, so I am inclined to think well of him,” said Kitty, as she brushed her hair. “But he is quite a pleasant man, and rich, too.”

Kitty and Georgiana had been thrown together relatively often since Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s marriage, and theirs was now a steady, if not excessively close, friendship. Georgiana wasn’t sure if she entirely trusted Kitty’s opinions on men, but Mr. Milton was a good sort, after all, and Kitty had certainly had more experience with the sex in general than she had. 

“Do you like him?” she asked Georgiana eagerly, laying her brush aside.

“He is very agreeable,” said Georgiana, coloring again. 

“I think he likes you. He was so particular in his attention to you this evening. He quite ignored the rest of us, once you sat down at the pianoforte.”

Georgiana could not help smiling.

“You will need to encourage him, of course. The men always need a little help. But from his behavior towards you already, I am sure it will take very little to secure him.”

Georgiana did not find this talk of securing Mr. Marchbanks to her taste, and she was not yet sure that she wanted to secure him at all. She had not known him long, and agreeable though he was, it was too soon to know how she really felt. 

She didn’t know how to be encouraging, anyway. What did one do? It would be too awkward to ask Kitty, but she didn’t feel like she could ask Elizabeth either; not yet, at least. Maybe, once she knew Mr. Marchbanks a little better… 

And she didn’t know what Fitzwilliam thought of him. Every time she had dared to glance at her brother this evening, his expression had been unreadable. If he had disapproved, she was sure she would have known it, but there hadn’t been anything heartening in his looks either. She desperately wished to know what he was thinking, but the thought of asking him outright was mortifying. Maybe she would be able to get a hint from Elizabeth.

She was confused and unsettled and embarrassed and expectant, and she did not know what to do with her nervous energy.

She thought she would quite like to see Mr. Marchbanks again.

She bade goodnight to Kitty and went to her own room, where she spent many restless hours thinking over the evening.

***

Kitty's wedding day arrived; the Bingleys, the Bennets, and the Cartwrights had made the trip to Pemberley the day before, and between the bride's anxiety, Mrs. Bennet’s infamous nerves, and baby Sophia's colic, no one was having a particularly happy morning. 

Elizabeth tried to soothe everyone the best that she could, and she separated her mother and Kitty early in the day to save the sanity of each.

"Thank heaven that we will all be done marrying after today," she muttered to Jane. "I do not think Mama could survive another wedding." 

"I do not know how well Kitty will do as a clergyman's wife," Mary commented. "She has never been especially pious."

"Do not say anything to her about it, Mary," Elizabeth warned. "She is close to hysterics as it is."

They heard Kitty wailing something from the next room; Jane hurried away to attend to her.

It was a relief to everyone when it was time to head to the church. 

***

The wedding was small and simple, and Georgiana thought Kitty looked very pretty, now that she had stopped crying. 

Despite the hectic morning, the ceremony was perfectly smooth in its execution, and they were all soon called to congratulate the new Mr. and Mrs. Milton.

Georgiana, though she could not compete with the happiness of the bride, had her own sources of pleasure to celebrate. Mr. Marchbanks had sought her out especially as they all enjoyed the wedding cake, talking to her of music, and drawing, and the pleasantness of the day, and as the party broke up and the Miltons rode away, Georgiana felt that she had neither overestimated his charms nor her interest in them. 

Whether it was the day’s festivities or the emergence of these new feelings (whatever these new feelings were), Georgiana was beginning to think very fanciful thoughts indeed. Her face burned as she considered just how foolish they were, and yet she continued to think them. She had been surrounded by many specimens of married couples today, cautionary tales and aspirations both, with all of their different personalities and varying degrees of happiness (none so happy as Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, not even the newly-married pair). Was it possible that she may soon count herself among them? 

Despite her attempts to quell it, she was beginning to feel a flutter of hope in her chest.

***

The wedding over, the bride’s family spent one night at Pemberley and then returned to the Bingleys’: Jane could not bear to be one more moment away from little Charles, the Cartwrights would soon be required back in Hertfordshire, and Mrs. Bennet, though professing a wish to stay longer with her second daughter, declared that there was really no possibility of it. 

“Jane needs me more than you do, you know, what with the children,” she said. 

Elizabeth made no effort to dissuade her.

Mr. Bennet was more reluctant to part with his favorite daughter. He enjoyed staying at Pemberley whenever he was able to, and he preferred the company of the Darcys to the Bingleys - he was more comfortable with the acerbic wit of the former than the earnest sweetness of the latter. His wife, however, raised such a fuss at the idea of their separating for a week that he felt it better to go with her than to stay, not relishing the thought of the prolonged aggravation that would surely follow him back to Longbourn. 

“You shall come back to see us once Mama is settled back home,” Elizabeth whispered to him before he left. “Her nerves will be better able to handle your absence in Hertfordshire.”

“She does generally find me less necessary in our own home,” he agreed, pressing her hands. 

Their party had shrunk back down to its usual size, but they would not be long without company. Mr. Marchbanks had been invited to dine at Pemberley that evening, before he made his own journey back home, and he had readily accepted.

Elizabeth was a particularly close observer of his interactions with Georgiana, which seemed to her to be easier and warmer than ever. Mr. Marchbanks, she thought, looked like a man quite ready to fall in love, and she had never seen Georgiana less hesitant, outside of their own family. 

Even Fitzwilliam had come to a cautious sort of acceptance of this developing attachment; he was scarcely less wary than before, but he held Georgiana’s feelings to a higher importance than his own. 

“She does seem to like him,” he said to Elizabeth later. “I suppose we should try to bring them together more often.”

She smiled and brushed a curl off of his forehead. “It will be easier to do, once the Miltons return from their honeymoon. There will be a ready excuse to get Mr. Marchbanks to Derbyshire, to visit his cousin.” 

Elizabeth had held very few doubts as to the likelihood of Mr. Marchbanks’s returning thither, his behavior towards Georgiana having been as promising as it had. And yet, even after the Miltons had returned and settled into their new life together at the parsonage, there had been no news of him. Not a word had reached them of his plans or whereabouts, and Elizabeth extorted it from Kitty that Mr. Milton did not expect to see his cousin any time soon.

It was with a new and greater anxiety that Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam now watched Georgiana. Though she tried to keep up an appearance of indifference, there was a distinct air of melancholy about her that remained unhidden, and Elizabeth could not easily draw her away from the pianoforte, where she practiced more incessantly than ever. 

Elizabeth thought back to words her aunt Gardiner had once spoken to her, about young men falling in love with pretty girls and then forgetting them upon a separation, and though she found the idea just as disagreeable now as she did then, she could not deny that, in this case, they seemed to be true.

***

Georgiana did not want anyone to see her disappointment, but she was especially loath to show it to Fitzwilliam. This whole business with Mr. Marchbanks felt like Mr. Wickham all over again. What poor judgment she had! How desperate she must seem! She had allowed herself to become silly and incautious; she had been too eager to fall in love and she had not given herself more time to really get to know him. Not that she had fallen in love; of course she hadn’t. But she had been heading in that direction, and thought Mr. Marchbanks had as well. She had grown too enamored of the idea and had allowed it to make her unwise.

She was humiliated; she did not want to think of what a fool she had made of herself.

She felt Fitzwilliam’s eyes on her and could not meet them. Elizabeth kept trying to talk to her but Georgiana could not bring herself to open up; not yet. Right now, she just needed to be distracted, from her actions, and her hopes, and her thoughts.

***

Darcy had only ever thought longingly of killing one person before - George Wickham, though on many different occasions - but he thought he could easily add Stephen Marchbanks to the list now.

“You never seemed overly pleased by the idea of the match, Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said gently.

“No, but I did not want him to raise her hopes for nothing, either.” He rubbed his forehead, stressed and angry.

Elizabeth was just as upset as he was, he knew, and was attempting to reason them both into rationality, but the effectiveness of her efforts remained dubious. 

“I am sorry, because Georgiana liked him,” she continued staunchly, “but it is probably better for this to have happened now, before she grew really attached.”

He hoped so. Georgiana was not generally quick to recover from disappointments.

Chapter Text

Georgiana did recover; neither immediately nor quickly, but gradually, the way one must always heal from heartbreaks, both great and small. She had grieved not so much for Mr. Marchbanks but for the idea of him, the potential of him, and Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, knowing this very well, allowed her all of the time and privacy she needed. She was herself again, or very near to it, soon enough; perhaps only a little quieter when any young man of their acquaintance was mentioned. 

Nothing very noteworthy had happened during this time, except for the long-expected arrival of Mr. Horatio Thomas. The visits had been paid and returned in due form, and the only thing remarkable in them was Elizabeth’s surprise in the young man’s appearance. His younger brothers, Bartholomew and Erasmus, looked as rakish as their reputations, with their black hair and their flashing dark eyes, but Horatio looked absolutely and mundanely normal. His hair was sandy and his height was middling, his countenance was pleasant enough, but not exceptionally so, and Elizabeth thought, if she had not heard the stories surrounding him, she would have glanced over him quickly and forgotten him entirely in five minutes.

“I was expecting him to look much more fearsome,” she said to Fitzwilliam. 

“I suppose he keeps the horns hidden.”

She grinned and pinched him. “His brothers look considerably more menacing than he does, and yet, if the stories are true--”

“I do not know how true they are,” said Fitzwilliam. “They have been exaggerated, I am sure.”

“Still, he looks so ordinary.”

“Appearances can be deceiving. Just look at Wickham.”

That was true enough.

“Do you have any particular reason to dislike him?” she asked.

“He has done nothing to me, if that is what you are asking. He is careless and irresponsible, and I dislike him for that, and I would not wish to associate with him more than what was necessary. But I do not dislike him more than I dislike many other people.”

“I do not know what to make of him yet.”

“One can rarely paint an accurate picture in a quarter-of-an-hour’s call.”

Elizabeth smiled a little to herself. She had certainly believed she possessed such an ability just a few years ago. She supposed her husband was right, however, and reserved her full judgment of Mr. Thomas for when she knew him a little better.

***

They were thrown back into the path of Mr. Thomas sooner than she expected, when they all dined with Sir Richard Fanshawe later that week. 

“I am happy to see you again, Mrs. Darcy,” he said to Elizabeth. He looked at her in a way that was vaguely disconcerting; it was just a shade away from a leer. “My brothers are great admirers of yours, and I have heard much about you from my sisters.”

Elizabeth could only imagine what the brothers had said; she knew only too well what he would have heard from his sisters.

“They will have painted a portrait of me too flattering and complimentary, I am afraid,” she said archly.

“Not at all,” he smiled. “I find you even more delightful than expected.”

“And I am sure that you would tell me if I fell short.”

“Oh, of course. I am honesty itself. I always tell beautiful young women exactly what I think of them.”

It really was fortunate that Fitzwilliam was currently distracted by Sir Richard (and what was probably the hundredth rehearsal of a story about the late Mr. Darcy). She would hate for there to be fisticuffs in the old man’s drawing room.

“Such frankness is a commendable quality in a gentleman; I can only hope it is paired with an equal degree of discretion.”

Mr. Thomas assured her that it was. He was enjoying himself too much. Elizabeth changed the subject.

“How do you like being back in England, Mr. Thomas, after your time on the Continent?”

He smirked. “The gossip has not caught up to the times. I have been back in England for over a year.”

“And you have not visited your home?”

“I would have come sooner, had I known of your existence.”

She continued to talk with him - amused when he was amusing, tolerant when he just toed the line of propriety - but she remained more detached than usual. She was not quite wary, but she was mistrustful. She had proven, unfortunately, that she could be taken in by outwardly charming men.

Elizabeth could not read him. He had been bland and polite when she had met him before; he was different now, bolder and more brazen. Perhaps it was merely Fitzwilliam’s presence that had kept him in check before, and this was his true self. It certainly matched up more closely with his reputation. Still, there was something purposefully inflated about his performance, as though he knew what was said about him and relished playing the role. She wondered why he felt free to do so in front of her, but had behaved himself in front of her husband. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t tell all of this to Fitzwilliam. If that were the case, he was very much mistaken.  

She wished to be free of his company, or, at least, to share it. She glanced at Georgiana, who had been speaking with one of the Miss Gibsons earlier but who was now being accosted by Mr. Augustus Fanshawe. Elizabeth heard less and less of whatever clever nonsense Mr. Thomas was spouting in her watchfulness over her sister. Georgiana was handling herself well, Elizabeth thought, but she was beginning to look a little flustered. Elizabeth looked over to Fitzwilliam; his back was to Georgiana and Sir Richard was gesticulating animatedly over whatever anecdote he was relating now. 

Mr. Thomas noticed her distraction. He looked over his shoulder at Georgiana and Mr. Fanshawe; the young man was inching closer than was respectable. Georgiana kept needing to step away from him and was starting to look distinctly harried. Elizabeth was just about to make her excuses and intercede herself, but Mr. Thomas was too quick for her.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, and he turned and walked deliberately toward Georgiana.

***

Georgiana wished Mr. Fanshawe would not stand so close to her.

Really, Georgiana wished Mr. Fanshawe would just go away, but there was little chance of that in his uncle’s home. 

“I hope I will see you at the assembly next week, Miss Darcy.”

She instantly resolved not to be there.

“And as I was so unfortunate as to miss dancing with you at the Metcalfes’ ball, I should like to claim your hand for the first two dances now.”

She was saved the trouble of answering by the arrival of Mr. Thomas.

"Excuse me," he said, "I am sorry to interrupt."

Mr. Fanshawe did not look as though he would be excusing Mr. Thomas. 

"Miss Darcy," the latter continued, "I have been sent to deliver you to your sister. I believe she requires your assistance."

He bowed politely to Mr. Fanshawe, offered Georgiana his arm, and led her to Elizabeth, who looked concerned. 

"I think you will enjoy each other's company more than what you had previously endured," Mr. Thomas said, smiling slightly. "Miss Darcy, you will want to look helpful; Mr. Fanshawe is watching." And with another bow, he went to join his sisters. 

"Helpful?" Elizabeth asked, her eyebrows raised. 

"He told Mr. Fanshawe that you required my assistance," Georgiana explained. 

She was not sure what had just happened. 

***

Darcy wondered what dying felt like, and if it was as painful as talking to Sir Richard. 

"And then," said the older man, waving an emphatic hand around, "your father said to me, 'Richard, I do not believe we will avoid paying for that!'"

He roared with laughter. Darcy forced a tight little smile. 

Sir Richard patted him genially on the shoulder. "Ah, Darcy my boy, it is always good to reminisce with you. But here come your ladies, who probably want to steal you away. It is getting late, after all." 

Darcy turned gratefully to see Elizabeth and Georgiana approaching, both looking a little confused. He looked questioningly at his wife.

"I will tell you later," she whispered, and then turned politely to receive Sir Richards's good-natured niceties.

***

"That was… uncharacteristic of him," said Darcy.

They were on their way back to Pemberley and Elizabeth and Georgiana had just related the particulars of Mr. Thomas's unexpected gallantry.

"I was surprised by it," said Elizabeth. "He was not quite as gentlemanly in our conversation."

There was something restrained in her tone. Darcy looked at her stonily.

"He did nothing untoward," she said. "He was merely--"

"Insolent?"

"Well, you know that I am perfectly able to respond in kind." She squeezed his hand and smiled. "And he really was thoughtful, rescuing Georgiana from Mr. Fanshawe."

"I was very grateful to him," Georgiana added.

Darcy was not sure why, but this report of Mr. Thomas's inconsistent behavior only unsettled him.

***

The next week brought news from Elizabeth’s sister, Mary: she was expecting a child.

If Elizabeth received her letter with envy, it was only a quick stab of it. She was determined to remain in good spirits, whether her family grew or stayed small. Her life was a happy one, and she would not allow anything, even this, to turn her disposition into one of regret and despair.

She quickly dispatched a congratulatory letter to her sister and then went in search of Fitzwilliam. It was a beautiful day and she was going to enjoy it.

Chapter Text

Several of the local families were invited to dine with the humbler Metcalfes, and as much as he liked them, Fitzwilliam had been rather disposed to decline: Elizabeth and Georgiana had both been lately ill, and though he gave little thought to his own health when feeling poorly, he was notoriously a hen with one chick with the Darcy women. One could not even clear their throat without his looking up, instantly alert, to make sure that the cause was not insidious, and if he detected anything even remotely concerning, he insisted on bed rest. It had not always been the way with him - Georgiana could not remember him fretting so when she was a little girl - but their father’s long illness (he had lingered painfully for months before he’d died) had changed him irrevocably.

With time and rest and an inordinate amount of anxious nursing from Fitzwilliam, both Georgiana and Elizabeth recovered soundly, each feeling fond but exasperated that their minor indispositions had caused such a fuss.

All three Darcys, then, were in attendance at the Metcalfes’ that evening, and Georgiana, in particular, was enjoying herself. She had sat next to Mr. Jonathan Metcalfe at dinner and had felt all the relief of being in the company of a young man without any designs on or expectations from them. They had been quite cut off from the rest of the table’s conversation, concerned as it was with politics and business, and each had appreciated talking only with the other and not being expected to contribute anything in particular. 

“I know very little of politics and nothing of business,” Georgiana had told him in a whisper.

“My father does not like my opinions about either and prefers that I not air them,” he had whispered back.

Georgiana had stayed close to Elizabeth after dinner, as they waited for the men, and spoke pleasantly, if infrequently, to Mrs. Metcalfe. Elizabeth, among her myriad other charms, was a wonderful person to hide behind in company. She was perfectly able to carry on the conversation without aid and provided cover for Georgiana to speak only as often as she wished to.

The Thomas women had gathered at the other end of the room, each occasionally shooting a hostile glance toward the Darcys. Georgiana, it seemed, was coming in for her share of the animosity that had thus far been primarily directed towards Elizabeth. Perhaps the Miss Thomases thought that she should have opposed Elizabeth for their sakes, and fought to have one of them for her sister. The youngest, Miss Theodosia, looked especially darkly at her before whispering something to Mrs. Harding; their harsh laughter rang through the room and was generally ignored. 

Georgiana did not much mind this hostility; she had never been particularly fond of the Miss Thomases. They had been thrown together occasionally but had never become friends. They, like the Bingley sisters, had seemed to view her more as a way to reach Fitzwilliam than as a friend in her own right. Elizabeth, from the start, had always shown her more kindness.

When the men returned, Georgiana made more of an effort to stray from her sister; she was soon joined by Mr. Jonathan Metcalfe and, to her surprise, Mr. Horatio Thomas. 

“I hope you are finding this evening less trying than our last together, Miss Darcy,” the latter said. 

Jonathan Metcalfe looked at them questioningly, but neither clarified.

“Oh, yes,” she said with a blush and an attempt at a laugh, “it has been infinitely more pleasant, I thank you.”

“I am always at your service, should things take a turn,” he continued, his eyes not wavering from her face. She grew redder. 

“I am much obliged to you,” she said, looking down at her feet. 

He said that it was his pleasure and made some blandly pleasant remark to Jonathan Metcalfe, and then he walked away to speak with Jonathan’s father. Georgiana watched him go, confused and disoriented. She had known little of Horatio Thomas before now - he was so much older than she was, around Fitzwilliam’s age, and she did not even have a close friendship with his sisters to explain his sudden interest - and yet this was the second time he had approached her. It was odd that he seemed to be eager to protect her; she did not know that she had ever even spoken to him during the whole of her acquaintance with his family. 

Jonathan Metcalfe still looked bewildered. 

“We saw each other at Sir Richard’s,” she explained. “Mr. Fanshawe was being particularly disagreeable.” 

“I see,” said Jonathan Metcalfe, looking toward his father and Horatio Thomas thoughtfully. He shook off his seriousness soon, though, and turned to her with a smile. “I was glad that Mr. Fanshawe could not be here tonight. He does not make himself particularly pleasant in anyone’s company.”

Georgiana could not help but smile, impolite though it was to agree.

They discussed a variety of subjects - books and music and art - and Georgiana marveled at how easy he was to talk to; he did not make her feel fluttery and silly, the way Mr. Marchbanks had, or uncomfortable, the way that Mr. Fanshawe always did. It was like speaking with Fitzwilliam, in a way, or Mr. Bingley. 

“I am not supposed to say anything,” he said, all mock surreptitiousness, “but my mother has brought out the harp especially for you tonight. She does not know whether it would be right to ask you to play and has forbidden me to bring it up, but I thought it might be a relief for you to sit down for a while. I know that I often wish that I was allowed to make music my excuse for being less sociable at parties.” He stopped suddenly, looking a little mortified. “Pray do not misunderstand me. I am perfectly happy in my current company. I could talk with you all evening. It is only that you might need an escape from me .”

Georgiana smiled. “I need no escape,” she said, “but I would be happy to play, if she wishes it.”

He looked relieved that he hadn’t offended her and Georgiana soon took her place at the harp. She had not lied - she had felt easy and comfortable with Jonathan Metcalfe - but she was glad to be at the instrument. It was a chance to relax on her own for a while; after some perfunctory attention from the room at large, they would all go back to their own conversations and most eyes would not be particularly turned to her. She was improving in company, she thought, and enjoying it more, but she still found too much of it exhausting. 

***

Darcy watched absently as his sister played, his mind on other things. He pinched the bridge of his nose; stress was aggravating his headache.

Two times now had Horatio Thomas approached Georgiana: not for very long, and not, it seemed, with any outwardly mischievous intention, but Darcy was an anxious brother. He saw evil motives at every turn. 

He did not know the man well. The most they had ever associated together had been at school; Thomas had been friendlier with George Wickham’s crowd than his own, but had more often kept to himself, creating his own trouble without the help of allies. He had been arrogant and self-satisfied then, and had gotten himself into some trouble with money before going abroad, but if he had changed since then, for better or for worse, Darcy did not know. Darcy’s relationship with him was similar to his relationship with the rest of the Thomas children - the uneasy, not-quite-familiarity of an acquaintance on the fringe of one’s own circle but never truly inside of it. It was not enough to keep him from suspecting the worst.

The ending of the piece Georgiana was playing brought him back into the present. He should be more attentive to her; he did not want her to feel ignored or neglected. But she immediately launched into another piece - one of her particular favorites - and she had that look on her face that came over her when she played, as though the rest of the room had disappeared. He doubted whether she noticed his presence there at all. He was glad that she found her occupation diverting; neither of them were known for their ability to relax in company.

"Have you heard much about Thomas, since his return?" Darcy asked Jonathan Metcalfe, who stood beside him.

Metcalfe seemed to shake himself from a reverie. "No," he said, "nothing beyond the usual gossip: gaming debts and want of money."

The typical complaints of the Thomas brothers.

But still, it deepened Darcy’s apprehension. Thomas had debts. Thomas needed money. Thomas kept flitting around Georgiana, who was known to have a considerable fortune.

“Have you heard anything?” asked Metcalfe.

“No.”

“That almost makes one more wary, does not it?”

Darcy gave a humorless little laugh. Yes, it did. It made one wonder if Thomas were up to something.

***

Elizabeth was feeling the tiniest bit lightheaded, but she hoped Fitzwilliam would not notice; he would make a fuss. She saw that Georgiana looked a little flushed, and even Fitzwilliam had admitted to a headache on their journey here. She hoped they had not ventured out too quickly. Several of the maids were down with fevers.

She had not been paying much attention to her conversation with Mrs. Thomas and Mrs. Metcalfe as they stood together by the fire. She thought they may have been talking about the inferiority of Mr. Milton’s new curate, but she hadn’t contributed anything in some time. She was feeling too warm now. She really must sit down. 

Making the fire her excuse, she moved away; she sat in a chair close to Georgiana and breathed deeply. Fitzwilliam was by her side the next moment. It was astounding, how he always knew; the man was prescient about illness.

“What is the matter?” he said, anxiety making his voice brisker than usual. 

“Nothing, Fitzwilliam. I am well. How is your headache?”

He waved this away impatiently. “What is the matter?” he repeated, gentler now. 

“I was too hot by the fire. Your headache, Fitzwilliam.”

“It is minor; nothing to be concerned about. Do you need some air?”

“Really, I am well. I feel better already.”

Her dizziness was passing and she was nearly back to normal, but she knew Fitzwilliam was minimizing the severity of his own pain, and now that she observed her more closely, Georgiana was looking very flushed indeed. 

“I think we should go home,” said Fitzwilliam firmly. 

She did not argue. 

They were a quiet trio on the journey back to Pemberley - whether from illness or concern or thoughtfulness, she was not sure; perhaps a combination of the three - and they all went immediately to bed.

Fitzwilliam did not sleep. He kept looking at her, his gaze intense with worry.

“I will not be able to rest with you staring at me,” she said with a smile. 

“You are sure that nothing is amiss?”

“I have felt perfectly well since we left the Metcalfes, Fitzwilliam. Go to sleep.”

But sleep came far more quickly to her than to him.

Chapter Text

The outbreak of minor ill health continued at Pemberley for the next several weeks. A few more of the maids developed fevers and Mrs. Reynolds took a rare day off to nurse a cold. Georgiana continued to be struck with various complaints, though all fortunately transient. Elizabeth was more steadily ill, but she laughed it all away; they were trifling little things, she said; they only seemed significant because they happened one right after another. Even Fitzwilliam, who had always tended to be migrainous, was forced to stay in bed for a day, though Georgiana suspected it was Elizabeth who had insisted on this. 

None of these ailments was very serious, but they were persistent enough that Fitzwilliam talked of sending for the physician. Georgiana and Elizabeth protested vehemently against this and it was put off, but Georgiana knew that the next time either one of them so much as sniffled, her brother would have every physician for fifty miles immediately at Pemberley. 

By the end of the month, the rest of the household was on the mend, but Elizabeth continued poorly. When she fainted one morning at breakfast, Fitzwilliam had seen enough: he sent for the physician, carried Elizabeth up to bed, and stayed perched beside her, his face taut with alarm. 

“I will stay here with you,” said Georgiana, untying her bonnet. “Kitty will understand.”

She and Kitty had planned a little outing that morning, visiting the shops, but Fitzwilliam’s fear was contagious and Georgiana did not think it right to go.

“No, no,” said Elizabeth. She was propped up with pillows and holding Fitzwilliam’s hand. “I was just a little dizzy at breakfast. There is nothing the matter with me now. Go enjoy your day.”

Georgia looked at her brother uncertainly.

“Fitzwilliam will be the only nursemaid that I need,” Elizabeth said, smiling at them both. “It is his true calling, and there will be nothing left for you to do but to stand there and watch him.” When Georgiana still looked undecided, she added, “Please, I will feel worse if you are forced indoors for my sake. Give Kitty my love.”

“And mine,” said Fitzwilliam, giving Georgiana one tight-lipped but unfeigned smile before turning his attention back to his wife.

“Lizzy is not seriously unwell, is she?” asked Kitty, when Georgiana had related the morning’s events to her.

“I do not think so,” said Georgiana carefully. “We have none of us felt our best lately, but today was the first time she had to return to bed.”

“Because she fainted?”

“Yes.”

“That is unlike Lizzy. She was always the strongest of us all.” Kitty looked more contemplative than usual. “But I often have little dizzy spells, and so does Jane, now and then. Perhaps it is a family ailment."

"Perhaps," said Georgiana, choosing to believe that this was true. "She does not seem worried."

"Then I am sure all will be well," said Kitty. "Oh, look at that bonnet! Have you ever seen something so ugly?"

Georgiana had just stepped closer to examine it when she saw Mr. Thomas and the middle Thomas sister, Euphemia, heading toward them. 

"Mrs. Milton! Miss Darcy! How good it is to see you!"

Everyone's health was asked after and all the niceties were observed, Miss Thomas performing her part with very bad grace.

"We have not seen you, Miss Darcy, since you left the Metcalfes' so suddenly," said Mr. Thomas. "I hope all is well."

"Very well, I thank you."

"I am glad to hear it. I had heard you were ill."

Georgiana colored and denied it. 

"I must have had bad information. You are certainly looking as well as ever."

Miss Thomas gave a little sneer. 

"Oh, do behave civilly, Effie," said Mr. Thomas. "It is not Miss Darcy's fault that her brother never wanted to marry you."

Miss Thomas looked as though she had been slapped and Georgiana went redder still at the impropriety and awkwardness of the remark. Kitty, however, was watching fixedly, clearly entertained. 

"Well, we will not keep you," said Mr. Thomas. "Good day, Mrs. Milton, Miss Darcy."

His eyes lingered a little on Georgiana as he bowed. 

"Are you well acquainted with Mr. Thomas?" Kitty asked, once the brother and sister were out of earshot. 

"Not well acquainted, no. I know the family a little."

"He is a good-looking gentleman," Kitty said, glancing sneakily at him from over her shoulder. 

Georgiana did not think so, but she was used to Kitty’s indiscriminate admiration of young men's looks, obviously uncured by marriage.

"He seems interested in you," said Kitty slyly. 

Georgiana just shook her head, confused and embarrassed.

Kitty looked at her closely. "James has not heard from Mr. Marchbanks recently," she said with an uncharacteristic degree of delicacy. 

Georgiana felt a pang of regret, but only a little one. 

"We believe him to be in Bath," Kitty continued. 

"Oh?"

"Yes." Kitty seemed to be weighing her words. "James has told me that, though Mr. Marchbanks is an amiable man, he is not sure he is quite ready to settle down."

"Many young men his age are not," said Georgiana mildly, willing her face not to redden again. 

"And some men never want to marry. They are not meant to be husbands."

Georgiana agreed that this was true.

"It is very unfair of them to flirt with young ladies, while they make up their minds."

Georgiana appreciated what Kitty was trying to do, but it was not necessary.

"Pray, do not worry about me, Kitty," she said. "I have no expectations of Mr. Marchbanks."

"Oh!" Kitty sounded relieved. "Well, in that case, let us talk of more agreeable things!"

Georgiana gave a small laugh and allowed Kitty to chatter away as she pleased.

***

“I heard that you sent Dr. Hooper away.”

Elizabeth was sitting at the foot of their bed, waiting for him, when he came in.

“I did,” she said. “There is nothing the matter with me.”

Darcy opened his mouth to argue, but Elizabeth cut across him.

“And I did not want him to be the one to tell you.”

Darcy went very, very still. Elizabeth’s face was glowing and there was an air of barely-suppressed elation about her. 

“Well, my dear,” she said, and her voice shook with excitement, “I have some news.”

Darcy took a step toward her, not knowing what he was doing. His limbs seemed to have gone suddenly numb and there was a very odd sensation in his chest. His eyes searched Elizabeth’s face; she smiled and nodded.

He crossed the room in a few steps and pulled her to him. 

“When?” he whispered, tucking a curl behind her ear. 

“In the new year, I think.”

He kissed her, so gently it was almost tentative, as though her condition made her delicate enough that, were he not careful with her, she would break. He felt himself overwhelmed in a way he was not accustomed to; he had become so used to his level of contentment - his good fortune in having such a wife as Elizabeth, and their happy life together, and the daily contentment of having her by his side - that he was quite undone by an addition of this magnitude. 

He found that he did not have the right words to say; none of them seemed important enough. All he could do was hold Elizabeth to him, his forehead pressed against hers, their hands clasped together and held against his chest. 

Elizabeth did not mind; she quite understood.

***

Elizabeth had had her suspicions before today, of course. She had wondered at the Metcalfes’ party, when she had come over so faint, if this might be the cause; but she had felt oddly and uncharacteristically superstitious about it, as though wishing too hard would cause whatever this was to fade away. Her natural instinct was to talk to Fitzwilliam, but it had felt too dangerous, until she was sure. She had not wanted to allow herself to hope, and she certainly had not wanted to say anything that would cause him to do so. If she were wrong, and it was nothing… she hadn’t wanted either of them to face that disappointment. 

And so she had stayed quiet and kept an eye on her little afflictions - she had been as headachey as Fitzwilliam lately, and lightheaded, and queasy at inopportune moments - always aware that every one of them could spring from a less significant source. Theirs hadn’t been a hale and hearty household that month, after all. But other things, things that had always been most regular, had vanished, and she had felt a heady sort of anticipation building inside of her, despite her attempts to tamp it down.

She had put up less of a fight than usual when Fitzwilliam had announced that Dr. Hooper would be coming to Pemberley and it was no use for her to try to talk him out of it. She was, by this time, all but certain of her condition, and Dr. Hooper could tell her very little that she did not already know, but there would be something weighty in his opinion: it would formalize the whole thing, somehow. 

Dr. Hooper was a genial and brilliant old man, with fluffy white hair, bright brown eyes, and an ever-present smile, known to be the best physician for many miles; so good that he would have done better for himself in town, people said, but how lucky that he had such strong local feeling. He had been rather taken with Elizabeth ever since he had met her, when she had sent for him frantically the first time she had experienced one of Fitzwilliam’s migraines (a particularly severe one; she had thought he was dying). He had been attending to the Darcy family for decades and was particularly fond of this playful, pretty wife of young Fitzwilliam’s (he would always be young Fitzwilliam; such was the way with him, when he had known a man for so long). 

Dr. Hooper had none of those prejudices so common in his sex and profession, and was quite willing to accept Elizabeth’s inklings about herself as accurate.

“You will know best, Mrs. Darcy,” he said, “and I am quite certain that you are correct.”

It had not taken much effort to convince him to go, to leave the important announcement to her, to avoid the close questioning from Fitzwilliam that was in store for him. He was happy to leave it all to Elizabeth, but did have one (not insignificant) misgiving.

“I do not want Mr. Darcy to think I am neglectful in my care,” he said, raising his shaggy eyebrows and affecting intimidation, but there was undoubtedly some real apprehension behind it. 

Elizabeth smiled at him. “Dr. Hooper, we all greatly value you here at Pemberley, but I doubt very much whether Mr. Darcy will even remember you were here, once I tell him the news.”

Dr. Hooper chuckled, admitted the truth of this, and had left her to it.

Elizabeth had scarcely been able to hold her announcement in, when Fitzwilliam entered the room (she very nearly blurted it out the moment she saw him), and when she did tell him, his face had shone with such boyish wonder that it made her feel almost unbearably happy. How could one physically contain this amount of joy without bursting? She felt buoyant with it. 

She had been a little worried (and not without cause) that Fitzwilliam would be so anxious about her much-anticipated and interesting condition that he would expect her to spend the rest of the year in bed, but it turned out that he was quite in favor of her getting a good amount of air and exercise and in keeping her strong and healthy. He would probably become fanatical in this, she thought with a smile, and fuss over her more than ever. Heaven only knew how he would brood over their child.

They spent the rest of the morning out of doors, walking hand in hand down their favorite paths, already thinking about the future and making plans for their new addition. All of her superstition had evaporated. There was plenty to worry about still - things could go horribly wrong, she knew, at any point along the way - and, if she thought about it too closely, she was sure she could work herself into a panic (she would need to distract Fitzwilliam from this; he would absolutely begin to think the worst, as soon as this first shock of happiness faded). But for now, she was content to dwell only on the cheerful and the good. She had waited for this day for so long.

“Shall we tell Georgiana when she returns?” she asked, leaning her head against Fitzwilliam’s shoulder.

He considered this for a moment. “Let us keep it our secret, just for today.”

Chapter Text

Georgiana was overjoyed by the news that she was soon to have a little niece or nephew. She had been the last baby born at Pemberley, and she had arrived so long a time after Fitzwilliam had; it would be good to fill the house with little Darcys again. It was, moreover, lovely to see how happy the coming event made Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth. She did not think she had seen Elizabeth without a smile for weeks, and Fitzwilliam looked as young and lighthearted as he had when Georgiana was a little girl, when they used to run up and down the passages together. 

“Enjoy him while he is carefree,” Elizabeth said, her eyes sparkling, when Georgiana mentioned this to her, “for I am sure he will start fretting soon enough.”

Georgiana giggled. Fitzwilliam had overheard; he marched deliberately over, lifted Elizabeth gently off her feet, and placed her on the sofa.

"Perhaps I will start fretting now, and insist on your sitting here for the rest of the evening."

Elizabeth pulled him onto the sofa with her and sat on his lap. "Only if you sit with me," she said, confident that she had won, and indeed, Fitzwilliam's arms were instantly around her waist, holding her closer.

"An acceptable compromise," he said. 

They had been particularly sportive with each other lately, even more than usual, and though they were very sweet together, Georgiana often felt in the way.

"Georgiana, dear, you must join in on our wager," said Elizabeth. "I think our little friend is a boy, but your brother is convinced she is a girl."

Georgiana smiled at them both. "I will place my bet on a girl as well."

She would love a nephew too, of course, but she was rather wishing for a niece. Fitzwilliam was going to be an exemplary father either way, but he already knew how to raise a girl - he had been both mother and father to her, in many respects, throughout the years. 

"I knew you would take his side," said Elizabeth, as Fitzwilliam gave her a triumphant little squeeze.

"I would not bet against Fitzwilliam," said Georgiana. "He has a good sense for these things."

Of all the babies born to their family and acquaintances in the last several years - Collins, Bingley, Wickham, and Hurst - her brother had accurately predicted the sex of every one. It was becoming eerie.

"He makes many lucky guesses and that is all," said Elizabeth.

"She envies this talent of mine and feels she must denigrate it," Fitzwilliam told Georgiana in tones of affected sorrow. 

"That is true," agreed Elizabeth. "It is such a profitable skill to have."

They grinned at each other, all love and felicity and amusement, lost in their own little world.

As sincerely delighted as Georgiana was about their forthcoming addition, there was still one nagging thought in the back of her mind; one that she tried to keep locked away but that kept sneaking out when she least expected it. A child cemented Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth together in a way that could not include Georgiana, even more than their marriage did. They had always told her that Pemberley was her home for as long as she wished it to be, and though she did not disbelieve them, it was possible, now that their own family was growing, that her presence there might not be such a welcome one. She might become the awkward outsider: maiden aunt Darcy looking in on their happy little party of three. 

She told herself not to be silly, that she had had these feelings before and they had all been for nothing (she had, years ago, dreaded the idea of Fitzwilliam marrying, and now she couldn’t imagine life without Elizabeth). But still, she couldn’t shake them off entirely. 

***

Darcy’s lightheartedness was brought to an abrupt end with the arrival of a note from Mr. Horatio Thomas. It had been a rather blissful few weeks; Darcy should have known that something would come along to mar things. 

He wrote back quickly, inviting the man to Pemberley for a meeting. 

He sat at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not want to deal with this right now.

***

The presence of Mr. Thomas caused quite a flurry among some of the servants at Pemberley. The maids were particularly intrigued by him; rarely had such a dangerous personage walked their halls. 

“I hear he is quite penniless,” said one. 

“I hear he has illegitimate children all across the country,” said another. 

“Well, he is rather fascinating,” giggled a third.

“That is quite enough of that,” said Mrs. Reynolds, walking by with a stern glare.

***

The two men sat stiffly, staring at each other. 

“Well,” said Thomas, “you know why I am here.”

Darcy said nothing, just continued to look at him. 

“I am in some trouble and could use your help.”

Darcy remained silent.

“It is a bit of a long story and I would be happy to explain--”

“Is it the same sort of trouble you have been in for the past ten years? Gaming debts, and bad business decisions, and dissipated living?”

Thomas looked a little irritated. “You should not believe everything you hear.”

“I do not believe everything I hear, but the reputation you have is not wholly baseless. You have earned it.”

Thomas sighed. “That was years ago. I have not been in that sort of trouble for some time.”

“But it is pecuniary trouble now.”

“It is, partially.”

Darcy considered him, not entirely able to mask his dislike. “What designs do you have on my sister?”

Thomas looked genuinely surprised by this. “I have no designs--”

“You have been seeking her out and I want to know why. I will not even think of helping you until you give me a satisfactory explanation there.”

“I am not trying to marry your little sister, Darcy.”

“That is not a good enough answer, Thomas.”

He sighed. “I am not trying to marry your little sister because I am already married.”

That stopped Darcy short. “You are married.”

“I am.” Thomas smirked. “Would you like the whole story now?”

“Yes, I think I had better hear it.”

Thomas sat quietly for a minute, as though wondering where to begin. “I have been back in England for nearly two years now, living in Newcastle. It was there that I met my wife, and it was there that I was content to stay; I had no desire to return to Derbyshire and she has a strong attachment to the place. She has no family, you see, beyond a younger brother whom she has cared for for many years.” He paused. “You might understand that sort of relationship yourself, Darcy.”

“I am not sure that antagonizing me will help your cause, Thomas.”

He hastily continued. “The boy is… somewhat wild. He is undisciplined rather than degenerate, but it has led him into trouble. He is only just three-and-twenty, and easy prey to the unscrupulous.”

He chewed his lip and gave Darcy an appraising sort of look.

“He has been ruined,” he said baldly. “You know my own money issues; my help can only go so far and I have my wife to think of. But he is her brother and I must do what I can.”

“Do you want a loan?” Darcy asked bluntly.

“No. I want to find the man who ruined him.”

“And who was the man?” Darcy had a strong suspicion that he knew the answer.

“George Wickham.”

Of course.

“I am not making excuses for the boy,” Thomas continued. “He was foolish. But George Wickham led him down a path he would not have been on otherwise, and abandoned him once he saw how desperate the situation was. My brother-in-law is not clever; he was no match for Wickham. If I had known that he was associating with the man, I would have put a stop to it earlier. We both know how Wickham is.”

Darcy sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. “How much money do you need?”

“I do not want your money. I want Wickham’s money.”

“Most of Wickham’s money is my money. How much do you need?”

“You are not hearing me, Darcy. I do not want your money.”

“Wickham does not have it and I cannot let you ruin him. He is the husband of my wife’s sister.”

“I had heard; that is why I came to you for information. How do you like having such a relation?”

Darcy ignored this. “How much?”

“I will not tell you because I do not want you to pay it. You have already paid too many of Wickham’s debts.” 

That was true enough.

“Wickham was gone by the time I found out how bad things were for my brother-in-law. I am here to ask you about his whereabouts.”

“I do not know what you expect to derive from that information, but it will certainly not get you the money.”

“I want to speak with him.”

“He cannot be worked on.”

“We shall see about that,” said Thomas darkly.

“Do you think I have not tried?” asked Darcy with some exasperation. “I know George Wickham much better than you do. You will not be able to reason with him.”

“I do not have the same constraints of honor that you do.”

Darcy looked at him frankly. “You know that I cannot tell you where he is, especially after a statement like that.”

Thomas gave a harsh little laugh. “I am not planning on killing him, if that is what you are worried about.”

“I would be in the greatest sympathy with you if you were, but I still will not tell you where he is.”

Darcy was not entirely sure himself; the Wickhams had been moving around a lot lately.

Thomas looked at him with consternation. 

“Where is the boy?” Darcy said.

“Rotting away in a debtor’s prison.” 

“I can help you with that.”

He shook his head firmly. “He is my responsibility. I am slowly paying his debt off myself and I do not want the assistance of someone so unconnected with us; I will not lower myself that far.”

“Why not ask your father to--”

“My father does not know of my marriage; he would not approve of my choice of a wife. I have married beneath me, you see,” he said sardonically. “Again, you might relate.”

Darcy felt a hot swoop of anger. “If you insult my wife, I will have to insist that you leave.”

“Believe me,” Thomas said hurriedly, “I meant no offense against your wife; I meant only to compare our situations. Your family were opposed to your own marriage, were they not?”

Darcy admitted this was true.

“I am not as easily-situated as you are, Darcy. I cannot afford to be cast off at the moment.”

“So you intend to keep a secret wife while you continue to collect an allowance?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Only until I help the damnable brother. I need my family’s money to keep us solvent until he is taken care of. After that, they can disown me if they choose.”

Darcy looked dubious.

“I am trying to improve myself. To be a better man. To finally show some responsibility.” His tone was mocking, but his face was sincere. “This is a waste of time. It is clear that you will not help me. I will have to continue my search on my own.” He bowed. “Good day to you, Darcy.”

Darcy paused, wondering whether he should drop it, and then decided he couldn't. “I still want to know why you brought my sister into this.” 

Thomas smiled wryly. “It was not as though I could ignore her when we were so often in the same company. She reminds me of my wife. I like her.” 

Darcy made an impatient sound. 

“I did hope that I might build some goodwill so you would be more inclined to help me,” he conceded. “I thought it might improve your opinion of me; show you that I could not be so bad, if I was kind to your sister.”

Darcy looked at him incredulously. “You thought it would improve my opinion of you, when you were using my sister for your own advantage?”

“She was in need of assistance and I helped her,” said Thomas. “That it would benefit me to play the hero does not change the fact that I was of use. She seemed grateful, no matter what my motives were. I thought I was helping us both at the same time, and I never made Miss Darcy think that my intentions were anything other than honorable. I am not as bad as you think I am.”

“No,” said Darcy dryly, “merely artful and duplicitous. And you probably should not have been so impertinent with my wife, if you were trying to paint yourself in a more flattering light.”

“You heard about that, did you?" He looked mildly amused. "I did not think that Mrs. Darcy was the kind of woman to run to her husband when a strange man tried to flirt harmlessly with her. She seems to have more spirit than that.”

“Be careful how you speak of my wife, Thomas.” 

“Rest assured, Darcy, her behavior towards me was all that was respectable and appropriate.”

“It is not Mrs. Darcy’s behavior that I question”.

“You do not think well of me, do you?”

Darcy stared at him. “You have flirted with my wife and toyed with my sister; you have not given me much of a reason to think otherwise.”

Thomas laughed. “Fair enough. I was not lying about Miss Darcy, though: she does remind me of my wife, and I do like her, and Fanshawe is an ass. I was happy to get her away from him.”

Darcy struggled with himself for a moment, then gave a reluctant nod of thanks.

“Good day, Darcy. I apologize for taking up so much of your time.”

And with that, he turned and left.

***

Darcy immediately went to Elizabeth to tell her the whole story.

“He is a bit of a conundrum, is not he?” she mused. “Not altogether bad, but still unsavory. It is good of him, to help his wife’s brother, but his behavior during the whole affair has not improved my opinion of him."

“He should have come to me at once, if he wanted assistance; he should not have involved Georgiana at all.”

“No,” agreed Elizabeth. “Mind you, I am grateful he stepped in with Fanshawe, but he need not have singled her out after that. And I do not like that he provoked you as much as he did, all while asking for your help.”

“I assume he thought I would find Wickham the greater evil and take his side, no matter how irritating I found him.”

“Still, more flies with honey. He did not do any of this wisely, did he? It is no great wonder that he has made things worse for himself through the years.”

“I would pay him the money,” Darcy said, running a frustrated hand through his hair, “if he would just tell me how much he needs.”

She smiled and kissed his temple. “Thomas is not your responsibility, and nor is Wickham.”

“Unfortunately, Wickham is.”

“No, he is not. It is not your fault that he continues to ruin people wherever he goes. Nothing you could say against him would stop that.” 

“But I have made it easier for him to do it.” He sighed. “My father had such a high opinion of him. I have spent nearly half my life trying to make him worthy of that opinion, and covering up for him every time he has fallen short of it.”

“And yet, he is still not your responsibility.” 

Darcy made no answer. 

Elizabeth nestled in closer to him. “Come, Fitzwilliam. I do not want you to dwell on George Wickham any longer; and you must do as I say, you know, as I am in the family way.”

She gave him her archest look; he had always been helpless in the face of it.

“I believe we should take a walk to the stream. You look as though you need the air and exercise just as much as I do.”

He could think of worse ways to spend the day, and it would afford him the opportunity to think of what was to be done next.

Chapter Text

The next week brought fresh news of Wickham, as well as the loss of Darcy’s ability to deny precise knowledge of that man’s whereabouts. The second Wickham son, James, had been born, and the Wickham family would be coming to visit the Bingleys as soon as Lydia was recovered enough to make the trip. They were planning to stay briefly with the Miltons on their way there, and thus it was rather imperative to get Horatio Thomas out of Derbyshire. 

Darcy wrote to Thomas, inviting him again to Pemberley.

The scene felt familiar, the two men staring at each other, neither particularly pleased to be meeting. 

Darcy thought he might as well get to the point.

"Here is what is going to happen: I will be paying your brother’s debts and you are going to accept it.”

He would not have this idiot boy on his conscience. 

Thomas opened his mouth to speak, but Darcy would not let him argue.

“You are letting him suffer in prison because you are too proud to take the money.”

“I am taking care of--”

“You are not able to pay quickly enough. I can do it immediately.” 

Thomas glowered at him. 

“Repay me if you must, if that is what is so irksome to you,” Darcy continued, “but this helps your brother now. Your search for Wickham is undertaken for your own satisfaction, not his. It does not get him out of prison sooner.” 

Darcy wondered vaguely if Thomas was going to punch him; he looked like he wanted to. Darcy was not worried about this - he had over half a foot on Thomas; he liked his chances - but he did not relish the thought of the damage that his study might incur. 

“You do not have any actual argument to make against this plan; we might as well avoid the quarrel and get right to the moment where you accept graciously.”

It was not, of course, that simple.

They battled for the next several hours, but Darcy eventually won the war; Thomas would return to Newcastle and his wife, his brother’s debts would be cleared, and Darcy would be paid back as quickly as Thomas could manage it. Thomas submitted to this reluctantly, furiously, but submit he finally did.

“And you should tell your father of your marriage,” Darcy called after him, as he walked bitterly away. “He may be displeased at first, but I think you do him a discredit when you imagine that he will cast you off for it.”

Thomas made a contemptuous sort of sound and did not answer. Darcy heard him stomp down the passage.

Well. At least they had not come to blows.

***

"How was it?" Elizabeth asked.

Fitzwilliam was rubbing his temples and looking burdened, his eyes closed and his elbows on his desk. 

"Honestly, it could have been worse. It took longer to convince your uncle, years ago."

Elizabeth put her arms around him from behind his chair, kissing his cheek and then resting her chin on his shoulder.

"You are an exceptionally good man, Fitzwilliam."

"No, I merely lack the ability to stay out of other people's affairs."

"Do not argue with me, dear. My condition is very delicate."

He gave a little huff of a laugh.

"And so Thomas is leaving?"

"That was the agreement."

"Do you think he will continue searching for Wickham?"

"I do not know." He sounded pensive. "I must admit, Elizabeth, that I have had enough of Wickham for a lifetime."

"And now there is another of his offshoots in the world." She sighed. "Those poor boys. They are certainly facing an unpropitious beginning, with parents such as theirs."

He did not reply; his jaw was clenched and he looked ruminative. 

Elizabeth moved so that she had a better view of his face. Taking his hand, she laced her fingers through his. 

"I feel very fortunate, Fitzwilliam," she said softly, "that our children will have you as a father."

His expression softened. "They will be very fortunate to have you as a mother."

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Yes, we are most exemplary, are not we?"

He laughed and she pulled him out of his chair, drawing him to her. "I believe it is time for our daily walk, Fitzwilliam. You have already kept me waiting."

"I will be down soon; there is still one thing left to settle."

She gave an exaggerated gasp. "You are denying me? Am I becoming a chore to you? Have I already started to waddle?"

He smiled. "I will not be long. I only have a letter to write."

"I have seen your letters, Fitzwilliam. You may be hours yet."

"It will be a short one, I promise."

"It had better be, or I will be most displeased."

He kissed her hand. "We cannot have that."

***

It was more of a note than a letter. 

Darcy wrote to Wickham, reminding him of just how much power he had to make Wickham’s life more difficult and warning him to behave. Wickham had a new mouth to feed; he was more in need of Darcy’s assistance than ever. 

***

Georgiana was spending the day with Kitty; they drank their tea and busied themselves with their work, Kitty keeping up a steady stream of gossip about her family and their parishioners.

“You will have heard about the new Wickham baby, of course,” said Kitty. “James and I are to have them all to stay soon. He is worried about it. He says Mr. Wickham is not well-liked around here, and that Mr. Wickham has a particular reason to hold a grudge against him.” She took a dainty sip of her tea. “He thought that we must issue the invitation, but was rather surprised when it was accepted.” 

Georgiana said something vague and indistinct. Kitty knew that the Darcys chose not to associate with Mr. Wickham, but she did not know the particulars and she certainly was not aware of Georgiana’s history with him. She had no idea that she was causing Georgiana any special discomfort.

“I have not seen Lydia since just after she was married,” Kitty continued, “so I fear the whole visit is going to be awkward. We used to be very close, but I do not know what we even have in common anymore. We are both married, of course, but she does not have the responsibilities that I have, in my position.”

Georgiana murmured that this was very true.

“I suppose she does have the boys. It is difficult to picture Lydia with children. She is younger than we are and she has two already! Imagine having two children!” 

Kitty paused and looked a little furtive. 

“I could never say this to James, you know, but I am rather dreading all of that,” she confessed. “I hope it does not happen too quickly. I would rather be like Lizzy.” There was another moment’s thoughtful pause, then an awkward glance up. “Lydia has told me the most terrifying things. It is all she ever writes about.” She stopped and turned red but did not elaborate.

Georgiana wondered what those terrifying things were, and whether they were happening to Elizabeth, but did not press Kitty for details.

“Well, I suppose it is what most married women have in store for them,” said Kitty, more subdued than usual. “It is not always what you expect, being a wife.”

Georgiana looked down quickly, feeling embarrassed. She hoped Kitty was happy and well, and only feeling so serious because she was anxious about the Wickhams’ visit. Kitty was usually much more enthusiastic about her house, and her life, and her Mr. Milton; she was always telling Georgiana how delightful it was to be a married woman. It was startling to see her so fretful; but then, Kitty had always tended that way before she was married. Perhaps this behavior would be normal for Kitty, now that some months had passed since her wedding. 

Georgiana had never seen Elizabeth like this. Elizabeth was always so cheerful; she and Fitzwilliam seemed as though they were made for each other. But Elizabeth was naturally livelier than Kitty was, and never prone to sullenness. Georgiana wondered if Elizabeth had these moments where she felt whatever it was that Kitty was feeling, and whether she, Georgiana, would have ever known it if she had. The thought was strangely disquieting.

It was something of a relief when it was time to return home.

Georgiana was somber on the ride back, reflecting on Kitty’s mood and what she had said, but was revived by the sight of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, hand in hand on the lawn and looking quite as happy as ever. 

“How is Kitty?” Elizabeth asked as Fitzwilliam helped Georgiana out of the carriage. 

“Oh, a little concerned about receiving the Wickhams, I think,” said Georgiana evasively. She did not like being so secretive, but did not know what was appropriate for her to tell.

“Yes,” grimaced Elizabeth, “that is sure to be a challenge.” 

“And how are you?” asked Fitzwilliam quietly. Georgiana felt a surge of love for her brother; of course he knew how trying all the talk of George Wickham had been for her.

“Quite well,” she whispered back, smiling at him. 

She observed Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam that evening, searching for any signs of… oh, she did not know what. It had occurred to her, upon leaving the Miltons, that she knew many more unfortunate couples than contented ones, and she had gotten used to her brother and Elizabeth being solidly, dependably, lovingly attached; her model for everything that she herself wanted. 

She did not know what she would feel, if Elizabeth started acting like Kitty.

She scolded herself. She had no real reason to doubt the Miltons’ contentedness; Kitty was under a considerable amount of stress and her nerves were not strong. One melancholy afternoon did not an unhappy marriage make.

Still, she was glad to see Elizabeth teasing, Fitzwilliam laughing, and the two of them behaving just as they ever did.

Theirs, Georgiana knew, was the kind of marriage she was hoping for.

Chapter Text

Mr. Bennet had not rushed back to Derbyshire after Kitty’s marriage, as Elizabeth had suggested, but had stayed in Hertfordshire to provoke his wife’s nerves for long enough a time that she eventually wished him gone. A fortnight’s absence would calm them back down to their usual degree of querulousness, just in time for him to return and test them once more.

“Her nerves trouble her while I am there and they trouble her while I am away, but I like to think I am providing some variety to her suffering.”

Elizabeth smiled, amused but uncomfortable. She had never been blind to her father’s failures as a husband, but she could see them more starkly the longer she was married to Fitzwilliam.

They were alone in the drawing room now; after all of the greeting and welcoming, Fitzwilliam and Georgiana had left to give them their privacy, to talk and to reminisce in their old way before dinner.

“And so you are to finally give us a grandchild, Lizzy,” Mr. Bennet said. “Your mother and I have two very good ones from Jane, two doubtlessly wicked ones from Lydia, and now you and Mary are to take your turns. I expect Mary’s to be serious and yours to be clever, and for Kitty to give us a silly one before long.”

“Have you met your namesake yet?” Elizabeth could not know for certain - she had sent Lydia a letter of congratulations but had not heard back - but she assumed little James Wickham had been named for Mr. Bennet, either to honor him or to curry favor. 

“I have not yet had that pleasure.”

“The whole family will be with Kitty soon; you should stop and take a peep at him.”

“If you tell anyone that I am here with you, Lizzy, I will disinherit you.”

“That would be a hardship for me.”

He smiled at her wryly. “And will you be going to see your new nephew?”

“Oh, yes. Kitty is already devising schemes for getting Wickham away for a few hours so that he and Fitzwilliam are not forced to brawl in her garden.” 

“I cannot imagine your Mr. Darcy doing anything so undignified as brawling. There would be a few incisive words, perhaps, just enough to fatally wound Wickham without harming Kitty’s flowers, and it would be an amusing way to liven up the visit.”

Her father did not understand the degree of the animosity between her husband and Wickham, and probably regretted that he would not get to witness this imaginary spectacle.

“How is Mary feeling?” Elizabeth asked to change the subject. It would not be long now before Mary’s expected confinement and Elizabeth had not heard from her lately.

“Well enough,” said Mr. Bennet. “Your mother insists that something is wrong and that she needs to stay in bed, but I have seen no proof of it.”

Elizabeth must have looked startled, because he added, “Your mother has not had any of you around to fuss over in this condition since Jane’s first. She is eager to make the most of it.”

Still, Elizabeth resolved on writing to Mary as soon as she could, in order to get a clearer picture. 

“Tell me what is going on in Hertfordshire,” she said, “and with all of the Lucases and the Gouldings and the Longs. I want to hear everything.” 

She was feeling a bit discomfited and it was easier to hear him make light of their neighbors than their family.

***

Georgiana had never really known what to make of Mr. Bennet; he clearly loved Elizabeth, and he could be very amusing, and he had certainly always been polite to Georgiana, but his humor could be mean-spirited in a way that made her uncomfortable. He shared that sharp, dry wit that Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had, but his had a biting edge to it.

She tended to stay out of his way, safe from his notice, and left him to Elizabeth, and he did not usually say much to her at all. 

It was a surprise, then, one evening as she played the pianoforte, that he commented, “I must thank you, Miss Darcy. This is a pleasant change from what we are accustomed to at Longbourn; Mary comes over every day to practice on the instrument. She has not abandoned her music upon her marriage, you see. Perhaps motherhood will do the trick.”

Georgiana thought she might have received a compliment in there somewhere but did not know what to do about it. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had both winced slightly at the words. She mumbled something that could have passed as thanks and quickly launched into another piece.

*** 

Mr. Bennet was a quiet houseguest, spending most of his time with Elizabeth or in the library. Darcy was still not sure how well he liked his father-in-law. The most admirable thing about the man was how deeply he cared for Elizabeth, and so Darcy tried to concentrate on that. It was their greatest common ground.

At least it was not difficult for him to get along with Mr. Bennet. If they kept the conversation away from the Bennet family, he was amusing and clever; they could talk of books and politics in a way that was perfectly civil; they often did not talk at all, and merely read their books and their newspapers in silence, enjoying a respite from discussions of any kind. 

And Elizabeth loved him, which was what mattered. Mr. Bennet could trespass at Pemberley for as long as he liked, for Elizabeth’s sake. Fitzwilliam could suffer much more than an eccentric and irresponsible father-in-law if it made his wife happy. 

Still, he was not altogether sorry when it was time for Mr. Bennet to leave. 

He had not gone to see his new grandson or any of his other daughters and grandchildren in the area during his stay, which Darcy found both incomprehensible and frustrating, and he left without sending any sort of message for any of them. 

He loves Elizabeth , Darcy reminded himself, as they waved him away. If nothing else, he loves Elizabeth.

***

The morning after Mr. Bennet’s departure brought the devastating news that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s wife had died in childbirth. 

“And the baby?” asked Elizabeth. 

Fitzwilliam, looking very pale, shook his head. 

All of the Darcys were greatly affected by this event. They had not known Frances well - they had only met her once - but they were all, of course, deeply fond of the colonel. It was a tragedy that seemed too horrifying to fathom, and yet it was an all too common occurrence. It happened all the time. It was how Fitzwilliam and Georgiana had lost their own mother, and they had all known other families that had suffered the same way. Everyone understood the danger; they just tried not to think about it. It was part of life.

Elizabeth could not hear the news without thinking of her own condition, but she bore it philosophically; she had not been particularly frightened for herself before, and she still felt relatively sanguine now. It was, perhaps, an irrational optimism, but her mother, and her aunt, and her sisters had never had any real scares and Elizabeth could not bring herself to worry.

Fitzwilliam had been more profoundly shaken.

There was alarm in his eyes at times when he looked at her now; he held her a little tighter; he slipped into anxious silences a little more often. He was sleeping even less and his headaches had increased, and though he did not tell her of either of these developments, she had been able to observe their effects. 

Elizabeth was not sure what to do. Telling him not to worry would not work; the words would be hollow, and he had never stopped worrying on command anyway. She could understand his anxiety, even if she did not share it, but that did not make it any easier to witness. Honestly, she was surprised it had taken this long to show up; the glow of lightheartedness that he had carried with him these past months had had a longer life than she’d anticipated. His behavior now was his usual vigilance about illness multiplied a hundredfold, and was therefore not completely unexpected.

She was waiting for him to talk to her about it. He sometimes needed to work through these things on his own; she did not want to wrench it out of him before he was ready. 

So in the meantime, she did what she was best at: she lightened his mood when she could, teasing him and making him laugh; she fussed over his well-being, giving him tonics for his head and forcing him to rest; she held his hand when he looked like he needed the comfort; she nestled in close to him whenever he just needed to be reassured of her presence, solid and warm and real. 

For now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Fitzwilliam’s concern over Elizabeth’s welfare, though constant, had lost the edge of panic it had developed after Colonel Fitzwilliam’s letter. It had diminished into a steady background burn, consistent and unrelenting but only occasionally blazing into outright alarm. Elizabeth supposed this was the best they could hope for and helped him to suppress the worst of it; there were still months to go until their new addition was expected and he would not make it to the new year if he spent all of them in a state of heightened dread. 

She gazed out of the window with one hand resting on her gently swollen belly, her needlework having fallen quite by the wayside. Fitzwilliam read quietly in the chair beside her. He had not been the only thing on her mind lately.

“What should we call our little friend?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Melchisedech,” said Fitzwilliam promptly. He had not looked up from his book, had not smiled, but there was something in his countenance that spoke his amusement.

“Oh, yes!” said Elizabeth. “Melchisedech Darcy is a charming name. And what if she is a girl?”

“Hephzibah.”

Do not laugh yet. Play along.

“You have been giving this some thought.”

“Indeed. The names have been considered and chosen for some time now.”

“You have quite a talent for it.”

They smiled at each other. She was grateful for his levity; she missed this side of him when it was weighed down by burdens.

“Really, though,” said Elizabeth, “I believe I have my heart set on Fitzwilliam for a boy.”

She kept coming back to it. Nothing else fit. 

He paused for a moment; she could not read his face. “It is a heavy name for a child.”

“He would be named after the very best man I know.”

His expression softened, unexpectedly affected by her words, as sincerely and earnestly as they had been spoken. It was essential for Elizabeth that he know that she meant this; she did not want it hidden, as it often was, behind a joke.

“And should not a girl be called Elizabeth, then,” he said finally, “after the very best woman I know?”

“Elizabeths are forever called Lizzy and Eliza.” She wrinkled her nose. “You and Georgiana are the only two who never shorten my name.”

“You are not worried about people calling our son Fitz?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She grinned. “I should like to see the person who would dare.”

“Bingley definitely would.”

They laughed at the truth of this.

“So what do you suggest for our daughter,” he said, “if Elizabeth is unacceptable?”

“I thought she should be Anna.”

She liked the name; it flowed well. She pictured a tall and graceful Anna Darcy, as poised as her father was, with a streak of Elizabeth’s own impertinence. It would be a nod to Lady Anne, too, which felt important.

“It seems rather unfair to choose names to honor only my side of the family. Why not Jane?”

“Perhaps for our next daughter,” she said. “I suspect that each of my sisters will end up with a Jane eventually. But I have always liked the name Anna, it has nothing to do with you.” She nudged him playfully. “I had a doll called Anna. I am sure she is still around somewhere at Longbourn.”

“I apologize for my presumption.”

“You are forgiven.”

She was so, so thankful for this flash of their usual way with each other. She wished she could pause the moment and hold it for a while.

“You asked my opinion, Elizabeth,” he said wryly, “but it seems as though you are quite settled already.”

“I am,” she said, her nose in the air, all mock imperiousness. Then, more seriously: “Do you dislike my choices?”

“No,” he admitted. “I confess, I rather liked Elizabeth for a girl, but now I think I would prefer that only one woman in my life bear the name.”

***

Darcy had given himself many a stern talking-to lately. He could not fall apart now. Elizabeth needed him to be strong for her, and for the baby. His fears must be secondary to their well-being.

He wasn’t ever perfectly calm, but he was getting a lot better at pretending to be. 

He still wasn’t sleeping well. He watched her sleep instead, whenever it eluded him; the rhythm of her breath; the way her lips pursed when she was dreaming; her hair escaping from her braid in wild, wispy curls; her arm draped protectively over her stomach. It was strange, the way you could physically ache with love for a person. 

The fear flared up again, unbidden, in his chest. He could not have been given all of this happiness, only to have it torn away from him. It would be too cruel.

He wondered how many other men had ever thought the same thing.

***

Georgiana had spent the morning making calls (including a rather awkward one to the Thomases, where she and Mrs. Thomas had tried frantically to behave naturally and to ignore the increasing rudeness of the younger daughters), and she would be late getting home; she hoped Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth wouldn’t worry. She had stayed with Mrs. Metcalfe longer than she had expected. She liked Mrs. Metcalfe - she was chatty, and warm, and easy - and Georgiana had been made to feel most welcome. 

Just as she was about to go (she was really very late), Mrs. Metcalfe said, “I am so happy that you called, Miss Darcy, as the whole family is to leave Derbyshire soon and I was hoping to see you before we went.”

“Oh?” said Georgiana, surprised. “Are you all to go visit with Sir Edgar?”

The humbler Metcalfes did not normally take the family pilgrimage to the baronet’s grand estate in the south.

“Indeed. It is not our usual way, of course, but Sir Edgar is forming a large party to stay with him while some improvements are being undertaken at Fairview, and Mr. Metcalfe could do with the change of scenery.”

“Kent is very pleasant.”

“It has been so long since I have seen it that I am rather looking forward to the trip.”

Georgiana had not been in Kent herself for some time, and she merely nodded and took a sip of tea. She felt a bit disgruntled; she had planned on seeing Jonathan Metcalfe at all of the forthcoming assemblies and parties. He was her one dependable companion, outside of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth. 

“Are you to stay there long?”

“Oh, a considerable time, though I am sure that Mr. Metcalfe will want to return before Christmas. Sir Edgar may keep Jonathan for longer. He has all of those sisters, you know, and he wants the company of other gentlemen.”

“Of course.”

The visit did not last much longer after this information was given, and when Georgiana rose to leave, it was with a vague feeling of loss.

***

She saw Jonathan Metcalfe himself soon thereafter. He had called on Fitzwilliam at Pemberley, and then afterward saw the ladies of the house. 

“So you are to leave us, Mr. Metcalfe,” said Elizabeth. “I hope you will enjoy your time away.”

He said some pretty things about losing the pleasure of his present company, though it was done a little self-consciously, with his usual shyness, and his gaze flicked away from them and down to his feet.

“You will find plenty to divert you, I am sure,” said Elizabeth, “and cease to think of us here at all.”

“I can assure you, ma’am, that that will not be the case,” he said, smiling at her.

He was able to share a few private words with Georgiana before he left.

“I will miss our conversations, Miss Darcy,” he said. 

“Though not, perhaps, the balls and parties where they often occurred,” she said lightly. 

He laughed. “I am sure I will be plagued by enough of those in Kent, and without anyone so friendly to talk to.”

Georgiana accepted the compliment graciously, and after a few minutes more, Mr. Metcalfe took his leave.

She hoped she would meet someone even half as agreeable while he was away.

***

The Wickhams were finally nearing the end of their stay with the Miltons (they had extended their visit twice already; Kitty had written Elizabeth several despairing letters, wondering when she would ever be free of them), and the Darcys' visit to see the new baby could not reasonably be put off for much longer.

“Kitty has assured me that Wickham will be occupied for several hours, long enough for us to do our duty and then rush back home,” said Elizabeth, tying her bonnet. 

“Do not fret on my account, Elizabeth,” Fitzwilliam said, and indeed, he looked less discomfited than Elizabeth had expected him to look at the prospect of meeting Mrs. Wickham again. They had last seen Lydia two years ago, when she had come to stay at Pemberley for a short visit before giving birth to her first child. It was not an event that anyone spoke of.

Lydia threw her arms around Elizabeth as soon as she saw her. This was not their usual manner of greeting. “It is so good to see you, Lizzy!” she said. 

Elizabeth responded politely. 

“And so good to see you, Mr. Darcy!” Lydia simpered. 

Elizabeth stared at her. Good Lord, she probably needed more money.

Kitty looked thoroughly harassed as she watched Lydia re-enter the house with Fitzwilliam. “I do not think they will ever leave,” she said to Elizabeth. “They were supposed to be off to the Bingleys last week, but Lydia said she was feeling poorly and could not be moved.”

Elizabeth winced in sympathy. “I am sure they will go this time,” she said, more hopefully than truthfully. “After all, the Bingleys have more to offer them.”

“Thank heaven for that,” Kitty said. 

“How has Wickham been?” 

Kitty gave an exasperated sigh. “He tells James at least once a day how this living was meant for him,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And you know James; he is always so kind to everyone, and he spends the next half-hour apologizing.”

“And the boys?”

Kitty groaned. “Georgie is always throwing a tantrum, and Lydia just lets little James scream and scream. They are between nurses, apparently, and I have not had a moment’s peace since they arrived.”

Elizabeth pressed her hand. “And you? How are you doing, Kitty?” Georgiana had been a bit circumspect on that point following her last visit to the Miltons and Elizabeth had wondered about her younger sister’s state of mind. 

“Oh, I will be better when we have the house to ourselves again. James and I have taken to walking for miles every day, just to be alone together.”

Elizabeth smiled and tried to hide her amusement. Kitty had never been a particularly enthusiastic walker before.

“Lizzy!” Lydia poked her head out of the door. “You must meet my boys!”

Fitzwilliam was holding the older child when Elizabeth came inside. This was her first look at her nephew; at two years old, he already greatly resembled his father, with his dark curls and bright hazel eyes. If Fitzwilliam was unnerved by this similarity, he was hiding it well; though little Georgie was squirming and kicking and playing roughly, her husband was more than equal to it, and he successfully entertained the boy and kept him distracted from the rest of the party. Fitzwilliam was good with children - all of the little Gardiners adored him, and little Charles Bingley went directly to his uncle Darcy every time they visited - and he was no less skilled with this nephew, despite his bad blood with the father. 

Elizabeth smiled a little to herself at the sight of him, thinking eagerly of their own child.

“I cannot believe you have not seen Georgie yet!” Lydia exclaimed. “And now he has a new brother!” 

Lydia passed Elizabeth little James, happy to have her hands free to accept the refreshment that Kitty was offering her guests. 

Elizabeth’s latest nephew was asleep, but his face was red and blotchy, suggesting he had recently tired himself out.

“I am sorry that you cannot stay long, and that we are off to the Bingleys soon,” said Lydia, nibbling at a muffin. “Wickham would have loved to visit Pemberley again.”

Elizabeth glanced at Fitzwilliam; he was ignoring Lydia’s comment quite tactfully by renewing his play with little George.

“Well, let us hope that we will have the opportunity to see each other again soon,” Elizabeth lied in a brightly cheery voice.

“Oh, I do not know when that will be,” said Lydia. “We are looking for a new situation, you know.”

After a whispered conference with Elizabeth, where she told a well-rehearsed tale of her woe and received a promise of assistance, Lydia seemed to lose interest in the Darcys altogether. She had gotten what she wanted. 

By the time that little James woke with renewed screams, it was also time for Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam to go, and they departed with commiserating winces to Kitty, who looked exceedingly careworn.

***

“I have been thinking, my dear,” said Elizabeth on the ride home, “that it might be time to seek a reconciliation with your aunt.”

Fitzwilliam’s countenance immediately clouded.

Elizabeth smiled. “We have avoided it for longer than we probably should have, after all.”

“Yes, and how peaceful it has been.”

“I do not like being the reason for your estrangement from your family, especially when we are expanding our own.”

“She is free to apologize for what she said of you and to heal the breach whenever she pleases.”

Elizabeth grinned at his expression. He looked like an especially petulant child. 

“Perhaps we should show her mercy.”

“She deserves none.”

“That is rather the point of mercy, dearest.”

It was a shameful thing to admit, but Elizabeth did enjoy his unforgiveness on her behalf.

He sighed deeply. “May I have some time to think it over? I am not yet recovered enough from meeting little Georgie that I can even begin to ponder a meeting with Lady Catherine.”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand. “Take all the time you need, Fitzwilliam. We will each need to be at our best when we receive all of her great condescension.”

Chapter Text

It took some persistence on the Darcys' part, but a reconciliation was contrived and they were to receive a visit from Lady Catherine.

Fitzwilliam looked exceedingly gloomy about it. Elizabeth laughed at his expression; he was usually more stoic in distress.

"You will need to look more cheerful, Fitzwilliam," she said with a grin. "This is a joyous occasion."

He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. 

"That will do for the present. Lady Catherine will be more preoccupied with my defects in appearance than in yours."

"She will be on her best behavior or she will be ordered to leave," said Fitzwilliam through gritted teeth. 

"Oh, I can handle her myself, dearest. If she is determined to spoil our reunion by being disagreeable, I am certain that I can make her so miserable that she will be quite ready to leave on her own."

Elizabeth glanced over at Georgiana, who had said nothing for a quarter of an hour; she seemed fidgety and nervous. Elizabeth tried to look encouraging. Georgiana’s attempt at a smile was a little more convincing than Fitzwilliam’s was, but it was a near thing.

And so Lady Catherine arrived. 

Their greetings were, for the most part, stiff and awkward. Fitzwilliam was as formal as Elizabeth had ever seen him; an outside observer would have assumed that he had never met his aunt before. Georgiana, meek and quiet, kept her gaze on the ground. Lady Catherine was haughty and oddly defiant, her voice lofty and affectedly cool as she looked down her nose at all of them. Only Elizabeth behaved naturally. 

“We are very pleased to have you here, Lady Catherine,” she said, taking Fitzwilliam’s arm. She thought he might be comforted by the support. His muscles were very tense beneath her hand. 

“It has been a very long time since I have seen Pemberley,” Lady Catherine sniffed. 

“Well, let us go inside then, to show you around and to take some refreshment,” Elizabeth said resolutely. “It is a little cool this morning and I would hate to keep you out in the wind.”

“The wind is never bothersome to me,” said Lady Catherine. “I feel no chill at all.”

“I am glad to hear it, but I would prefer to take no chances with your ladyship’s comfort.”

“I am of a remarkably stout constitution,” Lady Catherine said as she allowed herself to be led to the door, “You, perhaps, are different, and not yet accustomed to a cooler climate.”

Fitzwilliam looked as though he were about to say something. Elizabeth gave him a little warning pat on the arm. 

They welcomed Lady Catherine in their most impressive parlor; it was not the one the Darcys favored themselves, but they thought she would be flattered by its grandeur. She drank their tea and ate their cake, making vaguely antagonistic conversation peppered with the occasional snide remark.

Elizabeth was keeping a more or less permanent restraining hand on Fitzwilliam now. 

“I see you have changed the curtains,” Lady Catherine said, eyeing them with distaste. “You should have kept them how they were. These are not equal to the splendor of the room.”

“I do not know how they used to look,” said Elizabeth pleasantly. “I believe Fitzwilliam changed them long before we were married. These were the curtains I saw when I visited several summers ago. I shall ask Mrs. Reynolds when the alteration was made.” 

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes at her. “I did not see the vase I gave Lady Anne. She used to display it in the hall.”

“It has not been there for many years,” said Fitzwilliam. “My father moved it when she died and it is now in her room.”

It was, it must be said, a hideous vase. Elizabeth was glad that it had been long tucked away.

“Perhaps I could have it back, if it is not valued highly here,” said Lady Catherine.

Elizabeth assured her that it was valued very highly, but that its return could, of course, be facilitated.

“I preferred the hall in its darker colors. It looked more distinguished that way.”

She seemed determined to stumble upon something that had been Elizabeth’s fault. Elizabeth wondered if she would go through the house, room by room, until she found something.

“That, too, was done in my father’s lifetime. It has been quite a period, since last you saw Pemberley,” Fitzwilliam said, his tone pointed. “It has undergone many changes in that time, and not all of them recent.”

“Some things should be preserved as they are,” said Lady Catherine significantly. “Not all amendments are for the better.”

“But I do hope, upon the whole, that you find things as unpolluted as ever,” Elizabeth said sweetly. 

Fitzwilliam choked on his tea.

***

Georgiana did not think she would be speaking much for the next fortnight. There was something about Lady Catherine that made her reluctant to contribute much to the conversation. Fortunately, she was usually ignored by her aunt, especially when Fitzwilliam was around. Fitzwilliam had always been her favorite, much to his chagrin - or, at least, he had been her favorite until he married Elizabeth. Georgiana was not sure if Lady Catherine was particularly fond of him anymore.

Dinner was uncomfortable. Elizabeth was bright and cheerful, brushing off with good grace every ill-mannered remark that Lady Catherine dared to direct toward her, but Fitzwilliam was beginning to seethe. Georgiana saw every heartening look that Elizabeth sent him, and knew that he was trying very hard, for her sake, not to lose his temper, but there were times when it all looked a little perilous.

Georgiana really did not want to spend the rest of the evening in her aunt’s company. She needed to become more slowly acclimated to her. She was not particularly proud of herself for doing so, but she claimed a headache soon after the meal was finished.

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam made a great show of urging her up to bed, Elizabeth giving her an enormous wink while Lady Catherine’s back was turned.

Georgiana had rarely taken the stairs so quickly.

***

Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam, and Lady Catherine sat silently, each waiting for someone else to break the silence. Elizabeth was surprised; Lady Catherine was usually so fond of holding court.

She had just decided to say something herself when Lady Catherine spoke.

“You will not have heard,” she said stiffly. “Anne is to be married.”

“Oh?” said Fitzwilliam. It would have been better if he had sounded more interested; if he was already this weary of his aunt, it was going to be a very long fortnight indeed.

“It has just been settled,” said Lady Catherine. 

“I wish her every happiness.” 

Elizabeth added her own congratulations and shot a look - half amused, half exasperated - at her husband. He needed at least to try to make an effort.

He cleared his throat. “May she find as much felicity in the state as I have.”

She did not know if he meant to provoke his aunt or not - she suspected that he did - but the remark did not go over well. Lady Catherine had a very sour look on her face, her mouth screwed up and her brow furrowed. 

“It is a good match, but she deserves something better.”

Fitzwilliam looked quite unabashed. “If she deserves better, she should not settle for less.”

Lady Catherine's expression darkened further. “She spent years expecting a different offer, but she knows a fortunate match when she sees one. She knows her duty to her family.”

Fitzwilliam remained carefully impassive. Elizabeth was impressed by his restraint.

“Her marriage is partially what brought me here. As Anne is to leave, I thought I would have Georgiana to live with me at Rosings.”

“No.” Fitzwilliam’s response was firm and immediate.

“No?” Lady Catherine blinked at him in surprise. She was not used to being refused, and certainly not so brusquely. “What do you mean, Darcy?”

“I mean that Georgiana will stay at Pemberley. She will not be going to Rosings or anywhere else.”

“Do not be ridiculous. You will have a child of your own soon.” There was a spasm of distaste on her face as she thought of half of that baby’s parentage. 

“I do not see what difference that makes for Georgiana.” 

Elizabeth placed her hand on his; he was beginning to look rather intense again.

“She is of no use to you here.”

“I have very great need of her, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth broke in. 

Fitzwilliam had gone very still and pale, his expression forbidding. She thought it was best to distract everyone.

“I will need her help with the child, of course--”

“You will have nursemaids for that,” said Lady Catherine with an imperious wave of her hand.

“But more importantly,” Elizabeth continued, as though she had never been interrupted, “I require her companionship. We have grown very close and I would be quite desolate without her.”

“I know that you have one of your own sisters nearby, and another not terribly far. You will not need her.”

“They are not all interchangeable, I am afraid,” said Elizabeth, “and I can assure you that I greatly desire Georgiana here.”

“There will be no further discussion on the matter,” Fitzwilliam said. “Georgiana will be staying and I will not be persuaded into any other arrangement.”

“And what does Georgiana want?” asked Lady Catherine. “I fully intend to ask her myself.”

Elizabeth wondered if Fitzwilliam was going to leap off the sofa and strangle his aunt; it did not seem like an impossibility.

“She recently received a similar invitation, from her aunt Darcy, and she has refused for my sake,” said Elizabeth. “You may ask her if you wish, but she has already made me a promise and the Darcys are a very faithful people.”

She was not above lying shamelessly to bring an end to the argument; she would need to let Georgiana know of this story.

Lady Catherine finally accepted her defeat, though not gracefully.

“Very well. I will just sit alone at Rosings with no one but the servants for company.”

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam both kept their mouths firmly shut.

***

The rest of the week passed in relative peace, apart from Lady Catherine's incessant stream of criticisms on Elizabeth’s housekeeping. Elizabeth bore this well enough; Lady Catherine found fault wherever she went, and the attacks were not as personal as they might have been. Moreover, Elizabeth quickly stumbled on a way to put an end to them. 

"I had not the slightest idea!" she said, wide-eyed and innocent, when Lady Catherine complained that she was doing something the wrong way. "I was told that this was how Lady Anne did it!"

When Elizabeth's sins became Lady Anne's, there was no enjoyment in pointing them out.

"You are diabolical," said Fitzwilliam later, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her nose, her mouth. "I have never been more in love with you."

***

The second week of Lady Catherine's visit seemed to embolden her anew.

"I do love to hear such accomplished playing," she announced as Georgiana took her place at the pianoforte. "Do you recall, Mrs. Darcy, what I once told you?"

Lady Catherine usually avoided addressing Elizabeth at all, and when forced to, she always said Mrs. Darcy as acidly as she could. 

"I do not," said Elizabeth pleasantly. It would infuriate Lady Catherine to hear that her words had not been immortalized. "I apologize. Pray, remind me."

"I said that you would never play really well unless you practiced more. This is what application and study does," she said, gesturing grandly toward Georgiana. 

"I quite agree," said Elizabeth. "Georgiana plays much more beautifully than I ever could."

"I hope you have become more rigorous in your practicing, at any rate."

"I have given it up, I am sorry to say," said Elizabeth. "The responsibilities of being Mrs. Darcy have left me little time to do my music justice."

Fitzwilliam turned his laugh into a cough.

"Oh, dear, Fitzwilliam," she said, "I hope you are not becoming ill."

Lady Catherine glared at the pair of them.

***

"I wish you would allow me to tell her to leave," said Darcy, catching Elizabeth to him and pulling her into his lap. 

They were enjoying a brief spell of freedom while Lady Catherine dozed in her room. 

Elizabeth giggled as he kissed the back of her neck. 

"Oh, I do not know, Fitzwilliam," she said, leaning against him. "There are only a few days left of her stay and I am beginning to enjoy the sport."

***

Lady Catherine wished to see her sister’s portrait again before she left and there was no reason to object to her doing so. They walked with her through the picture gallery, Georgiana leading the way and Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam bringing up the rear. Lady Catherine turned quickly from Elizabeth’s portrait as she passed it. There it was: this picture was emblematic of the change that she found truly objectionable at Pemberley and she couldn't even make a disparaging comment about it. 

Fitzwilliam had noticed his aunt’s movement; his arm was rigid in Elizabeth’s.

Elizabeth said something light to cover the moment and Lady Catherine joined Georgiana at the portrait of Lady Anne.

“Your mother always wanted the best for you, Darcy.” She darted a sidelong glance at Elizabeth. “I wonder what she would think, if she were still here.”

Elizabeth braced herself for Fitzwilliam’s reaction. 

“I believe my mother would be delighted to know that I am happy.”

Elizabeth doubted whether Lady Catherine would be touched by the quiet sincerity of his words, but she knew that she was.

***

Elizabeth was not sure how it had happened, but she and Lady Catherine found themselves alone in the dining parlor on the morning that they were to part. 

“I suppose your family is often here," said Lady Catherine. She was preoccupied with her breakfast and would not look at Elizabeth.

"Not very often," said Elizabeth. "It is not an easy distance."

"You have two sisters within quite an easy distance."

"But my eldest sister has two small children and my younger sister was married earlier this year. Everyone is busy with their own affairs."

"Still, it must be a comfort to know that you can see your family, should you wish it."

Elizabeth thought she knew where this was going. 

"You have separated your husband from his."

"I have done no such thing."

"He has not spoken with my brother since your marriage. He has not spoken with many of his cousins."

"And that was not at my instigation."

"But you were the cause of it."

"If my mere existence can be considered the cause, then I suppose that is true. But they are free to speak with Fitzwilliam whenever they choose. I am not impeding them. I have not separated Fitzwilliam from his family; his family have separated themselves from him. Your being here now is the proof that they may all choose to reconcile with him if they wish it."

"You must be very pleased with yourself, and with the position in life he has given you."

"Elizabeth, my dear," said Fitzwilliam pleasantly, "will you please excuse us?"

Both Elizabeth and Lady Catherine looked over at him, startled. He was standing in the doorway; neither had noticed him there. 

"I would like to speak with my aunt."

***

Darcy considered Lady Catherine for a long moment. He thought she looked a little daunted. 

That was a first. 

“I have not said anything to you until now, because Elizabeth did not wish me to, but I will not permit you to speak to my wife in that way.”

His aunt opened her mouth indignantly, but Darcy cut across her.

“I cannot make you like her, but you will respect her or you will leave my house and never see me again.”

She said nothing.

“If it were up to me, you would not be here now. Our reconciliation has been entirely Elizabeth’s doing. I have not forgotten what you said about her, and though she may be willing to overlook it, I am only doing so for her sake. I will be perfectly content to go back to how things were if you decide that you are incapable of civility.”

She remained silent. 

“Now,” he said, “we will all go outside and bid each other farewell with every appearance of propriety. We will invite you back after the child is born, and you will behave courteously to everyone at that time or it will be your final visit. That is my last word on the subject.”

She did not look happy about it, but she obeyed.

***

“Well,” said Elizabeth with a sigh of relief, “we survived.”

“I am a little surprised that Lady Catherine did,” said Georgiana.

“There were several times when I worried that Fitzwilliam might murder her.”

He gave her a wry little smile.

“Well, yes,” said Georgiana, “but you were so fearless with her that I thought you might cause her to have a stroke.”

Fitzwilliam laughed in agreement, offered each an arm, and led them back to the house, all of them glad to have it to themselves again

Chapter Text

Mary was delivered of a boy - named William, for his father - and Mr. and Mrs. Darcy planned a trip to Hertfordshire to visit this latest of the Bennet sisters’ progeny. Fitzwilliam, still overanxious for Elizabeth’s well-being, was not fond of the idea, but she laughed this away.

“I will not be confined until the new year,” she said, “and I am feeling perfectly well.”

She was, too. She’d had nary a complaint since those first shaky months; none of the horrors that her mother had written to warn her about had ever materialized, and none of Jane’s gentler cautions had been an issue either. Elizabeth had always enjoyed good health and her pregnancy had done nothing to diminish it. 

It was taking more of a toll on Fitzwilliam - mentally, at least. She still saw glimpses of his unease, try as he might to hide them from her, but she endeavored to do all in her power to quiet his worry. She had always been able to tease him out of low spirits.

A journey to Longbourn, though, presented him with new and terrible dangers to mull over, and though Elizabeth agreed that they would make the trip much more slowly than they normally would, and that she would keep him well informed of any discomforts she felt, and that they would abruptly halt their traveling at any point along the way if any concerns arose, she could not totally allay his fears.

 But everything went smoothly and his anxieties, proven fruitless on this leg of the journey, were packed away until the next. 

It was always a strange sensation to return to Longbourn. It brought back, in force, memories of the chaotic Bennet household, its indiscipline and disarray, how much happier Elizabeth was now, and how little she truly regretted the things she had left behind. Moreover, it was always uncomfortable to bring Fitzwilliam back to the place; he was perfectly well-behaved and did his best to appear at ease, but she could always tell how desirous he was of leaving.

Her feelings tended the same way.

Her mother greeted them in something very near hysteria. 

"You have heard the news? All of the Bingleys are ill and they will not be coming after all!"

Jane and Bingley had colds and had deferred their own journey, but to hear Mrs. Bennet tell it, they were all at death's door.

"It is lovely to see you, Mama. I am feeling well, I thank you."

Her father winked at her and pulled her in for a hug. "You should not have come."

"Fitzwilliam is quite in agreement."

"Just look at the size of you."

"I am beginning to become a bit unwieldy, though I am not sure that you should mention it."

"You look very well, my dear."

They went inside; her father quickly spirited Fitzwilliam off to the library and Elizabeth was left alone with her mother. She was glad her husband was being spared the worst of her mother's nerves; he had never gotten especially used to them, and every meeting between him and Mrs. Bennet was sure to lead quickly to mortification. 

"How is Mary?" Elizabeth asked.

"Oh, well enough," said Mrs. Bennet, "but I am in agony over the boy."

Mary had written her once since the birth but hadn't mentioned anything wrong.

"Oh, Lizzy, he will not live!"

Elizabeth was not quite prepared to take her word for it. "Who has said so?"

Her mother's tone sharpened. "I have had five children of my own, Lizzy. I know much more of these things than you do."

"Mary said he was rather small, when she wrote--"

"Small and frail and pathetic-looking. I have told Mary to prepare herself."

"Oh, Mama."

"Well, it is best that she does!" 

"Have they sent for a physician?"

"No, only Mr. Jones. He says little William just needs a little time and he will thrive, but what does he know?"

Elizabeth made no answer.

"And the Bingleys are ill, as I have said, and you know how Jane's colds always linger on for so long."

Elizabeth did not know this at all, but did not say so. 

"And Kitty is troubled by her nerves and Lydia says little Georgie has the chicken pox." 

Elizabeth was aware of both of these things; she had been to the parsonage to sit with Kitty and had sent some money to Lydia. 

"And I have been suffering here with all of my little ailments, but no one has spared any time for me."

Elizabeth sighed and said what was appropriate. 

"And Mary's boy will die and then what will she do?"

Elizabeth was still saving her own anxiety for when she saw her nephew and could judge for herself how desperate were his chances of survival.

She had noticed that her mother did not seem particularly concerned for her well-being.

***

"He is not going to die," said Mr. Cartwright irritably. 

 Little William was a small, thin infant, but Elizabeth thought his father was probably right. 

"And your mother should not tell Mary that he will!"

Elizabeth quite agreed.

"We should not be angry with Mama,” said Mary in a long-suffering sort of voice, “but instead be glad that she teaches us patience."

She did not think that Mary meant this as a joke, and so she and Fitzwilliam now found it necessary to avoid each other's gazes, lest they break into giggles. 

Elizabeth paid both Mary and little William the necessary compliments, taking her latest nephew in her arms and holding his tiny hand. He seemed calm enough; if he was suffering from any mortal danger, he showed no sign of it. He looked up at Elizabeth with a most serious expression indeed, very much like his mother’s; she imagined both earnest contemplation and vague disapproval, and smiled down at him.

"Oh, I know he is not pretty like Jane's children, or Lydia's. Or like yours will be, I assume. He will be plain like William and me."

Mary always could make things awkward. 

"And he will probably never be strong. But we will raise him up to be a scholar, and that is better anyway."

Elizabeth said that that was exactly the sort of son that would best suit Mary, and thus she was a very fortunate woman. 

Mary seemed pleased that she thought so.

***

Mrs. Bennet suddenly remembered, in the midst of her worry over everyone else, that Elizabeth was with child. 

"You are small, so you will have a hard time of things."

Fitzwilliam shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

"And Mr. Darcy is very tall, so that will not help."

Mr. Bennet looked like he might grab his son-in-law and sprint with him back to the library again. 

Elizabeth would not blame him if he did. 

"You look as though you are carrying the way Jane and Mary did, so it is probably a boy."

"Fitzwilliam is convinced she is a girl," said Elizabeth, smiling at him.

"Oh, well I would not like to disagree with Mr. Darcy," her mother simpered at him, "but it would be so good for you to have a son." 

"I think we will probably have a daughter, and we will be just as happy about it."

Elizabeth herself suspected their child to be a boy, but she had always found it regrettably easy to play devil's advocate against her mother. 

"Well, we shall see," said Mrs. Bennet skeptically, "but I am usually right about these things."

"You said each of our own would be boys," Mr. Bennet said. “You were quite adamant about it, as I recall.”

Mrs. Bennet did not have a response. 

***

Later that evening, when they were alone, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam turned to each other and, after a beat of silence, burst into laughter.

“We have a few good exceptions, Fitzwilliam, but by and large, our families are ridiculous.”

“Your mother has the most curious ability to think of the worst possible thing to say--”

“And instead of keeping it to herself, she says it anyway!”

“Every time,” he sighed. 

“That will be how you will pay for having the audacity to marry me: our daughter will be the perfect combination of Lady Catherine and my mother.”

He made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

“And our son will be like the earl and Mr. Collins.”

“Impossible. That level of pomposity could not be held in a single body.”

“We have dared to be this happy, Fitzwilliam,” she said. She threw her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “It will not go unpunished.”

“We have seen both my aunt and your mother in the last month,” he said, scooping her up and making her laugh again. “We are not going unpunished now.”

Chapter Text

Shortly following their return from Hertfordshire, the Darcys received all four Bingleys at Pemberley. 

“I know that you have much more important things to think about,” said Elizabeth, embracing Jane, “but I have missed you.”

“You will be very busy yourself soon,” Jane smiled. 

They turned toward the shrieks of laughter coming from behind them: little Charles had run straight to his uncle Darcy and had been rewarded by being thrown into the air. 

“I am fairly certain he would stay here, if we let him,” said Bingley, coming to join his wife and shaking hands with Elizabeth. 

“I am fairly certain that Fitzwilliam would steal him, if he could get away with it,” said Elizabeth. “We will need to maintain a watchful eye, for Sophia is smaller and easier to hide.” 

They went inside to get out of the cold, the children carried off to one of the nurseries. Fitzwilliam was rather eager to keep the little Bingleys with them, but Jane thought they were overtired from the journey. 

Elizabeth felt enormously content as they sat there, the four of them. They did not gather together as much as she would wish - especially not since the children had been born - but it was always so satisfying when they did, with her closeness with Jane, Fitzwilliam and Bingley’s fond friendship, and the happy way fate had intertwined them all. It was just right, somehow, when they were all in the same place. 

She was getting terribly sentimental these days.  

***

Georgiana had worried that it would be rude of her to spend the day with Kitty and to miss the Bingleys’ arrival. Lately, Kitty had been exceedingly nervous and in need of a friend, and Fitzwilliam had assured Georgiana that the Bingleys would not hold her absence against her.

“You know Bingley will not mind, and Jane would be more offended that you left Kitty suffering alone, just for her sake.”

This was true enough, and so she had gone.

She found Kitty better than she had expected - Mr. Milton was neglecting his responsibilities rather shamelessly and had chosen to spend much of the day with his wife instead - and her time there passed very pleasantly. Georgiana was relieved to see that her fears for Kitty had been misplaced and that the Miltons seemed as comfortable together as ever. Mr. Milton was such a kind presence - calming his wife’s fretfulness and making Georgiana feel as though she was being more helpful than she knew she was - that she only felt slightly as though she were encroaching into their time together. 

“Oh, do not go!” Kitty had said, when Georgiana had suggested early in the visit that they might find her to be an intrusion. “I invited you here to be with me; it is not your fault that James is forsaking his duties.”

The Miltons had exchanged a little tender glance then; Georgiana looked tactfully away. 

When she arrived back at Pemberley later that day, she was greeted by Bingley with his usual brotherly affection and by Jane with her usual warmth and a hug (Jane was a keen hugger, both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had reminded her; this was not something she and Fitzwilliam were used to). She liked the Bingleys; she wished she had been here earlier, to greet the children.

Georgiana felt a little out of place at dinner. She was the odd one out in the midst of the couples, and though they all included her in their conversation - Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth particularly eager that she feel involved - she could not help but think that she was intruding here, too, if only just a bit. 

It was during one of these more detached moments - the four of them were talking about some misunderstanding between Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth while they were all together at Netherfield (“I just thought you were flirting,” Bingley had shrugged) - that Georgiana considered the pairs in front of her. 

The Bingleys loved each other very much, she could see, but she did not think they were as endlessly entertained by each other as the Darcys were. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were always smiling and laughing and caught up in their own amusement; they were such good friends; they were such a team. It was not something Georgiana had seen in any other couple. 

But it was unfair of her to speculate. The Bingleys might be like that with each other in their own home.

She felt, once again, that what she really wanted was the relationship Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had; but if they were the only ones that had it, what chance did she have?

It was a lonely sort of thought.

***

“So how was Hertfordshire, really ?” Bingley asked. 

It was just the two of them, after dinner; and though Elizabeth had entertained them all with stories from their visit, she could not give Bingley the information he was truly after.

“It will probably be best if you and Jane remain mildly ill for the next several months,” Darcy said.

“It was that bad?” groaned Bingley, taking a swig of his port.

“It was not dreadful,” Darcy conceded fairly, “but if you can avoid it…”

“Jane is impatient to see the baby.”

“Then I doubt that anything I can tell you will talk her out of it.”

“I assume it is our dear mother that is the trouble.”

Darcy smirked wryly. “You know what she is like. Still, you were always able to suffer her better than I could.”

“And Mr. Bennet?”

Darcy shrugged. “The same as ever. Inappropriate and neglectful, of course, but willing to hide me from his wife.”

“He will not haul me off to his library, though,” said Bingley pensively. “Only you have been deemed worthy of that honor.”

“You will manage well enough. Mrs. Bennet was always fondest of you. She will be chatty, and you will be easy, and she will say something utterly beyond propriety at some point. You were always able to laugh it away. And you may be fortunate: it is possible that she will be more interested in the children now.”

“That was not how it was when she was with us earlier in the year,” said Bingley with a small sigh. “The children only reminded her to inform us that we ought to have more of them, and as soon as we could. She was… effusive.”

“And vulgar, undoubtedly.”

Bingley grimaced in confirmation. 

“Well, I imagine that you might expect more of that.”

“I believe I feel my cold returning,” said Bingley. 

“You will want to rest and get the better of it; you have a young family to look after.”

***

Elizabeth always felt like a particularly naughty child, sitting with her two sweetest sisters. It was almost too much goodness in one place.

“You were not here when we discussed it earlier,” said Jane, turning to Georgiana, “but it is that time of year again, and Charles and I would love to see you at our ball.”

The Bingleys’ ball was a now-annual event, and the source of many jokes between Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

“Elizabeth will not be there, of course--”

“You can imagine how happy your brother is about that,” Elizabeth said smilingly to Georgiana.

“--but Kitty will be. You could come and stay with us until then, and we would have you back at Pemberley for Christmas.”

“Oh!” said Georgiana. She looked conflicted. “I do not know if I should leave Elizabeth--”

“Never mind me,” said Elizabeth, waving her hand. “You should not miss out for my sake.”

“I will understand if you do not wish to come, without your brother and Elizabeth,” said Jane, looking at Georgiana kindly, “but it is important for Charles and I that you know that you are welcome.”

“If it will not be an imposition--”

“That, it certainly will not be.”

Georgiana looked at Elizabeth. She smiled at her encouragingly.

“Thank you,” said Georgiana shyly. “That would be lovely.”

“But we insist that you honor your promise and give her back to us for Christmas,” said Elizabeth sternly, “or you will have Fitzwilliam hammering at your door while I wait for him in the carriage, enormously fat and cross.”

Jane smiled and agreed to the plan, and everything was settled.

***

“How did you find Mary?” Jane asked, after Georgiana had gone to bed. 

“She would be better if Mama would not keep telling her that her child is going to die.” 

Even Jane could not defend their mother in this, though she looked uncomfortable about not being able to do so.

“I hope she is not upset with us, but I do not see how we are going to visit until the new year, as we will be so busy, between preparations for the ball and Christmas,” said Jane regretfully.

“I doubt whether Mary will mind much, but you are going to offend Mama.”

“And then it will be so close to your confinement--”

“You can use me as your excuse for making it a short visit!” She gave her sister her most impish grin.

“Oh, Lizzy.”

“You may not think you will need one, but I will be sure to let Charles know that I am happy to be used as the justification for your leaving early. I am sure he will appreciate it.”

“Mama will never forgive us if we are there for under a fortnight.”

“At any rate, she cannot reasonably expect you sooner. She would not have seen Sophia when she did were it not for Kitty’s wedding.”

“She does expect it though, from us, given our situations.”

Elizabeth gave a dismissive little wave of the hand. “Oh, my dear Jane, you must not always be worrying about Mama. We cannot live to please her; it is impossible.”

The Bingleys both needed to be firmer with their more trying relatives.

“What are your plans for Christmas?” said Jane.

“Changing the subject, I see.” 

“Both of Charles’s sisters will be with us.”

“Oh, how delightful! I am sure that Fitzwilliam will be especially sorry to miss that.” 

Jane gave her a look, half amusement and half reproach.

“And are they all coming with the children in tow?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes.” Even Jane looked a little subdued by the thought. By all accounts, the eldest of the little Hursts was a bit of a monster.

“You might as well invite the Wickhams too and make your Christmas as joyous as possible.”

“Will the Gardiners be with you?”

“No, they are going to Longbourn. It will be just the three of us Darcys again this year.” Fitzwilliam had tried to persuade the colonel to come, but to no avail. “But we will plan to have you and Charles with us next Christmas so that the children can play with their new cousin.”

They both smiled at the thought.

***

The Bingleys’ visit passed quickly, as it always did, and all too soon it was time to part. Georgiana had a last surge of guilt about leaving with them, but Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam quickly talked her around to reason. As they waved them all off, Elizabeth turned to her husband.

“So it is just the two of us for a while.”

“Indeed.”

“However will we occupy ourselves?”

“Oh, I am sure we will think of something.”

They headed back inside to deliberate.

Chapter Text

An odd thing happened at the Bingleys’ ball.

Georgiana may have been the belle of it.

She had attracted the eye of a good number of young gentlemen as she stood with Kitty, giggling nervously, and she was soon introduced to many of them, her hand being applied for with alarming rapidity. 

Kitty looked at her, impressed. Georgiana was just as surprised as she was.

The ball did not begin perfectly. She had just recovered from the shock she had received from this flurry of young men when she learned that she was expected to open the ball with Mr. Bingley; and if that were not embarrassing enough, she soon spotted Sir Richard Fanshawe in the crowd.

“I was not aware that you knew Sir Richard,” she said. 

“He was a friend of my father’s.” Mr. Bingley rolled his eyes. “And I will be repeatedly reminded of this fact for the next several hours.”

Georgiana smiled. 

“Do you know his nephew?”

Her smile quickly evaporated. 

Mr. Bingley noticed. “I knew him in school. He was always insufferable.”

“He has not changed, then.”

Mr. Bingley grinned. “I have never heard you sound so like your brother.”

Georgiana flushed, oddly pleased. 

“If Mr. Fanshawe gives you any trouble, come to me at once,” said Mr. Bingley, more seriously now.

But there had been no trouble from Mr. Fanshawe; Georgiana’s popularity was such that she never had a dance free for him. She did not sit down once, and had actually been forced to turn away several potential partners.

“My dear, what a sensation you are!” said Kitty. “I am quite in awe of you. It is good that you did not settle for the likes of Mr. Marchbanks. I am sure you could have your pick of many superior young men.”

This was high praise indeed from Kitty. 

Georgiana laughed it away. She did not know if she could have her pick or not; she wasn’t inclined to test the theory in this crowd. She had danced with many agreeable young men that evening, but none had turned her head. She had not been interested in any of them... and yet she seemed to have drawn them to her anyway. 

How very strange.

***

True to her promise, Jane got Georgiana back to Pemberley in time for Christmas. Georgiana was still quite eager to bask in the glow of her triumph at the ball, and to regale Elizabeth with details of the finer points (her hair had been arranged in a way that was particularly flattering, and Jane had loaned her a very pretty sapphire necklace to match her gown, and she had heard a young man call her ravishing, which she was not sure was entirely proper but it made her feel a little fluttery in her stomach anyway). 

She couldn't have these girlish little chats with Fitzwilliam - how grateful she was to be such friends with his wife! - but she could tell him how at ease she had felt, how poised and sophisticated, and she thought he looked rather proud of her when he heard this.  

They were both very indulgent with her, asking for more information than they were likely interested in hearing, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

Both Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were in especially loving moods this Christmas, and not only with Georgiana. She kept catching them looking at each other so tenderly that she thought they must have forgotten she was there; they barely dropped each other's hands long enough to take meals; she had even caught them kissing, and more than once. 

She was used to them being a very affectionate couple, but they usually tried to hide the kissing, at least. 

It made her wonder whether they had enjoyed her absence more than they would admit, and whether they would prefer her to stay away now. 

It put rather a damper on her giddy feelings from the ball.

***

Christmas passed quickly and happily, but now that it was over, Darcy was growing increasingly nervous and restless. 

Elizabeth's lying-in seemed much closer now, on this side of December, and as they inched nearer to the new year, his anxiety continued to mount. His sleep was worsening again; he was easily agitated; his headaches were becoming more severe.

He didn't think he was hiding it well, either, and that made him particularly furious. 

But there was a wave of fear within him, building strength and threatening to engulf him, and he didn't know how to stop it. 

***

Elizabeth knew that her husband was reaching his breaking point. 

She had expected this to happen - it had been coming, in fits and starts, for months now; it was always going to reach its crisis - but she still did not like witnessing it. 

The worst part was that he was suffering in silence. He would not say anything to her about it, for fear of distressing her (thus compounding his own distress, she thought; the foolish man). 

She would have to take matters into her own hands.

“Fitzwilliam, I really must insist that you talk to me about what is upsetting you.”

He would not look at her. Elizabeth saw him swallow hard.

“Fitzwilliam.” 

Nothing.

She took his hand and led him to the sofa; it was encouraging that he did not resist. He allowed himself to be gently pushed onto it, and she tucked herself under an arm, nestling into him.

“Talk to me,” she said.

“I cannot--” his voice caught; he swallowed again. 

She was not looking at his face - she thought it might be easier for him to speak if she wasn’t watching him - but she could imagine his expression, struggling for composure, fighting back any strong emotion. She hugged him tighter. 

“I cannot bear the thought of you coming to any harm,” he said finally. He did not sound like himself. 

“Nothing is going to happen, Fitzwilliam,” she said softly, squeezing his hand. 

“You cannot know that.” His whisper was raspy and there was naked fear in his voice.

“No,” Elizabeth agreed, “but I cannot know that I will not fall down the stairs, or catch a fever, or be involved in some sort of accident, or any other way I could come to harm.”

“It is different.” 

“Is it?”

“Of course it is.”

“You judge it differently because of Frances, and because of your mother--”

“And countless others.”

She did look at him now, unable to keep from doing so. His eyes were overbright. “And countless women have not been so unfortunate. Including, I may add, all the women of my own family.”

“I cannot lose you.” There was a raw, guttural tone to his voice that she had never heard before.

“You are not going to. You cannot think that way.”

What could she even say to comfort him? There was nothing that would help. He would only feel at ease after she had been safely delivered of their child.

She rested her head against him, willing him to be calmed by the contact, and said a little prayer.

Chapter Text

Anna Elizabeth Darcy was born on the 27th of January, after the longest twenty-four hours of her father’s existence. 

Darcy and Elizabeth had come to an agreement early on: he was not permitted in the passage outside of the room during Elizabeth’s labor - it made her too nervous, knowing he was out there, jumping at every noise and slowly driving himself into a panic - but he was allowed to stay nearby (Just in case, Darcy added silently, involuntarily, vexingly).

He spent the day pacing the closest room that was deemed acceptable, rushing out frequently to hear what the latest news was. He had not slept, had not eaten, had not even attempted to concentrate on anything else. Never had time passed so slowly, and rarely had he felt so restless. He couldn’t do anything; he was both helpless and unhelpful, and he was thoroughly sick of the feeling. There was nothing to be done but to pace and wait and worry.

He had been told, regularly throughout the day, that things were going smoothly - Elizabeth was doing well, these things took time, there was no particular reason for him to fret - but it did nothing to alleviate his suffering. And how dare he think of his own suffering, with what Elizabeth was now going through?

Every time he spiraled in this way, he got up and paced more quickly. 

He had just resolved on leaving the room once more, to see what was going on and to determine if there had been any development, when he found himself being summoned instead. His mind went blank; he did not hear anything that was being said to him. He moved mechanically, his legs both stiff and shaky beneath him. People were smiling; Mrs. Reynolds was beaming; surely that was a good sign. He could not stop to acknowledge any of it. He needed to get to his wife.

He made it to their room in a daze, his head hazy and muddled. Elizabeth looked exhausted but triumphant as she grinned at him, their child in her arms. Darcy felt almost overwhelmed with shock and relief and… he did not know what. Joy, perhaps. Whatever it was, it was making him lightheaded. 

“Well, my dear,” said Elizabeth, her voice strong and clear, her face radiant, “come and see what you make of our daughter.”

Darcy did not know how he made it to the bed, his knees were so unsturdy. He sat down on the edge of it, glad to be off of his feet. He was unsure of what to do first: embrace Elizabeth or hold their child. He compromised, wrapping his arms around both, kissing Elizabeth’s temple and looking into their daughter’s face. 

“Anna Elizabeth Darcy,” Elizabeth said, handing her over.

“Anna Elizabeth Darcy,” he repeated, unable to take his eyes off of her. 

She was the most perfect thing he had ever beheld. She was tiny; smaller than Georgiana had been but somehow healthier-looking, with her head full of hair and her chubbier cheeks. Darcy remembered the day Georgiana had been born as though it were yesterday. His mother had been too ill to be seen and he had stood guard over his new sister for hours, determined from that moment that she was his particular responsibility, that whatever she needed was under his purview. 

This? This was all of that and more. He did not know how to describe what he was feeling, nor the intensity with which he felt it. He was dumbfounded by it. 

Elizabeth moved closer, leaning her head against his shoulder, looking down at Anna too. 

“I must admit,” she said, “that I found her means of arriving a touch disagreeable, but I have heartily forgiven her for it now. I do believe I am rather fond of her already.”

Darcy laughed, feeling giddy. Elizabeth was safe. They had a daughter. He did not know what he had done to deserve such happiness, but he was not going to question it too closely.

***

Elizabeth rested against her husband, her arm through his. Fitzwilliam was not saying much, but his countenance eloquently expressed his felicity. He could not seem to decide who to look at, her or Anna, and alternated between them, his eyes bright and sparkling. He seemed most reluctant to relinquish hold of their daughter, but Elizabeth did not mind. She had had sole possession of her for nine months; Fitzwilliam deserved his turn. Besides, after the initial rush of elation, she was beginning to feel the effects of her day of hard work.

She had been relieved to find that all of her mother’s horrifying descriptions of childbirth had been overblown and hysterical, as had her predictions about all of the complications that Elizabeth would endure. The experience had certainly not been pleasant, but hadn’t it all been worth it, if Anna had been the result? She scarcely even remembered the ordeal as she basked in the reward for it. 

“And you are sure you are feeling well?” Fitzwilliam asked. He was looking at her again, his brow slightly furrowed. How was he still worrying at a time like this?

“Perfectly so,” she assured him. “I have never been better.”

“I am glad of it, for I feel like I have aged ten years today.”

“Oh? Because you look as boyish and happy as ever I have seen you.”

He did, too. She smiled at him and at their daughter, overcome with love for the two of them. She wanted Georgiana to be here, to partake in their delight. Elizabeth’s eyelids were growing heavy and she wished to see her sister before she fell asleep. She was immediately sent for.

“So what is the verdict?” Elizabeth asked as they waited. Fitzwilliam took one of Anna’s little hands in his. “Do you approve of her?”

“She will do very well indeed,” he said, his voice fairly bursting with pride.

***

Elizabeth was sleeping and Fitzwilliam had recently drifted off himself, upright in a chair; the stress of the day having finally caught up with him, undoubtedly. 

Georgiana was the only one awake. She held her new little niece, looking down at Anna’s dozing face, wondering how it was possible to love someone so instantly and thoroughly. She thought she was going to rather enjoy being an aunt. She would have to find all of her old toys for Anna to play with; she would teach her how to skip rope, and how to play the pianoforte one day, if she wished it; she would show her all of her own favorite spots in the house, the places she had loved playing in as a girl, the corner in the attic where she used to have tea parties with her dolls and Fitzwilliam. 

Georgiana had feared that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s child would put an end to their close little Darcy triumvirate; that the baby would be their new third and that Georgiana would be on the outside looking in. It was an unworthy thought, and she had been ashamed of thinking it, but the worry had remained.

All of that had been allayed the moment she had walked into the room to meet Anna. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had beamed at her; Fitzwilliam had placed Anna in her arms. Their family had not remained a group of three, pushing her out; it had grown to four, stretching to fit Anna in. 

"We are depending on your help with her," Elizabeth had said, drowsy but glowing, "or else Lady Catherine might try to steal you from us again. We do not want Anna deprived of her aunt."

Georgiana had felt a surge of protectiveness at the words. 

And so she sat up as her family slept, feeling content and valued, both loving and loved. She held her niece against her, keeping a careful watch over them all.

Chapter Text

The first several weeks of Anna Darcy’s life passed in a blur of joy, sleeplessness, and occasional terror for the inhabitants of Pemberley; Georgiana assumed that the next several would pass in much the same way. She was quite prepared to spend them as she had been, helping where she could and getting to know her niece, when an invitation arrived from her cousin, Cassandra Richmond, that threw all her plans into doubt.

Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were the youngest of all their cousins on either side of the family; Georgiana, significantly so. Cassandra, one of their cousins on the Darcy side, was seven years older than Fitzwilliam and had children only a little younger than Georgiana. Georgiana had often been invited to spend a month or two with the Richmond family in Surrey, as a companion to Cassandra’s eldest daughters and as an almost-daughter herself. Georgiana liked her cousin, but she did not know if now was the best time to visit. 

“Nonsense,” said Elizabeth, when Georgiana raised this objection. “If you want to go, of course you should.”

“But I said I would stay with you, to assist with Anna--”

“You are not her nursemaid, my dear,” said Elizabeth gently, “and though I am grateful for all the help you have been with her, you cannot suspend your own life for Anna's sake.” 

“But I do not want to miss anything--”

“Fitzwilliam and I will write to you about every single thing she does while you are away; you will find our letters quite tedious and you will dread returning to us.”

“You know I will not.”

Elizabeth smiled at her. “It is your decision, of course, but I think you should go. Anna will be right here when you return. You will be able to go to balls, and parties, and concerts, and all the things your brother and I have neglected for the last several months. You will have some time away from all of this baby business."

In the end, though it took some persuading from both her brother and Elizabeth, Georgiana decided to accept her cousin’s invitation.

“I forbid you to feel guilty about going,” said Fitzwilliam as she kissed them all goodbye. “I want you to enjoy yourself.” 

Georgiana wondered if she would be able to obey this directive. She gave Anna one last cuddle and waved as she rode away.

***

She was greeted warmly by all of the Richmonds, but particularly by Cassandra.

“Oh, my dear, it has been too long!” Cassandra said, embracing her and then holding her at arm’s length to get a good look at her. “You have grown into quite the beauty since we saw you last.”

Georgiana protested against this.

“There is no use denying it; I can see it plainly for myself. Your brother must have quite the job, keeping the young men away from you.”

Georgiana assured her that this was not the case.

“Well,” Cassandra said slyly, “then maybe our Surrey boys will be more to your taste. We shall see if we cannot find you one while you are here.”

Georgiana did not particularly want to find any young man who would take her away from Derbyshire, but she said something bland and tactful and allowed herself to be led into the house.

***

It was a new development, but when Elizabeth was looking for her husband these days, her first stop was no longer the library. He was much more often to be found in the nursery.

Sure enough, that was where he was now. Fitzwilliam watched their daughter sleep, his gaze tender and unwavering.

“I see how it is going to be,” she said from the doorway, heaving a tragic sigh. “Anna is your new favorite and you will not spare a glance for me anymore.” 

He smiled and came to her instantly, his arms encircling her waist, kissing her forehead, and her eyelids, and her temples, and the tip of her nose. 

“You have missed a spot, Fitzwilliam.”

She felt him smirking against her lips as he remedied this error.

“You were looking for me?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed. Sir Richard has asked us to dinner.”

Fitzwilliam made an irritated sort of sound.

“I did not think we would be able to bear leaving her,” said Elizabeth smilingly, leaning her head toward their daughter, “so I have politely declined.”

She walked them over, entwined as they were, to Anna’s crib. 

“It might make me a terrible bore, Fitzwilliam, but I do not want to stir from this room for the foreseeable future. Or for the next few hours, at the very least.”

“You must, of course, have everything you wish. I could never deny you any of it.”

“Then I hope you do not mind sharing your chair, for I do not wish you to stir from this room either.”

He had always been a most obliging husband.

***

Georgiana could not say why, but she was not having a particularly agreeable time with her cousin. 

The Richmonds were as amiable as ever, and she was made to feel very welcome, and there were entertainments aplenty to divert oneself, but still Georgiana's mood felt flat.

She wanted to be back home at Pemberley, with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth and Anna, and not here at this dinner party watching the Richmonds’ eldest daughter flirting outrageously with a young man whose name Georgiana could not now remember.

"We are expecting an offer from Mr. Ellis any day now," Cassandra said indulgently, making a great show of turning away from the young couple to give them their privacy.

Georgiana smiled courteously and tried to appear interested in this news. She hoped she was hiding her feelings well. She did not want them to think her rude.

There had been a succession of these sorts of events from the moment she arrived in Surrey. The Richmonds had not used to go out so often while she visited, but then the daughters had not been at such marriageable ages before now, and Georgiana herself was no longer as novel and intriguing a presence to any of them. 

She wondered why her feelings were different this time. It had been years since she had stayed with the Richmonds; maybe that was all it was. Her life was so different now; she did not have the same amusements and pleasures. Her heart was more tied to Derbyshire. 

Maybe she should visit Rosings. Lady Catherine was not good company, but Mr. Metcalfe was still in Kent, as Sir Edgar had not been able to part with him yet. Perhaps she would see him if she went to visit her aunt. It might be that Lady Catherine had been dispirited by the loss of Anne's company and would not be so intimidating a character. 

It was too hopeful a thought to be true and she could not even entertain it for long. 

She wondered if Sir Edgar was ever going to relinquish his hold on his cousin and allow him to return to Derbyshire. The balls and parties had been much less pleasant without him there. Mr. Metcalfe always knew how to make her feel comfortable and easy in company. She could use his assistance now. 

She shook herself - she did not want to appear vacant and inattentive to her cousin - and did her best to listen to all of the Richmond family’s intrigues.

***

Darcy could not quite tell, from his sister’s letters, how she was enjoying her visit. He and Elizabeth had thought it would be good for her to get away for a while (“She may have an easier time meeting people if we are not hovering over her, making her nervous,” Elizabeth had said, and he had thought she might be right), but though Georgiana’s letters were light and cheerful, there was something almost detached in her style. She wrote to him of family gossip (their aunt Darcy, it seemed, was quarreling with Cassandra’s family) and to Elizabeth about all the assemblies she had been to, but she never seemed very engaged by her subjects. Darcy wondered whether her heart was in any of it.

“Fitzwilliam, you must stop fretting,” said Elizabeth as he pored over Georgiana’s latest letter. “Even if she is having a dreadful time, she will be home soon and all will be well.”

But Darcy did fret - that Georgiana was listless, that she was too sheltered at Pemberley, that she was feeling discontented - and he did not know how to fix it. 

Elizabeth, Georgiana, Anna… he just wanted all of his girls to be happy.

***

Georgiana’s heart leapt when she caught her first glimpse of Pemberley on her return. It had not been a bad time away, but she had spent the entire trip wishing to be back. She all but jumped from the carriage to greet Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth and to kiss the top of Anna’s head. 

“She smiles now,” said Georgiana, her face lighting up with one of her own. Anna was not smiling at her - she was smiling at Fitzwilliam - but it was new.

“Yes, when she does not have her hands in her mouth,” said Elizabeth laughingly, “which she almost always does .”

“Sometimes she is clever and does both at the same time,” said Fitzwilliam. “You were the same way, at her age,” he added to Georgiana.

It was a silly thing to be pleased about, but she was, and she was more pleased still when Fitzwilliam whispered to her: 

“I believe we will have to insist on your staying here at Pemberley with us, unless you have a much better reason to go next time. We are very selfish and desire you to remain where you are.”

It felt almost impossibly good to be home again.

Chapter Text

Early spring brought some news to Elizabeth and Georgiana; Elizabeth in a letter from Jane and Georgiana in a note from Kitty. 

“Jane has heard from our dear friend Caroline,” said Elizabeth at breakfast. 

“I assume the child has arrived,” said Fitzwilliam, not looking up from his paper. 

“Indeed, it has,” said Elizabeth. “Another girl. She is called Louisa and is, according to our friend, completely perfect.” 

“Perhaps she is not disappointed, then,” said Georgiana, stirring her tea. “She wrote to me at Christmas, quite convinced it was a boy this time.” 

The former Miss Bingley never corresponded directly with Elizabeth; she continued to write to Georgiana, though much more sporadically since her marriage. 

“It is lucky for us that it was not a boy, for I am sure that she would already be busy, attempting to make a match between him and Anna,” said Elizabeth.

Fitzwilliam made a face. “Thank heaven we never see her anymore.”

“Now, now, Fitzwilliam. Do not be rude.” But she smiled at him as she refolded her letter.

“Kitty does not sound well,” said Georgiana, frowning over her own note. She passed it to Elizabeth.

My dearest Georgiana, 

I must see you at the Parsonage today, if you are willing to come, and you are too kind a friend to deny me, I am sure. I find myself quite miserable and in need of comfort, and I believe that you are the one best able to give it. Pray, pray come see me as soon as you can. I am always improved after a visit from you.

Yours ever,

Kitty

“I hope there is nothing really the matter,” said Elizabeth, passing it back. “Kitty has always been inclined to hysterics; I am sure if it were something serious, she would have said so directly.”

“I think I must go see her,” said Georgiana. 

Elizabeth agreed that this was probably for the best, and felt grateful (though guilty about it) that Kitty found Georgiana more necessary than she found her.

***

Georgiana found Kitty working herself into quite a frenzy.

“I am so glad you are here!” she said when Georgiana arrived. “I have never been so distressed!”

“What is the matter?” asked Georgiana, starting to feel alarmed though endeavoring not to show it.

Kitty was restless, striding up and down the room with an air of dismay and agitation. Her hair looked half-finished and her fichu had come untucked. This was unusual for Kitty, who was usually so careful with her appearance.

“I am with child,” she said finally.

Georgiana began to congratulate her, but was cut off before she could get two words out.

“I do not want to be with child!” Kitty hissed. “Not yet!”

“Oh, but it has been almost a year since you married,” said Georgiana reasonably. “Surely it is not--”

“I hoped to be like Lizzy! Lizzy was lucky; she had more time before-- before all of this! And you have not heard all the stories that I have, from my mother and Lydia, about how uncomfortable it is, and how disturbing, and how I will not have another pleasant moment until it is all over.”

Georgiana said that Elizabeth had not had much to complain about when she had been in the same condition, but Kitty dismissed this instantly.

“Lizzy has always been strong. I am much more delicate. I will suffer. And then when the time comes, it is agony, the worst thing in the world, and I will probably die, and what will have been the point of any of it?”

Georgiana protested against this to no avail. She was feeling very uncomfortable. There was no sensitive way to suggest that Kitty talk to Elizabeth about it instead.

“And until then, I will become so ugly, and none of my gowns will fit--”

She thought this might be Kitty’s biggest worry.

“--and Lydia says that Wickham does not even look at her in this condition.”

Really, this was all very inappropriate for Georgiana to hear. 

"But surely Mr. Milton has been made happy by the news," she said in some desperation.

"Oh, he does not know yet," said Kitty with a wave of her hand. "You are the first I have told."

This did not make Georgiana feel any better.

"It will make everything worse when he knows, as he has been hoping for this and I have been dreading it. I do not even like children! They are so loud, and they smell, and they take up so much of one's time. Lydia's boys are dreadful; the entire time they were here, all I could think about was how grateful I was that they would leave eventually. I certainly do not want one of my own."

"Oh, but you will like yours," Georgiana said encouragingly. It seemed like the right thing to tell her, though she did not know whether it was true or not. How could she? 

Kitty made a skeptical sort of sound. 

"You will," Georgiana insisted. "And not all of them are so bad. Anna is very sweet."

"Of course Anna is sweet; Lizzy has always been the most fortunate of all of us. Nothing ever goes wrong for her."

"And the Bingley children--"

"Oh, Jane is scarcely less fortunate than Lizzy," said Kitty waspishly. "But with my luck, I will end up with children who are even worse than Lydia's!"

Georgiana did not think there was much of a point in trying to calm Kitty down; she clearly did not wish to be comforted. She merely needed someone to vent to while she worked out the worst of her anxiety. Eventually, though, she tired herself out and allowed Georgiana to go.

"Pray do not tell Lizzy yet," Kitty said wearily. "I shall need to talk to James first, of course."

Georgiana assured her of her secrecy and left with a few more encouraging words, though she doubted Kitty was willing to consider any of them.

It had been a highly embarrassing morning. For the first time in a while, Georgiana wondered whether it would not be better to remain single; to enjoy her brother's house and her brother's child without making the more stressful aspects of marriage a closer concern.

Chapter Text

The last month had seen a flurry of visitors to Pemberley: mostly those of Fitzwilliam’s family who were still on speaking terms with him, though the Gardiners had been there as well. The Darcys had not yet seen Elizabeth’s parents, and Fitzwilliam flatly refused to invite Lady Catherine back so soon (“I do not want her around Anna just now,” he’d said), but Colonel Fitzwilliam had stayed with them for a short time. It had been painful for him, Elizabeth saw, and he was much more somber than usual; he spent most of his stay sequestered away with Fitzwilliam, though he had tried quite valiantly to appear cheerful in Elizabeth’s company. She had seen his face work the first time he had held Anna, but afterward he seemed to find comfort in her, and he often sat quietly with her in the evening while Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam filled the silence.

But now they were just their own little family again, and Elizabeth was rather happy for things to be back to normal. She found herself enjoying their relative seclusion from the rest of the world. Perhaps it was the effect of becoming a Darcy: it made one inclined to den.

Fitzwilliam was attending to business and Georgiana was spending the day with Kitty, so it was just Elizabeth and Anna that morning. Elizabeth looked into her daughter’s little face, her bright blue eyes so exactly like Fitzwilliam’s; Elizabeth hoped they would not darken. Anna was a calm baby ("Like her father was," Fitzwilliam’s aunt Darcy had said; "she is very like her father"), solemn but curious, always watching her family around her. 

It was a combined effort, looking after her - Fitzwilliam was the best at soothing her, Elizabeth at making her smile, Georgiana at lulling her to sleep - and Elizabeth would not have it any other way. Theirs was a perfect little family unit. For the first time, she began to worry about the loss of Georgiana, whenever the day came that she would fall in love and get married and be taken from home. Perhaps they would be able to convince her future husband, whoever he was, to move into Pemberley with them.

***

Darcy joined his wife and daughter at around noon. Elizabeth made room on the sofa and handed Anna to him as he sat down.

“I saw Lewis Metcalfe in Kympton,” he said, catching one of Anna’s hands before she made a grab for his hair. 

“Oh?” said Elizabeth. “Is he well?”

“Quite. He says we should expect an invitation to a party soon; Jonathan is coming home.”

“Sir Edgar has finally released him, then?”

“So it would seem.” He tickled Anna, making her giggle. 

“I suppose we will just have to resign ourselves to leaving Anna for a night,” said Elizabeth, sighing dramatically. “I do not think we will be able to get out of this one, not when it is the Metcalfes.” 

“No, I believe we are in a bit of a fix this time.”

“It will be good to see Jonathan again, at least. He has been gone for so long. I did not know he was so fond of his cousin.”

“I doubt that fondness has much to do with it. He is too much like Bingley; he lacks the firmness to remove himself from company he finds disagreeable.”

“And too much like you,” she smiled, “in that he does not enjoy most company.”

“The most uncomfortable combination of the two of us.”

“Well, he will soon be back in his own society, and that must be easier for him. Georgiana will be pleased: she rather depends on him as a partner at all the balls and parties. She has had to take her chances with the other young men for many months now.”

Darcy, who had had some suspicions on that score last year, merely agreed and allowed himself to grow distracted by Anna.

***

Georgiana’s heart gave a silly little leap at her first sight of Jonathan Metcalfe. She had been out visiting Kitty again when he had called at Pemberley (Kitty was still feeling poorly, in both body and spirit, and was in near-constant need of a companion), and so Georgiana had not seen him, since his return to the county, until here at the Metcalfes’ party. He smiled when he caught sight of her and walked directly over. 

Not for the first time, Georiana wished that she were more like Elizabeth, charming and easy, always knowing exactly the right thing to say. Georgiana felt tongue-tied and stupid, even with Jonathan Metcalfe, who she was usually so comfortable with. Perhaps it was the consequence of his being away for so many months.

“How do you do, Miss Darcy?” he asked, and he sounded as though he was truly interested in the answer. He looked at her earnestly, his eyes bright. 

“Oh, I am very well,” she said. “I hope you had a pleasant journey home.”

“Perfectly uneventful,” he said, “I thank you.”

There was a strange feeling between them and Georgiana could not say what it was. Tension, maybe, or awkwardness. He looked friendly, and she felt so, but there was a formality in their words and voices that was unusual for them. This had not been their way before he had left. Did they need to become accustomed to each other again? Surely the months apart had not made them strangers.

“Were you pleased with Kent?” she asked. Best to keep the conversation going until they rediscovered their rhythm. Silence would be too embarrassing to contemplate.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, then paused. 

Oh, dear. The silence was painful. She resisted the urge to start babbling in order to fill it. 

“I missed Derbyshire,” he continued finally, his face lightly flushed.

“I always miss Derbyshire when I am away,” she said. “I was recently in Surrey, staying with my own cousin, and I could not wait to return.”

“If I had known you were so near, I would have come to visit. It would have broken the monotony of my days quite nicely. You are much more agreeable company than Sir Edgar is.”

It was Georgiana’s turn to blush as she mumbled something grateful and self-deprecating. Mr. Metcalfe seemed to sense her unease and changed the subject. 

“Of course, you have a particularly good reason to remain in Derbyshire just now. You have a new niece! How do you like being an aunt?”

This was what they had needed to become themselves again. Georgiana talked warmly and enthusiastically of Anna, and Mr. Metcalfe had no end of questions to ask and information to seek. Georgiana grew more and more cheerful as they spoke, happy to have her friend with her once more, glad that the stiffness of their earlier conversation had disappeared. 

She smiled at him. “It is good to see you back again, Mr. Metcalfe.”

He returned her smile, heartfelt and sincere. “I am very glad to be home.”

Chapter Text

The Metcalfe family soon dined at Pemberley.

“Did you hear about the Thomases?” said the elder Mr. Metcalfe. 

Darcy suppressed a groan. “What has happened now?”

“Bartholomew Thomas has apparently lost his eldest sister’s husband quite a lot of money. Encouraged him in a bad business deal, or some such nonsense; neither man is overly gifted with wisdom. It has caused quite a rupture among the family. Hardly any of them are speaking; the daughters are all on one side, the sons on the other, and everyone is angry with the parents for attempting to stay out of it.”

“Poor Mr. and Mrs. Thomas,” sighed Elizabeth. “They do seem to be forever worrying about something. And when money is involved, it tends to bring out the worst in everyone.”

Darcy was more grateful than ever that he had been successful in convincing Horatio Thomas to scurry quietly back to Newcastle. 

“Oh, it is not only that,” said Mrs. Metcalfe. “There is also trouble between them and the Fanshawes. Sir Richard is quite upset with young Mr. Fanshawe for behaving a little too incautiously towards the youngest Miss Thomas. He does not consider it a prudent match. Well, who could blame him, the poor man? Amiable though he is, he would not wish to be connected with such a family. They are well enough to dine with, but he would not want one of them living in his home. There was quite a row about it. He has even talked of disinheriting his nephew.”

Jonathan Metcalfe whispered something to Georgiana; she covered her mouth quickly with her napkin, looking amused.

This did not go unnoticed by Darcy, though he glanced swiftly away. 

“Our lives would all be easier if the Thomases were not in them,” he said, a little waspishly. 

“We would have much less to gossip about, though,” Elizabeth smiled.

***

Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Mrs. Metcalfe still had Thomas gossip to cover after dinner. 

“I assume you have heard about Horatio Thomas?” said Mrs. Metcalfe. 

“I do not believe that I have,” said Elizabeth carefully. 

“He has been secretly married for some time!” said Mrs. Metcalfe, thrilled to be the one to tell them.

Elizabeth and Georgiana tried to look appropriately shocked. 

“His wife is not at all the type of woman one would expect her to be, either. Quite poor and low-born, it seems. I heard she was a lady’s maid. Horatio met her at the house of a friend and quite carried her off into the night.” She paused for effect. “Of course, one must wonder if the stories are true or not. You know how these things become exaggerated.”

“And how are Mr. and Mrs. Thomas taking this development?” asked Elizabeth. She had not known that his particular scandal had come out into the open. 

“Oh, remarkably well!” said Mrs. Metcalfe. “Which must mean that the wife was not a maid after all. The match is an imprudent one, to be sure, and they cannot be especially pleased about that, but I am sure they would have made much more of an objection, had she actually been a servant. It is lucky that it is all coming out now, though; one imagines that they are trying to avoid a further rift in the family by being so accepting of it.” She looked contemplative. “I never expected Horatio Thomas to settle down with a wife. He was never as wild as his brothers are, but he still does not seem like the husbandly type, not like Mr. Metcalfe, or Mr. Darcy, or even my Jonathan. And married to such a woman! He must love her very much indeed. If he married at all, I thought he would choose quite a wealthy wife. I know Jonathan said, when Horatio was here, that he seemed rather intrigued by--” She broke off suddenly. “Well, at any rate, it does not sound as though he intends to return to Derbyshire, even with his parents behaving so generously, so I doubt we will ever meet the new Mrs. Thomas.”

Elizabeth had her suspicions about why Jonathan had noticed Horatio Thomas’s intrigue. She glanced slyly at Georgiana, but her sister looked quite innocent. Whether Elizabeth’s conjectures were wrong or whether Georgiana was merely unaware of any sort of feeling there, Elizabeth did not know, but she would not interfere or nudge anything along. Things would have to run their own course.

***

When the gentlemen returned, Fitzwilliam and Mr. Metcalfe reunited with their wives, but Georgiana, who had separated from the others to stand by the fire, was joined by Jonathan. 

“I forgot to mention it to you before, but I visited Rosings and saw your aunt while I was in Kent,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “Your brother told me that you saw her here shortly after I left, so I have the fresher news of her. You will be glad to know that she is quite well and as opinionated as ever.”

“I apologize on behalf of the family for whatever she might have said to you,” said Georgiana with a small, slightly mortified laugh. You never could tell with Lady Catherine.

“Oh, she did not say much to me at all. She prefers Sir Edgar and his side of the family. I am the vulgar interloper.”

Georgiana protested against this, but he only smiled.

“The Darcys have never made me feel so, I assure you, so you need not worry about your aunt. I doubt that I would have been invited to Rosings at all, if it had not been too awkward to exclude me, after asking my aunt and cousins.” He smirked. “Our aunts are quite particular friends, they tell me, though to hear them speak to one another, I imagine that it could quickly turn in a different direction.”

“That is just how Lady Catherine speaks to everyone, I am afraid,” said Georgiana. “She likes to be found formidable.”

“She generally succeeds, I believe.” 

“You should have told her so. It would have made her warm to you considerably. She enjoys a respectfully fearful audience.”

He laughed, surprised and delighted. Georgiana felt a little squirm of pleasure in her stomach, happy that she had provoked such a response from him. This was what Elizabeth was so good at, and what she herself found so difficult. It was a lovely feeling. She hoped she would be able to amuse him again. 

“I thought about visiting Lady Catherine myself, when I was staying in Surrey,” she continued. “Her daughter, I am sure she told you, has recently married, and I fear she might be lonely. I thought it might be my duty as her niece to come see her, but was ultimately held back by how disagreeable such a visit was sure to be. It is a shameful thing to admit, but I seem to value my comfort higher than my responsibility to my aunt.”

He laughed again; Georgiana glowed. 

“You should have come anyway,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You would have made my visit more pleasant, and I would have protected you from the worst of Lady Catherine’s behavior, just by existing.” 

And then the realization came to Georgiana with a jolt: Jonathan Metcalfe looked at her the way Fitzwilliam looked at Elizabeth. Moreover, she had a suspicion that if she could see herself now, she would see that she looked at Jonathan Metcalfe the way Elizabeth looked at Fitzwilliam. 

Her breath caught in her throat; she was suddenly lightheaded. 

“Excuse me,” she said, and quickly left the room.

Chapter Text

Georgiana knew that her abrupt departure would be noticed. She knew that she was being inconsiderate and possibly rude. But she could not help it; she could not stay in the same room with all of them, not now that this - whatever this was - had happened. She needed to be by herself. She needed to think, and to work out her own feelings, and to will herself back into reason. She couldn’t let Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth see her. She certainly could not let Jonathan see her. She raced up to her own room and shut the door with more force than she had meant to; the resulting slam sounded deafening. She ignored it and began to pace.

She could not love Jonathan Metcalfe. Could she? She had always thought of him the way that she thought of Mr. Bingley: kind and older brotherly, but not someone she could fall in love with.

Only that had not been true for a while now, had it? He had slowly grown into more of a friend than Mr. Bingley ever had been; she sought his companionship, wanted his attention, valued his presence in a way that was different. To be sure, she had originally appreciated him mostly for that sense of safety and security that he provided in company, but it had soon blossomed into a genuine affection for the man himself.

She hadn’t even noticed it happening. 

She threw herself onto her bed. This was all nonsense. Yes, she liked Jonathan Metcalfe very much, but that didn’t mean that she loved him. Love didn’t feel like this, did it? It was supposed to be a good feeling; enjoyable. This felt like… well, like sheer and utter panic. Fitzwilliam would have told her if falling in love was dreadful, wouldn’t he have? 

No, this couldn’t be love. She could not sit still. Her mind was racing. Anxiety was gnawing at her stomach. She had never seen Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth like this. They always looked so comfortable and happy. Perhaps marriage calmed one down. 

But no, they hadn’t acted like this before their wedding either, in that brief time when Georgiana had been with them in Hertfordshire. Of course, Fitzwilliam had acted strangely before he and Elizabeth were engaged - he had not been himself for ages after that Easter, and he had been odd and unsettled the day that Elizabeth had so suddenly left Derbyshire - so maybe love was awful, at first.

It wasn’t awful when you were talking to Jonathan, said a sneaky, truthful little voice in her head. You liked being with him. You were happy. You were glowing. Is not that what you imagined love would feel like?

Oh, who knew? She couldn’t ask Fitzwilliam or Elizabeth, not yet. She couldn’t ask Kitty, not when Kitty’s nerves were stretched so thin. She had no one to confide in.

She got up and paced again.

***

Darcy hesitated outside of his sister’s door, then knocked softly. 

“Georgiana?”

Jonathan Metcalfe had claimed that Georgiana had been feeling unwell when she fled so suddenly, but he was a bad liar; he looked uncomfortable and had not quite met Darcy’s eyes as he spoke. Darcy did not know what had transpired between Metcalfe and Georgiana during their time together - he doubted whether it was anything even hinting at a declaration, as neither was the type - but they both seemed disconcerted by whatever it was. 

Darcy’s inclination had been to immediately go after her, but he knew Georgiana would hate his calling even more attention to her disappearance by doing so, and thus he had stayed where he was until the Metcalfes had gone, Elizabeth keeping a comforting hand on his arm.

“I will check in on Anna,” she had said, once they were in their carriage. “You go see to Georgiana.”

Darcy had had his suspicions about Georgiana and Metcalfe. He had seen the way they had looked at each other last year, how close they seemed to be growing; heard how Georgiana spoke of him. He had not allowed himself to read anything meaningful into it: he had seen Bingley fall in love scores of times, and Georgiana had certainly felt something for Mr. Marchbanks; he knew how often these things could go off. He had forced himself to remain calm and detached - not something he was usually successful at, especially when it came to his sister, but then he had been so preoccupied with Elizabeth’s welfare at the time.

But this evening seemed to confirm that there was, at the very least, some tender feelings involved between the pair, and Darcy thought it very likely that they were both falling in love, if they hadn’t taken the tumble into it already.

Georgiana came to the door. She was trying to look composed and doing a creditable job of it, but he was not fooled.

“I know I was very rude, leaving as I did,” she said quickly. “I hope you apologized to the Metcalfes for me, and that I have not offended Jon--”

“He said you were unwell,” Darcy said, breaking in.

“Oh, yes!” She seemed entirely too happy to go along with this suggestion. “I was feeling a bit dizzy and needed to lie down.”

Her bed did look as though she had recently flung herself onto it, but he had heard her rapid footsteps as he had made his way to her room. If she had been lying down, she had not stayed there.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Perfectly well,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Only a little tired. I think I will go to bed.”

She looked oddly flushed. She had been pacing and throwing herself onto furniture. Her entire manner was unsettled, perturbed, alarmed. She was lying through her teeth about her general wellness.

She was, in short, behaving the way he had, when he had reached his crisis regarding Elizabeth.

Hmm. So the day had come at last.

***

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam met at the door of their room.

“Well?” Elizabeth asked as they entered in.

He was wearing that expression he always did whenever he was fighting back some sort of disagreeable thought or feeling: one of deliberate, unnatural calm.

"I believe she must be in love with him," he said, his tone measured.

"If it is any consolation, my dear," she said lightly, taking his hands, "I believe he is over head and ears in love with her."

His face was still carefully imperturbable. 

"You like him, Fitzwilliam," she said gently. "It is not really so bad."

His countenance had softened slightly into a thoughtful, pensive one. 

"Come now," she said, "you cannot deny that it would be difficult for her to choose better. Were you to pick someone for her, he would be at the top of the list."

"Yes," he said. His tone was odd; he sounded almost regretful. 

"Then what is the matter? She was always going to marry eventually, and her choice will make the whole thing a little easier on you."

"He will not ask her."

Elizabeth stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"He will not ask her," he repeated. "He will observe too keenly the difference in their situations."

This was too silly a barrier for her to contemplate.

"But look at us!" she said. "We were a far more imprudent match than they are, and my situation was much lower than his is!"

"It is different, when it is the man in the more financially difficult position. He will not ask her. He will feel the discrepancy."

"That is ridiculous."

"I am not saying he should feel it, but he will."

"Plenty of men do not feel that discrepancy at all. They marry solely for money; they have no such qualms."

"He will have them."

She knew he was probably right, that this was all completely in keeping with Jonathan’s character, but she could not stop debating the point, as if by winning the argument she would change the ending of the story.

"His connections are good! His family is good! They have known yours for ages! He is by no means poor and they love each other. Why should not he marry Georgiana?"

"Elizabeth, I agree with you." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "I would be delighted if she married Jonathan. You are absolutely right: it would be difficult for her to choose better. I would wish him to have more money, but that is no obstacle; and I would, of course, give them whatever help they might need. But I know Jonathan. He would consider a connection with Georgiana as marrying above his station and he will not do it. I wish it were different, for everyone’s sake, and particularly for Georgiana’s, but it is not. And I fear what this will do to her, now that her heart is involved."

"Talk to him!"

"Elizabeth, I cannot. First of all, Georgiana would never forgive me if I did."

She felt close to tears now. "But if you could change his mind--"

"If I thought I could do that, I would talk to him this moment. But I doubt very much that I could, and it would only make things worse."

She was not quite prepared to concede the point - she was sure her husband could argue a man into anything - but his not seeming confident in his ability to mend the situation gave her pause.

Elizabeth felt helpless and thwarted and thoroughly angry about it. This was like Jane and Bingley again, only somehow much more irritating. 

"How on earth will Georgiana bear it?" she burst out furiously. 

"I do not know," he said, sounding as powerless as she felt.

Chapter Text

By general but unspoken agreement, all of the Darcys remained silent on the subject of Jonathan Metcalfe. After her initial outburst of emotion, Elizabeth became perhaps the most sanguine about it: she still believed that everything would come to right in the end. From all that she observed, however, she could not see that Fitzwilliam or Georgiana were of her opinion. This was hardly surprising - neither had her hopeful and cheery disposition - but it did cause her some pain. 

They were all, however, abruptly distracted from most of their brooding over Jonathan Metcalfe by the surprise arrival of Mr. Bennet at Pemberley.

Elizabeth usually viewed her father’s sudden appearances with indulgence, but she found herself rather impatient with him on this occasion. It was irritating that he had not written: it could have been an inconvenient time; perhaps they’d had other plans; they might have been visiting or entertaining their own visitors; any number of things could have made his timing unsuitable and troublesome. Even barring those other circumstances, he might be disruptive. 

Maybe she was maturing herself and saw her father’s behavior for what it always had been: inconsiderate and unmindful. At any rate, it was uncomfortable to have him here, and to behave as if she saw nothing wrong in his conduct. 

“Your mother does not find herself in either health or spirits enough to make the journey to visit you and her new grandchild,” said Mr. Bennet, when he had settled into the drawing-room and been introduced to Anna. “She sends both her love and a great deal of her usual silly nonsense, none of which you will be very interested to hear about, I am sure.”

He was not wrong, but Elizabeth wished he would express it a little more tactfully. She was ashamed enough already that she was glad to avoid seeing her mother - she knew everything that was improper and undutiful in such thoughts - and did not wish to add this shared disrespect to her guilt. 

“I like your Anna very much, my dear,” he continued. “She is calm and quiet, which is fortunate in an infant, and I am sure she will grow up to be both amusing and clever, given who her parents are. Make sure to raise her so that she is exactly like you.”

Elizabeth wanted very much to say that she would raise Anna so that her daughter would grow to be just what she wanted to be, but instead said nothing. Her father was who he was, for better and for worse, and he would not be changed now, no matter how she may wish for it. 

Still, she could not help noticing that beyond the initial presentation of his granddaughter, her father did not seem particularly interested in Anna. Elizabeth should not have been surprised by this - he had paid precious little attention to most of his own daughters - but it added to her general vexation. She loved him still, of course she did, but she could see him clearly now.

She held Fitzwilliam a little closer that fortnight, grateful that he was already a better father than her own was.

***

Darcy found himself, once again, frustrated with his father-in-law, not least because he had noticed Elizabeth’s discontentment with this visit. He could bear a great deal from Mr. Bennet, for his wife’s sake, but the moment she began to be displeased, his patience wore out quickly. He was already offended, on Anna’s behalf, by Mr. Bennet’s relative indifference, and the more uncertain Elizabeth’s spirits grew, so too did his annoyance.

It was clear that Mr. Bennet was only here for Elizabeth, sparing only nominal politeness to the rest of the Pemberley family and still not at all inclined to visit his other relations in the area. Elizabeth, in some desperation, had invited Kitty and Mr. Milton to Pemberley for a day, but Mr. Bennet had spent most of their visit in the library, leaving Kitty in tears and Elizabeth very near to them. 

Darcy had never been able to understand his father-in-law’s attitude towards his children, but it was especially incomprehensible to him now that he himself was a father. He could not imagine neglecting or ignoring Anna in any way and could not fathom missing any chance to see her, after she had married and gone away (in truth, he did not even like to think about that eventuality). He knew how Mr. Bennet favored Elizabeth over his other daughters, but that did not excuse his behavior to Kitty, and even to Jane, though further away. Hypothetical though they were, Darcy felt certain that he would value all of his potential children as highly as he did Anna.

And so all of Darcy’s improvements, since meeting and loving Elizabeth, were put to the test: he reminded himself, once more, of Mr. Bennet’s fondness for his second daughter, that many of Darcy’s own relations were much more objectionable, and that Elizabeth had had to put up with worse from Lady Catherine. 

It was not entirely helpful, but it was enough for him to make it through the visit without losing his temper. If nothing else, he owed it to Elizabeth not to make things more unpleasant.

***

Georgiana had kept mostly to herself upon Mr. Bennet’s arrival, alone with her thoughts, which were absorbing enough. She told herself a hundred times a day not to dwell on Jonathan Metcalfe, and, nevertheless, she found herself thinking about him just as often anyway. She was, even now, unsure of what all of this meant, and she was still quite miserable about it. She was glad not to have seen him since that evening; longed to see him; was mortified at the very idea of seeing him. 

She did not know what to do. She wished someone would just tell her what to do.

Every road in front of her seemed impossible to take: she could not see Jonathan again; she could not not see him; she could not be with him; she could not imagine being without him.

And then there was the most irksome thing of all: she loved someone (she was fairly sure that she loved someone), she was reasonably confident that that same someone loved her back, this was everything she had been hoping for… and she was terrified of it. Here she was, on the precipice of something that might be wonderful, and she mostly just felt dread. What was the matter with her? Why did she find everything so difficult? Did she even deserve to be happy, when she could not make up her mind to be so? 

She did not know what she felt, only that there was too much of it.

Perhaps she should just go and live with Lady Catherine after all. It might be easier than dealing with whatever this situation was. 

Chapter Text

Kitty’s son, James, was born at the end of September, and all four Darcys made the trip to the parsonage soon after to visit him.

Elizabeth did not think Kitty looked in spirits. Mr. Milton was overjoyed by their new son, but Kitty seemed merely resigned to motherhood. She saw all of this with some worry, but after all, the birth had been exhausting, and the Milton household was still adjusting to life with a baby, and Kitty had always been nervous and delicate and irritable. There was no reason to assume that she would not improve in time. 

Anna babbled away on Fitzwilliam’s lap as Elizabeth held little James; she seemed curious about her new cousin, her head often turning toward him. He was a little misshapen from the ordeal of being born, and small, quite as small as Anna had been; it made Elizabeth miss having a baby this size.

"He makes me wish to have another soon," she whispered to Fitzwilliam. 

"It will be good for Anna to have companions," he agreed with a small smile. 

"I hope they will get along more like you and Georgiana and less like I did with my sisters."

"I should think you and Jane would provide a fine model for them."

"Let us hope they take Jane as a model in all ways. We will be lucky to have a child as angelic as she is."

"Oh, I do not know. I think we have done very well for ourselves already."

He gave Anna a particularly large bounce on his knee with those words and she squealed with laughter.

Elizabeth certainly could not argue with him.

***

Georgiana had talked quietly with the Miltons in one corner of the room while Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were occupied with the children. Kitty still looked pale and worn, and she was not as chatty as usual. When she got up to fetch some refreshment for her guests, Mr. Milton took the opportunity to move closer to Georgiana, looking around conspiratorially. 

“I must ask you for your assistance, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana promised she would give it, if it were in her power.

“I believe Kitty has been feeling overwhelmed since little James was born,” he said. “I believe she is having a difficult time of things.”

Georgiana did not know why the Miltons had each decided to make her their confidante, but she wished they wouldn’t. 

“You are one of Kitty’s closest friends,” he continued.

That was probably true, though she hadn’t realized it as it was happening. 

“You always brighten her spirits when you are with her.”

Georgiana protested against any special ability on her part, but Mr. Milton cut her off. 

“But you do, Miss Darcy.” He was looking at her very earnestly. “I love Kitty very much, but I know how much she needs the friendship of women her age, and that is obviously one thing I cannot give her. I greatly depend on you for that. You have been such a good friend to both of us. Please, will not you talk to her? She may tell you what is troubling her, even if she will not tell me.”

Georgiana cautioned him once again about the limits on her capacity to help, but agreed to speak with Kitty. 

The lady in question returned soon thereafter with tea and cake; Georgiana joined her, while Mr. Milton went off to relieve Elizabeth of his son. He gave her a little smile of gratitude as he walked by.

“Is anything the matter, Kitty?” Georgiana asked gently, leading her back into their spot in the corner. 

“Oh, no,” said Kitty, sighing heavily. “Everything is perfectly unobjectionable.”

“You can tell me, you know.”

Kitty looked for a moment as though she would try to keep up her feeble pretense, but then suddenly burst forth with what Georgiana was sure was a speech she had been holding in for some time.

“I never wanted to be a mother,” said Kitty miserably. “I never liked babies; I do not particularly enjoy my nieces and nephews and I never wanted a child of my own. And now he is here, and he is so much work, and he cries all the time, and I never have a moment to myself, and James is so happy, and I am sick to death of all of it.”

Georgiana did not know what to say, so she just patted Kitty’s hand in what she hoped was a comforting manner. 

“And I wanted so badly to be married, and I like being married, and I love my husband, and I know this is part of it, but I wish…” she stopped suddenly, looking guilty, then continued very quickly, “I wish we had been unable to have children because nothing will ever be the same again.”

Kitty looked very close to tears now. Georgiana thought the patting was probably becoming awkward. She switched to a tender hand on Kitty’s arm.

“And if I had to have children, I had hoped for a girl. A girl would be easier. But no, now we have little James, and I do not know what to do with a boy, and I am sure he will grow up to be terribly wild, and he is so very strange-looking.”

He was, a little, but Georgiana objected anyway.

“No, you need not be polite. I know that he is. When Lydia sees him, I am sure she will say something about it.”

“He is very sweet,” said Georgiana helplessly. 

“I do not think so.”

“You are just tired. It is all very new; of course,you are feeling strained. But things will calm down and you will feel better in time.”

“Perhaps,” Kitty sniffed, looking marginally more hopeful. “And I suppose I will become used to him at some point.” 

Georgiana was not sure how much help she had been, but the visit had taken her mind off of her own troubles for a while.

***

Darcy had not seen Jonathan Metcalfe since that last evening party at Pemberley; he wondered whether the young man was staying away from the place in general or from any of them in particular, or whether he was imagining avoidance where there was none. 

It was something of a relief, then, to see both the elder and younger Mr. Metcalfes at Pemberley that morning. Darcy had not wanted to lose such a longstanding friendship.

Mr. Lewis Metcalfe had called in regard to some shared business affairs; there did not seem to be any particular reason for the son to be there, unless it was for the chance to catch a glimpse of Georgiana. He certainly inquired after the health of the ladies of the house with eager interest, and with a creditable attempt to sound as concerned with Mrs. Darcy's welfare as with Miss Darcy's, though it was clear that it was the news about the younger lady that he was particularly looking for. If Darcy had not been absolutely certain as to the nature of Jonathan’s feelings toward Georgiana before, he was fairly convinced now.

Darcy had not lied to Elizabeth when he'd said that he did not believe that Jonathan Metcalfe could be convinced that a connection between him and Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley would not be an inappropriate one. Jonathan would feel the weight of society, of honor, of the relationship his family had with the Darcys. He would compare Georgiana’s fortune with his own and would fear debasing her. He would feel himself inferior and unworthy of her hand.

Darcy regretted it, for although he might wish the man richer for everyone's sake, he thought he would be genuinely good for Georgiana, and it was his sister's happiness that Darcy valued, not any pecuniary advantage that could be found in a different match. 

Darcy thought he saw the younger man flush slightly when it was reported that both Mrs. and Miss Darcy were perfectly well and that he was sure they would be pleased to see him, should the Metcalfes wish to call on them after their business had been conducted. Jonathan was saved answering by his father, who apologized but said they really could not stay long; Mrs. Metcalfe would be expecting them back. 

There was an odd mix of relief and disappointment in the young man's face as he agreed.

When everything was settled, Darcy watched them go, wishing things could be just a little easier, and wondering how very dreadful this was all going to be when Anna grew up and put him through a similar ordeal.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth followed the sound of Fitzwilliam’s voice to the library, the door of which had been left ajar. She poked her head in to see him reading aloud - rather expressively - to Anna, who sat on his lap. 

“Do you think she is quite old enough to appreciate Sir Charles Grandison?” she asked smilingly, when a pause in his recital permitted.

“Of course she is,” he said in tones of mock indignation. “She is exceptionally clever.”

Elizabeth joined them on the sofa, looking fondly at them both, most reluctant to deliver the suggestion that she had tracked him down to make. Her expression must have betrayed her purpose, because Fitzwilliam’s own countenance clouded slightly.

“What is it?” he asked with some wariness.

“I think, my dear, that it is past time for us to invite Lady Catherine back for a visit. It has been over a year since we have seen her.”

There was a brief struggle - the varied emotions that came over his face were subtle, and probably imperceptible to anyone other than Elizabeth - before he said in a constrained manner, “If you wish it.”

“It is not that I wish it, Fitzwilliam,” she said with a small laugh, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck, “but it does seem as though it is the proper thing to do. She must be offended that we have not asked her to return before now.”

“If she is, it is her own doing. I required the time to reconcile myself to seeing her again, after last time.”

“You used to visit her yearly,” Elizabeth teased. “You were a much more dutiful nephew before you married me.”

“I no longer feel any particular sense of responsibility toward her.”

“I think you have made that clear,” said Elizabeth. “But Anna will be a year old soon--”

“Which is far too young to be exposed to her great-aunt.”

Elizabeth grinned at him. “Be that as it may, I believe we have put it off long enough.”

He sighed. “Very well. I will tell Georgiana to prepare herself.”

***

Georgiana was, once again, sitting with Kitty. She made the journey to the parsonage almost daily now, though the necessity of her being there was not quite so urgent as it had been before. Now that the initial trauma of motherhood had worn off, Kitty was slowly beginning to mend: she did not cry nearly as often anymore, and she had even gone so far as to suggest that she might eventually grow fond of little James.

“He is not at all a pretty child,” she said, smoothing his sparse hair, “but I think he will improve in time.” 

Georgiana repeated her usual assertions of his sweetness. Kitty seemed to appreciate them more now. She was not yet a happy mother, and she might never be a comfortable one, but she was growing used to her new role, at least. Georgiana and Mr. Milton were there to support her; Elizabeth had given her a steady stream of advice and had engaged an indispensably competent nurse; and Fitzwilliam, finally an uncle to a child close at hand, was always happy to see his new nephew, sitting with little James while the women talked together. There were still outbursts - she still longed for the early days of her marriage, when things were more like how she had pictured they would be, and she still had a trembly look about her, as though she hovered constantly on the edge of tears - but Kitty’s burdens had eased considerably, and that might be the first step towards the return of cheerfulness. 

They all hoped so, at any rate.

“I do not know that I will be able to visit as often over the next couple of weeks,” said Georgiana carefully, concentrating on her work and avoiding Kitty’s eyes; she did not know if this pronouncement would cause a relapse. “My aunt is coming to Pemberley and I may be expected to entertain her.”

“Lady Catherine?”

“Yes,” said Georgiana, trying not to sigh.

“Well,” said Kitty significantly, “I am quite sure that I will have very great need of you, should you find any opportunity to escape.”

She raised her eyebrows and looked expressively at her. Georgiana smiled. Kitty was never truly capable of being understated, but Georgiana was grateful for the gesture. 

***

Elizabeth, on seeing Lady Catherine again, thought the usually-formidable woman seemed rather diminished; perhaps she had been adversely affected by her now-empty nest. It must be a very great change, not having a daughter at Rosings to domineer. Lady Catherine would feel the loss keenly, and she undoubtedly missed Anne, too.

Their greetings were all formal and cold and polite, each thinking of the last time that they had met, and they all sat down in Pemberley’s grandest parlor, the echo of the previous year’s visit ringing in their ears.

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam presented Anna to her great-aunt, waiting to hear that lady's judgment with a mixture of curiosity and defiance.

Lady Catherine seemed disinclined to say anything too complimentary - “Rather small,” she had sniffed - until Fitzwilliam’s reaction (drawing himself up to his fullest height, his brow furrowed, his jaw set) extorted from her a more flattering assessment. “She looks very much like Darcy did, when he was an infant,” she said; then, unable to resist another jab, “You resemble your father’s side of the family, Darcy. I do not see much of the Fitzwilliams in your daughter, which is most unfortunate. It is a shame that she is not more like her namesake.”

She said it as though they had had any say in the matter, and had worked it out so as to disoblige her. 

“Oh, it is difficult to judge either way, at this age,” said Elizabeth, her hand closing around her husband’s. “And at any rate, I am quite happy that she is so like her father.”

Lady Catherine seemed ready to make a disparaging remark - Elizabeth felt certain it would be something unfavorable about her - but Fitzwilliam’s challenging glare silenced her. 

To everyone’s surprise, Lady Catherine largely behaved herself during her stay (in comparison with her normal behavior, at least). She could not keep herself from making the occasional sharp aside - usually at Elizabeth’s expense - but it was all uttered without her characteristically brusque, overbearing manner. There was something thin and brittle about her now. The spirit seemed to have gone out of her. 

Fitzwilliam was still tense and unsettled, eager to take the offense that Elizabeth refused to, and she was far more worried about him than she was his aunt. 

“I do not know how seemly it is, Darcy’s attachment to the child,” said Lady Catherine one day, shooting a malevolent look at Elizabeth, as though this unmanly fondness was her fault. To Lady Catherine’s mind, it probably was. “My father scarcely spared me a glance when I was a girl, and my late husband had very little to do with Anne. Daughters should not be of such consequence to fathers.” 

Elizabeth saw Fitzwilliam’s expression darken and she hastily changed the subject; it would not do to sever ties again, after the pains they had taken to patch things up.

***

“I still think it would be better to order her to leave,” said Darcy, murmuring into Elizabeth’s neck. He kissed the most ticklish spot, the one sure to make her giggle. 

Lady Catherine had spent a good deal of time at dinner wondering whether it was the legacy of Elizabeth’s side of the family that had produced such a tiny child, conveniently forgetting that her own daughter was remarkably small. Darcy had eaten very little, knowing how dangerous it would be to open his mouth while trying to swallow the stream of invective he wished to release.

“She is a sad, pitiful woman, Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth with a gaspy laugh as he kissed her again, “and she is not worth the energy that it takes to be exasperated by her.”

“Certainly not when there are other things to concentrate on,” he agreed, kissing along Elizabeth’s jawline now. 

“Indeed,” she said, her hands in his hair. “I like those other things better.” 

His aunt was soon entirely forgotten.

***

Lady Catherine’s visit continued to pass slowly, but pass it did. Elizabeth felt more than capable of weathering the worst of her abuse, and she was able to distract Fitzwilliam whenever it was necessary. Georgiana had spent more time at the parsonage than at Pemberley during her aunt’s stay, so Elizabeth had not had much to do there. It was by far the best situation for both of her sisters: Georgiana’s presence was soothing to Kitty, and Elizabeth thought that the Miltons were a good distraction for Georgiana. 

It had not escaped Elizabeth’s notice that Georgiana had been even quieter than usual, had spent more time locked away in her room, and Elizabeth could think of no more probable a cause for this than Jonathan Metcalfe. She could date Georgiana’s uncertain spirits to that fateful dinner with his family. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had agreed that the best course of action was not to say anything to her, to allow her to come to them if she wanted to talk, but she had thus far remained reticent. Elizabeth felt inclined to press the matter now, and Fitzwilliam could probably be persuaded to go along with her, but there could be no forcing of confidences while Lady Catherine was still here and so a change of scenery probably did Georgiana as much good as anything. 

There were a number of reasons, then, why Elizabeth was looking forward to Lady Catherine’s leave-taking with almost as much anticipation as Fitzwilliam was. Capable though she was at parrying every ill-natured comment that Lady Catherine produced, Elizabeth had a family to take care of and to put to rights, and she was growing ever more impatient to do so.

***

They very nearly made it to the end of his aunt’s stay without a major incident. 

Lady Catherine's final dinner at Pemberley had just concluded, and Darcy was congratulating himself on surviving it, when his aunt addressed Elizabeth.

"I suppose Anna sees much of her cousins."

"Not as much as we would wish," said Elizabeth carefully. 

“She has several nearby.”

Elizabeth agreed that this was true.

"And have the steward's descendants been here often?"

His aunt had been far ruder on other occasions during her stay at Pemberley, and as mean-spirited as the remark was, it could have been easily glossed over, but Darcy had had enough. 

Lady Catherine had succeeded in shocking his wife this time, with the allusion to the Wickham family, but he thought it was Georgiana’s suddenly pale face that caused him to lose his temper. 

Elizabeth swiftly ushered Georgiana out of the room as his expression grew more ominous.

He did not know where Elizabeth stood on the issue of his aunt’s returning to Pemberley, but he thought he would be forced to veto any attempt to see Lady Catherine there in the near future, if only for the sake of his own health. 

***

It was with great relief that Georgiana saw her aunt return to Rosings. She only hoped that her own departures never inspired such cheerfulness in the ones she left behind. She was glad that she would not have to spend so much time at the parsonage, that she would be able to remain at home without fear, and that Fitzwilliam would be able to relax again. He looked quite ready to snap. Their aunt was very bad for his well-being.

Georgiana did, however, see a look in Elizabeth’s eye that made her feel that her days of brooding over Jonathan Metcalfe in silence were numbered. Elizabeth had noticed her vexation, that day the Mr. Metcalfes had seen Fitzwilliam and had not extended their call to see the ladies. She had seemed ready to say something to Georgiana on that occasion but had held back; Georgiana was sure that her luck was about to run out. 

She sighed. Well, Elizabeth knew what it was to be in love. Elizabeth was her sister and her friend and her confidante. Perhaps she would be able to tell Georgiana what in the world she was supposed to do.

Chapter Text

Every time that Elizabeth thought about speaking with Georgiana over the next few days, it never seemed like the right moment to mention Jonathan Metcalfe, and therefore the subject remained undiscussed, though oddly present between them. 

She wondered how long they could go without saying his name; if it were up to Georgiana, for the rest of their lives, most likely. Elizabeth renewed her determination to get it all out into the open, as soon as an opportunity presented itself. 

But the proper moment still remained elusive a week later.

The Darcys' breakfast that day began in a quieter way than usual, each of them absorbed in reading their own letters.

"Aunt Darcy wants to know if we are planning to visit her at any time in the near future, for if not, she will invite some of her friends to stay instead," said Georgiana with a small smile. "She says we cannot expect her to hold our places forever and that her own company is very much in demand."

Fitzwilliam smirked. "Tell her from me that she is incorrigible, and that I would much prefer to see her here again, as her house is always so busy."

Elizabeth doubted whether Fitzwilliam's aunt would take him up on this offer. She rarely stirred from Bath, and it had taken the momentous occasion of Anna's birth to lure her away earlier that year. This back and forth was a bit of a joke between the aunt and nephew, and though her husband rarely saw this aunt, she knew he was particularly fond of her. Perhaps they should go to Bath for a visit. She would talk to him about it later, to gauge what his feelings really were.

Silence fell between them all once more while Elizabeth finished reading a letter from Jane, full of many happy particulars about little Charles and Sophia, and started one from Mrs. Metcalfe. That lady, without preamble, related a piece of gossip much more lurid than any news from Jane. 

"Mr. Augustus Fanshawe is married," Elizabeth announced. 

Fitzwilliam looked up, vaguely intrigued, and Georgiana stared with what looked like both astonishment and relief. 

"Not to Theodosia Thomas!" she gasped.

Sir Richard had remained uncharacteristically peevish towards the Thomases lately, since his nephew's name had been whispered with theirs and while the rumors continued to spread. 

"No, to one of the Miss Gibsons," Elizabeth read. "Mrs. Metcalfe does not specify which."

This was hardly surprising. The Miss Gibsons were notoriously indistinguishable from one another, all blandly pretty and agreeable. 

"They have certainly done the thing properly," she said, amused by both the news and Mrs. Metcalfe’s breathlessly enthusiastic manner of writing about it. "They ran off to Gretna Green and everything."

"Sir Richard will be most displeased by his heir's eloping in such a way," said Fitzwilliam dryly. 

"Do you think it will be enough to make him follow through on his threat to disinherit Mr. Fanshawe?"

She was curious to know Fitzwilliam’s opinion; Mrs. Metcalfe was quite convinced of this very eventuality, and wrote of it with ill-disguised anticipation. 

"I doubt it," he said. "None of the Miss Gibsons are as objectionable as the Miss Thomases, and he is an easy and forgiving man. He will start to enjoy the romantic spectacle of the thing, and after one groveling plea for forgiveness from the nephew, he will merely consider it as a good story to tell at all of his parties. We will hear no end of it for years to come."

Elizabeth was glad, for the yet-undetermined former Miss Gibson's sake, that Mr. Fanshawe was not about to be thrown off, and even gladder that Georgiana, in all likelihood, would now be free of his attentions. 

Elizabeth and Georgiana continued to discuss this news and to speculate as to which of the Miss Gibsons was most likely to be the fortunate lady (Georgiana thought it was the youngest, who was slightly blonder and prettier than the others, but Elizabeth wagered on the eldest who, nearing thirty, would be most willing to commit to a life of laughing at Mr. Fanshawe’s follies), when a new letter was brought in for Fitzwilliam. Neither lady paid this much mind - Fitzwilliam was constantly receiving letters of varying length and urgency and import - until they noticed how very still and serious he had grown. 

"Fitzwilliam, what is it?" said Elizabeth, trying not to feel alarmed. He had that air about him that indicated something portentous.

He remained quite motionless for a moment more, looking down at his letter. When he glanced back up, there was a curious, deliberately indifferent expression on his face. 

"This is from Lewis Metcalfe," he said finally. "Sir Edgar Metcalfe is dead."

Elizabeth and Georgiana were immovable from shock. 

"The entire family has left for Kent this morning."

"It has not been long since Sir Edgar's father died, has it?" Elizabeth said, recovering her voice. 

"Not terribly long. It has been no more than three years."

"How very sad. His poor mother. How did he die?"

"A sudden fever. It carried him off quite quickly; no one had suspected it to be serious."

They all sat silently for a moment. 

"He was childless, of course. Lewis Metcalfe will inherit the baronetcy."

Georgiana's fork clattered to her plate. They all ignored this.

"Do you think he will prefer to live in Kent now, as the other baronets did before him?" Elizabeth asked.

She stole a sly glance at Georgiana, who was very pink.

"I do not think so, though they will, undoubtedly, spend more time there now. I do not think their inclination is to make the relocation more permanent. The Lewis Metcalfes have always preferred Derbyshire. They will take possession of Fairview, of course. I dare say they will be there for most of the year."

Elizabeth was glad that he anticipated no significant loss of the Metcalfes' company with this surprise turn of events. That would be a particularly odious consequence for their family. Fairview was nearby; Fairview kept the Metcalfes as close friends and neighbors. 

And though no one said it, they were all thinking it: there would be a Sir Jonathan Metcalfe one day.

***

Georgiana was proud of herself for staying as calm as she had. But why shouldn't she be calm? Nothing had changed. Jonathan being next in line for the baronetcy meant nothing to her. She loved him - and she could admit it now, that she loved him, or thought she did - as plain, ordinary Mr. Jonathan Metcalfe. She would not love him more for being Sir Jonathan.

Still, he was deserving of this, somehow; he deserved it more than his cousin had, certainly. Hadn't Fitzwilliam always said that the Lewis Metcalfes were worthier of the rank and dignity that their family possessed, that it was only the fluke of primogeniture that had given the other side consequence and importance?

She kept to her room that day, her thoughts racing and confused. 

***

"Well," said Darcy to Elizabeth, "this will certainly change things. I rather expect the young man to make an offer to Georgiana now, as soon as it is seemly to do so." 

He was happy for his sister, he truly was… but there was a pang there too, of wistfulness and sentimentality and loss. He had been almost a father to Georgiana for so long, and soon, he thought, if he was not being too precipitant, she would be flying the nest. 

"You do not really think it is such a difference, do you? His being to inherit someday?" asked Elizabeth. 

"It is a material difference, my dear,” he said, pulling her close to him. 

“But it does not matter to us,” she argued. “He is the same man that he always was. He is not any better now than he was before, just because his cousin has died.”

“No, and had he made Georgiana an offer yesterday, before he could even imagine his change in fortune, he would have had my blessing."

Elizabeth seemed satisfied to hear it, and it had the added benefit of being the perfect truth. Jonathan was a good man; the baronetcy did not make him more deserving. But in a day full of surprise and change, Darcy had a suspicion that the most significant alteration would come from within Jonathan himself: with his new circumstances, he might now see himself as worthier of Georgiana’s hand and heart, and that was a great difference indeed.

Chapter Text

Georgiana had very little doubt that, though they remained taciturn on the subject of Jonathan Metcalfe in her presence, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth discussed him regularly in her absence. There was something pointed in their reluctance to mention his name; he was much more conspicuous in this silence than he would have been otherwise. Georgiana was tempted to bring him up, just to break through the tension of it all. 

She didn’t, of course.

It was mortifying enough to know that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had guessed what her feelings were for Jonathan. To draw attention to him herself would be impossible. She would not be able to hide her blushes; she would be simultaneously horrified and flustered and smiling and silly; the whole thing would be embarrassing and undignified.

Still, she wished one of them would talk about him. She longed to hear him spoken of, to ascertain what their thoughts were of his one day, perhaps, being a part of the family. She colored at the very thought, even alone with herself

But no. She could not allow herself to entertain such ideas. She could not get her hopes up. She could not get ahead of herself. 

She did not know how long the Metcalfes were likely to be in Kent or when they would return to Derbyshire. She did not know when she would see Jonathan next. She did not even know for sure that he loved her (she may have misinterpreted his looks; certainly, he had made no declaration, or anything close to one; oh God, what if she were wrong about his feelings?). All she could do was to sit, and wait, and be silent, and think about him to the point of distraction, and wonder what their future held. 

How dearly she wished for some reassurance.

***

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had reaffirmed their decision not to mention Jonathan before Georgiana. Elizabeth thought that her sister would probably prefer it if he were not spoken of. If Georgiana had been distant and preoccupied since the Metcalfes had come to dinner, she was even more so now, barely participating in family conversations and gazing off in a faraway manner whenever they all sat together. She even had less attention for Anna than usual, and hadn’t been to the parsonage to visit with Kitty in over a week. Elizabeth did not want to add to her agitated spirits by forcing her to hear the young man’s name bandied about constantly.

“I do suppose it is the correct measure to take,” said Fitzwilliam, somewhat doubtingly. 

He and Elizabeth were curled up together on the sofa, watching the fire die, legs tangled and fingers entwined.

“Well, I always liked hearing you mentioned,” said Elizabeth, “but Jane did not particularly enjoy hearing of Bingley, while things were unsettled, and I have taken her as a kind of model.” She gave him a playful nudge. “And what about you? Did you like hearing me mentioned?”

“I wished Miss Bingley would do a little less of it.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I can only imagine what she said about me when I was not there to listen.”

“Only flattering and generous things, I assure you.”

“I am glad to hear it. We always were such good friends.”

He grew thoughtful again. “Sometimes I think Georgiana has a look about her, as though she wishes for someone to clear the air.”

Though Elizabeth had advocated for this herself before the news of Sir Edgar’s death had broken, she was unsure of its wisdom now, when things might have been set in motion already. 

“This must be a confusing time for her,” she said. “I believe we should allow her to make the first move, if she wants to talk about it. I did not even tell Jane that I loved you before things were certain.”

“So you enjoyed hearing of me but not speaking of me?” he teased.

“Well, I had rejected you rather vehemently once before. It was quite disconcerting to find myself violently in love with you just half a year later. I did not want to discuss it with anyone but yourself.”

They grinned at each other.

“Still,” he said more soberly, after a moment had passed, “it gives us no real indication of what to do in Georgiana’s case, does it?”

“Let us give her some time,” said Elizabeth. “It will all come out soon enough.”

***

They received a distraction the next day in the form of Sir Richard’s coming to call, full of news about Mr. Augustus Fanshawe and that young man’s new bride (Elizabeth and Georgiana had both been wrong - it was the third Miss Gibson, tall and quiet and shy, who had become his wife; Georgiana, rather than Theodosia Thomas, was clearly his usual type). 

“Oh, of course I have forgiven him this youthful flight of fancy,” said Sir Richard with a genial chuckle, accepting a piece of cake and waving his fork around airily. “I would have preferred him to have a proper wedding with the whole county in attendance, but one cannot deny the drama and the romance of the thing. It certainly makes for a better story.”

Darcy exchanged an amused glance with Elizabeth.

“Speaking of good stories, I do not know if you have yet heard, but Miss Theodosia Thomas has gotten herself engaged to Mr. Sanderson, so the Thomases will soon have only three of their hellions left at home to deal with.” He took a large bite of cake and gave them all a roguish look. “We shall have to count the months before a Sanderson offshoot arrives. The Hardings’ child appeared rather earlier than expected.”

Darcy gave a delicate little cough.

“Now, Baby Darcy was most tardy” - another cough, firmer this time - “but, my word, was not she worth the wait?”

Darcy immediately forgave the man his ill-breeding.

“She is the very image of you at that age, Darcy.” He gave a conspiratorial wink to Elizabeth. “Everyone thought he was a girl until he was old enough for breeches.”

Elizabeth smiled at Darcy, delighted. 

Darcy doubted whether Sir Richard actually remembered how he was at Anna’s age, but he was always too pleased by the idea of his daughter’s being like him to quibble with anyone’s memory.

“Yes, exactly like you, Darcy, and I would know, for your father took you everywhere with him. A prouder father I had never seen, until yourself, of course.”

Elizabeth squeezed his hand.

“Never saw one without the other. It nearly killed him to send you off to school. I had scarcely seen him more despondent than in those first few weeks that followed. Why, I remember--”

Sir Richard launched into yet another story about Darcy’s father that they had all heard many times before, but Darcy found that he could tolerate the repetition more comfortably than usual, with his wife’s hand in his and their daughter on her lap, the memory of his father quite welcome at the moment. He regretted that Anna would never meet her grandfather, that Elizabeth had never known him, and so he bore Sir Richard’s absurdities today with grace, this oft-told tale of the late Mr. Darcy accepted as a gift.

Chapter Text

Kitty was not the person with whom Georgiana would have chosen to discuss things, but she was the first person to bring up the subject.

"You will have heard the news about the Metcalfes, of course," she said, offering Georgiana a muffin. "How astonishing it all is!"

Georgiana agreed in her most politely detached manner. 

"Mr. Jonathan Metcalfe will now be one of the most eligible young men in the county, I believe." She gave a sarcastic little laugh. "Not that he ever looks at any young lady."

Georgiana willed her face not to grow hot. 

“You are the only one I ever see him speaking to with any regularity, and I still cannot imagine him courting you.” She patted Georgiana’s hand. “Which is nothing against you, of course. He should be so lucky! I simply cannot imagine him courting anyone. He will remain a bachelor forever.”

Georgiana swallowed hard and forced a smile. She thought her ears might be turning traitorously pink. 

“Say what you will about Sir Edgar, but he always made an effort to be agreeable. Jonathan is so shy that I am sure he will hide himself away and the baronetcy will fall to some distant relation.”

Georgiana cleared her throat and attempted to change the subject. “It has been rather mild for this time of year. I have found it very pleasant.”

“Oh, yes, quite mild. I hear the Metcalfes will be in Kent for some time, with affairs to settle and all of that. I do not know the particulars, of course, but James said Mr. Metcalfe told him that they did not expect to be back for a while.”

“I suppose there is much to be done and many things to consider,” said Georgiana. She could hear the strain in her own voice and wondered if Kitty could. “And there are Sir Edgar’s mother and sisters to think about.”

“I wonder how long it will take for the new baronet to move into Fairview. Perhaps it will be in time for the ball. I do hope they will still hold the ball. It might not look very seemly, so soon after Sir Edgar’s death, but I have not yet had the chance to attend! I had expected to go last year, of course, but Sir Edgar went away so early, with all of the improvements being made to the place.”

Georgiana let Kitty chatter on and left as soon as propriety allowed, wondering if the policy of silence regarding Jonathan Metcalfe was not the best one after all.

But her calling on Kitty strengthened her resolve to behave more calmly and rationally, particularly with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth. She could not stay in this state of nervous anxiety. She must govern herself more effectively. She was too old for this sort of silliness. 

Until the Metcalfes returned, whenever that day might be, she would enjoy her life and her house and her family. Whatever the future held, she would be cheerful and grateful. 

She was going to do what she had tried to do many times before, always coming up short: she was going to try to be as happy and contented as Elizabeth. 

***

Elizabeth could no longer keep her news to herself. It felt unfair, somehow, for Fitzwilliam to be excluded, and besides, she was too delighted for it to remain her secret alone.

"Do you know, my dear," she said offhandedly, toying with his cravat, "I do not believe that it will be long before Anna has a new companion."

It really was extraordinary the way his face lit up in happiness, his eyes bright, his whole countenance transformed. 

"I am not certain," she continued, smiling now and unable to maintain an air of nonchalance, "but I think we can expect another little friend in late spring."

"You have not been so ill this time," he said, cradling her face gently in his hands and kissing her forehead.

"Not so far. Let us hope my luck holds."

"We should send for Dr. Hooper."

"I do not see any need for that, not when I am feeling so well."

"But we should be sure--"

"Do not fuss, Fitzwilliam," she said gently. "We deserve at least one day to celebrate before you start to worry."

He would not deny her anything, and certainly not at that moment.

***

Darcy was feeling enormously content with the world. Elizabeth was healthy and happy and as lovely as ever, Georgiana was behaving more like herself, Anna was an endless source of joy, and he had another child on the way. Just now, it was not terribly difficult to forget his cares and allow himself to enjoy his good fortune.

Honestly, he thought afterward, he should have expected his peace to be disrupted. 

The Darcys endured a tense visit from Mrs. Wickham and her sons, a visit that ended prematurely and abruptly and that had caused Elizabeth a great deal of stress; Darcy, after his first rush of relief that the Wickhams were gone, had rather fretted that Elizabeth’s health had been affected by their guests, and suggested that she spend some time in bed to recover her strength.

"There is nothing wrong with me that Lydia's absence has not immediately cured," she assured him. 

This seemed perfectly true, but he was adamant on one point. 

"No more visits from any of our family until the child is born."

Elizabeth laughed. "That is a while off yet."

"And yet still too soon for us to endure the majority of them."

"What about Jane and Charles?"

"They do not count."

"Or Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"He does not count either."

"Or the Gardiners?"

"The Gardiners are always welcome here."

"And I do not think we will be able to avoid the Miltons."

"Very well: no more visits from any of the most trying members of our family until after the child is born."

“I believe I can agree to those conditions,” she said smilingly.

His contentedness thus restored, he was able to think of the world with satisfaction once more, and to believe, without exaggeration, that he was the happiest and most blessed of men. When worried thoughts threatened to intrude, he firmly resisted them. There would be time enough for all of that later.

Chapter Text

Darcy’s sanguine attitude did not last long.

Word soon reached them that the formidable Lady Catherine de Bourgh was no more, apparently having died peacefully in her sleep.

“I imagine that she died of apoplexy, yelling at one of the servants, and it is being hushed up,” Darcy said dryly.

Neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana attempted to conceal their amusement. They had all been a little shocked by the news - his aunt had always had a bit of an air of immortality about her - but not one of them pretended to feel more than that. Lady Catherine had not been generally well-loved. 

“Your cousin will feel the loss most dreadfully,” said Darcy to Elizabeth. “I shall have to write him with my condolences.”

She smiled at him. “I do so enjoy you when you are petty, Fitzwilliam. I suppose this means we will be making a trip to Kent.”

“No,” he said firmly. “No visits and no visiting.”

Anna had been feverish lately and Elizabeth had begun to feel those persistent little ailments that had plagued the early months of her first pregnancy. Darcy would not stir from Pemberley for any reason.

“I am afraid that position will cause a permanent rupture between you and the earl, my dear.”

“Most likely,” he shrugged. 

“Do not you think it would be wiser to refrain from angering him in this way? He is sure to see our absence as disrespectful.”

“He has disrespected you since we married. As far as I am concerned, the rupture was all but permanent then.”

“But you and Georgiana could go to Kent while Anna and I stay here, if you are worried about our health.”

“I am not leaving either of you,” he said obstinately. 

His uncle had taken Lady Catherine’s side in the estrangement that had followed Darcy’s becoming engaged to Elizabeth, and the earl had made no attempt at a reconciliation since, even after Lady Catherine had made her very perfunctory amends. He had sent no congratulations upon the birth of Darcy and Elizabeth’s first child, he had no interest in seeing Anna, and he was altogether unwilling to mend the breach. Darcy was not about to grovel before the earl over his aunt’s coffin. He had no inclination to invite the man back into his life, not after all the ways in which the people Darcy loved most had been snubbed.

“Well, we certainly should not keep Georgiana from going, if she wishes differently,” said Elizabeth.

Darcy doubted that she would - his sister had always been uncomfortable with the earl, even more than she was with Lady Catherine. Of course, there were other people in Kent who held a livelier interest to her…

“Would you like to go?” he asked.

She should, at least, be given that chance.

“I would prefer to stay here,” Georgiana said delicately, “especially as it is so close to Christmas.”

“That is settled then,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth looked at them both, exasperated but fond. “I do not mean either of you to throw off your family on my account.”

“We are merely accepting that some of our family have proven unworthy of our continued notice,” he said. “All of the family I need is right here at Pemberley.”

***

Georgiana had been tempted by Fitzwilliam’s willingness to send her to Kent - not, unfortunately, so that she could honor her aunt or see her family, but by the chance that she might see Jonathan Metcalfe there. It was highly likely that she would see him, his side of the family now being the important one, but she still could not justify going; not this close to the holiday, not when Anna and Elizabeth were feeling poorly. 

The Bingleys were invited to Pemberley for Christmas (Georgiana had skipped their ball this year, using Anna and Elizabeth and mourning for Lady Catherine as her excuse; the only person she wished to see would not be there), and the Darcys were all delighted that they had accepted. Between all of the talking and the laughing, and especially with the distraction of the children, Georgiana was quite able to keep her mind in Derbyshire and not let it wander to any other county.

Well, she was mostly able.

“So Lady Catherine is gone,” said Mr. Bingley thoughtfully. “I am sure you are all greatly relieved.”

“Charles,” Jane admonished lightly. 

“What? The woman was a terror. You never met her, my love. Not even you could like her.”

“You underestimate Jane’s ability to find goodness in everyone,” said Elizabeth. “And what she cannot find, she invents.”

“True enough,” said Mr. Bingley. “But Lady Catherine might have tried even Jane’s generous heart. She nearly made me cry once, you know.”

“Tell everyone how old you were when this event occurred,” said Fitzwilliam wryly.

“One-and-twenty,” Mr. Bingley grinned. “But I think she generally provoked a similar reaction in most people, regardless of age, or class, or sex.”

They all laughed.

“I am sure she was not as bad as that,” said Jane, clearly feeling guilty for finding any of this amusing. 

“She was,” Fitzwilliam and Georgiana said at the same time.

“Oh, then something must have happened to her to make her that way. Those kinds of people deserve our pity.”

“Do not try to re-establish Lady Catherine’s reputation, my dear Jane,” said Elizabeth, patting her hand. “You are in most unwilling company here. Besides, now that she is gone, there will be plenty of others willing to canonize her for you. You will not want to tread on Mr. Collins’s toes.”

***

With Christmas over and the Bingleys back home, Fitzwilliam had nothing to divert his attention away from Elizabeth’s condition. Elizabeth could not help but notice that as light as her indispositions generally were - a little headachey, a little fatigued, a little queasy at times - Fitzwilliam seemed to be growing anxious about them in a way that, though characteristic, was unreasonable. 

“Worrying so soon?” she asked gently. “We had a lengthier period of lightheartedness with Anna.”

He made no answer; his air was cautious and wary and vaguely defiant. 

“Fitzwilliam, the chances are good that I will be in this condition several more times at least. You cannot make yourself sick with worry every time.”

She had a suspicion, though, that he could.

However, she thought she might have a method to help him overcome some of the worst of it. 

“Your anxiety makes me anxious, and that is not good for any of us!”

One of the best things about Fitzwilliam was that he tried - for her sake, he always, always tried. He continued to be solicitous and watchful, but she thought his attempt was working and that he was relatively calm. It was her aim to see that he remained so.

This was why they worked so well together, she thought. Both of them had strengths that countered the other’s weaknesses. They each aided the other where they needed it most. They supported; they encouraged; they buoyed each other’s spirits. They were robust individually but they thrived together. She could think of few things more important in a union.

Chapter Text

The new baronet and his family returned to Derbyshire shortly before the new year. Sir Lewis Metcalfe and his lady called on the Darcys first; they were followed by their son a day later. The ladies were out on that occasion, gone to visit the shops in Lambton, and so he saw Darcy alone.

“A great many things have changed since last we saw each other,” said Darcy, gesturing for the young man to take a seat.

“Yes,” Jonathan Metcalfe said, his tone bashful, running an embarrassed hand over the back of his neck.

“It is a difficult time for your cousin’s family, I am sure.”

“Yes,” he said again. “But my father has insisted that they remain in the southern estate, which will be a great help to them.”

“That is generous of him.”

“Oh, we rarely travel to Kent. It is no great sacrifice on his part.”

“And relinquishing Fairview is no great loss to them. They were never long in Derbyshire.”

“My cousin spent considerably more money on Fairview than his time here would warrant,” Metcalfe agreed, then went scarlet, perhaps thinking it ill-mannered to speak this way of his departed relation.

Darcy took pity on him and turned the subject to some of the recent local news, allowing the younger man time to compose himself. Darcy half-expected Metcalfe to bring up Georgiana’s name, still supposing a proposal to be more imminent than not, but she was never mentioned between them until just before Metcalfe rose to leave.

“I do hope Mrs. Darcy is well,” he said, his face flushing once more, “and Miss Darcy, and young Miss Anna.”

Metcalfe had already inquired after the health of the family upon his arrival and, as far as Darcy knew, nothing had changed in the interval since, but he repeated his assurances of their well-being with no alteration in countenance. 

“I am glad to hear it. Pray deliver my compliments to them.” He cleared his throat. “I am sorry to have called while they were out.”

“You are always welcome to stay until they return--”

“No, no,” Metcalfe said hurriedly, standing up so quickly that he almost toppled his chair. “I am expected home soon. Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

“Good day, Mr. Metcalfe.”

The young man did not quite flee from the room, but his removal could certainly be classified as a scamper. Darcy watched him go in some consternation. He had thought that Metcalfe’s change in situation would result in his being emboldened; he had expected Georgiana’s happiness to be secured swiftly and without delay. But there had been little, if any, change in Jonathan Metcalfe’s manner today, and Darcy wondered whether he himself was about to become the instigator in fixing a match between two people who were too timid and shy to make a move themselves. 

God, he hoped not. He said a little prayer of thankfulness that there were still many years to go before he would have to navigate all of this with Anna.

*** 

Elizabeth was at least as frustrated by this meeting as her husband was.

“Why on earth did he not wait here until Georgiana returned?” she asked, throwing her hands up impatiently. 

Fitzwilliam could make her no satisfactory answer. Elizabeth, who had always been inclined to like the man, felt a certain amount of ire growing towards him now.

“He cannot expect that she will wait around for him forever.”

“Perhaps not, but I begin to believe that she may be waiting half a year, at least.”

Heaven forbid.

“Do you know what this reminds me of?” she asked accusingly.

He shook his head.

“When you -” she poked a finger at his chest  “- came back to Hertfordshire and refused to speak with me!”

He looked at her a bit sheepishly. 

“It was maddening then and it is maddening now!”

“If it is any consolation,” he said, “I think he will eventually gather his courage.” His brow furrowed a little. “Though I do not know how long it will take for him to do so.”

Elizabeth released a disgruntled and huffy breath.

“We may need to help move things along a bit,” he conceded.

“Using whatever arts and stratagems we can?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Love really is an enormous vexation.”

He gave a reluctant little laugh. She went to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her head against his chest. 

“I am sorry that you have found it so,” he teased.

“Oh, I do not mean to impugn it too violently,” she said, nestling a little closer. “It is delightful and gratifying, of course, and the only thing that really matters, in the end. It has to be, or else it would not be worth the absolute torment that comes with securing it.”

***

Georgiana had been in a flutter of spirits - sometimes happy ones, though more often agitated - since learning of the Metcalfes’ return to Derbyshire, and her emotions upon discovering that Jonathan Metcalfe had called at Pemberley without waiting to see her were still more volatile. She was, by turns, upset and angry and perturbed and mortified. She could not deceive herself: he certainly was not making an effort to meet with her. Perhaps she had imagined too much after all; perhaps he had only ever been friendly and polite and had no intentions toward her in any way. Perhaps she had, once again, been so desperate to fall in love that she had made herself ridiculous.

Maybe that was why he avoided her now. She had let her feelings become too obvious; he had seen her ardor and wished to cool it; he pitied her, thought she was a silly, undesirable little girl, one he saw as a younger sister, and he had no wish to raise her expectations further.

He was a future baronet now. He could aim his sights higher.

Whenever these thoughts overtook her, she began pacing again; if they plagued her in Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s company, her foot tapped uncontrollably. She could not sit still. She was ashamed and embarrassed and unbearably peevish. She was so unlike herself that she was sure the rest of the family noticed. All of her previous determination to be calm and happy had flown out of the window. She was a mess of frayed nerves and she could focus on nothing else.

Oh, how she wished that she knew, one way or the other, what he thought and how he felt and what she was supposed to do.

Chapter Text

Georgiana was thrown back into Jonathan Metcalfe’s company more quickly than she anticipated, when the two of them (and their families, and a good portion of the county) were invited to dine with Sir Richard Fanshawe. Half of her rejoiced at the reunion - happy to see him again, excited to sit by him, delighted to talk to him - and half of her wished to dive beneath the table.

“Sir Lewis Metcalfe,” said Sir Richard, addressing the man with relish. “How well it sounds!”

The new baronet answered with civility, but Jonathan looked down at his plate, his face reddening.

“Oh, do not let Sir Richard embarrass you,” whispered Georgiana, feeling rather bold. “We all know that he often has these moments of gracelessness. He means well, and none of it reflects poorly on you or your family."

Though her words seemed to soothe, they did not entirely dispel his vexation.

“I do not enjoy feeling that people value my father more now, simply because he has a title.” He paused and looked away, no longer meeting her eyes. “I do not enjoy feeling that people value me more now, simply because I will one day inherit it.”

“I have always valued you highly,” said Georgiana, her cheeks flushed but her eyes steady. “You had already earned my utmost esteem; a title could not raise you higher.”

It was, perhaps, an inappropriate thing to say to him. She certainly would not have said as much if she thought that Fitzwilliam could overhear her. 

But it was the truth and Jonathan should know it. 

He looked up at her, briefly meeting her eyes before looking away again. 

“I thank you, Miss Darcy,” he said, his voice very quiet. “I am honored by your good opinion of me.” 

“It is no less than you deserve. Your character secured it for you, and that is worth far more than any title.”

She fancied that he was trying hard to hide a pleased sort of smile. 

They were able to converse more freely, once Sir Richard had moved on to other subjects, and Georgiana found herself growing more and more comfortable. It was always so easy to speak with Jonathan; there was no awkwardness, no wondering if she was making herself look foolish. 

It was one of the things she loved about him. 

He made no declarations, of course; no hints or winks at whatever may or may not be in his heart. He would never imply those things in such company (if he even felt them; Georgiana could not stop second-guessing). Still, she was disappointed. She did not feel more capable of deciphering his feelings than she had this morning.

And yet… what a pleasure it was to talk to him again, no matter what his feelings were; what agony not to know for sure. It was hope and heartache and yearning and vulnerability and terror all at once. 

And somehow it was both intolerable and intoxicating.

Love was strange.

***

Elizabeth watched Georgiana closely throughout dinner. Her sister's face was flushed and glowing and happy as she talked with Jonathan Metcalfe; she obsessively fussed with a ringlet of hair; she kept looking down bashfully, but could never keep her eyes from the young man for long. 

Elizabeth could not read Jonathan as easily - he was less well-known, more of a mystery to her than Georgiana was - but though he looked shy and embarrassed, there was something very soft in the way he gazed at Georgiana, both fond and rapt.

Elizabeth exchanged a knowing glance with Fitzwilliam. There was nothing mysterious in this sort of behavior. The only question in Elizabeth’s mind was whether the declaration (which she considered inevitable) would be coming soon, or whether the two young people were going to be painstakingly, agonizingly slow about things. 

Good heavens, she hoped it would not be a long wait. She didn't know if she could handle the suspense.

***

"I have been thinking it over, and I honestly believe it will be any day now," said Elizabeth, braiding her hair before bed. "I suspect he is just waiting for the perfect moment. I do not think we will need to help them along after all."

Darcy thought this was wishful thinking on Elizabeth's part, but he had always found his wife's enthusiasm charming and was never one to discourage it.

"I am sure you will turn out to be correct," he said.

Elizabeth smiled at him. "I always know when you are lying, Fitzwilliam."

He smiled back. "I hope you will turn out to be correct."

"And how are you feeling, my dear?" she asked, gently and perceptively, taking his hand in hers. 

Darcy wasn't sure what he felt. Expectant, on Georgiana's behalf; restless, while they all waited for Jonathan Metcalfe to make his move; protective of his little sister; eager for her happiness to be secured; reluctant to admit that she had grown up and would likely soon be starting a new life, one in which his role would no longer be the central, most important one.

It was too much to feel at once; he did not like it.

"She will always need her brother," said Elizabeth tenderly, increasing her pressure on his hand, "even when she is married and has a family of her own. She will not love you less when she leaves Pemberley."

He nodded but did not speak.

"You helped raise her. You have been like a father to her for many years. It is only natural to feel contradictory emotions, now that the event seems all but certain."

He nodded again. 

"You are allowed to feel conflicted, Fitzwilliam. I know you want what is best for Georgiana. I know you are pleased for her. You are allowed to mourn the loss at the same time."

Another nod; another squeeze of the hand. 

"And it is still all theoretical," she said, more firmly and practically now. "Jonathan Metcalfe, the dear man, is not known for his decisive haste."

Darcy laughed a little, in spite of himself. 

"But you may want to consider preparing yourself, dearest," Elizabeth whispered. 

He swallowed hard. It was not a meritless suggestion. 

Chapter Text

Jonathan’s proposal to Georgiana, considered by Elizabeth to be so imminent that she had planned a celebratory dinner to be had by the end of the week, did not materialize in time to burden the Darcys' cook.

"What can he possibly be waiting for?" asked Elizabeth irritably. She blamed her uncharacteristically bad humor on her condition: this second child was beginning to make itself more of a nuisance than Anna ever had. She had rarely been this moody before. "I hope he has not let his change of fortune go to his head. I hope he does not believe Georgiana is now beneath him."

"I do not believe he thinks anything of the kind," said Fitzwilliam gently.

"Because he will never find anyone better than Georgiana!"

Fitzwilliam agreed that this was very true. 

"He needs to make his declaration and be done with it. He must know what Georgiana’s answer will be. And even if he fears a refusal, surely it is preferable to receive it at once and to end his suspense." She sat down on their bed with a huff. "He is very timid. It is not a quality I admire in him."

"Ah, well," said Fitzwilliam sagely, "it is more difficult than you imagine, telling a woman that you love her and not knowing for certain what her reaction will be." He paused and smiled wryly. "And a refusal rarely puts an end to the suffering."

Elizabeth grinned sheepishly back.

"Even so," she said, "I had hoped he would have found his courage by now."

"I suppose we must give him the time he needs," said Fitzwilliam. "He will have to move at his own pace, and our wishing for him to be bolder will not hasten him in the slightest."

Elizabeth acknowledged that he was correct, but it did not make her any less frustrated by the young man’s interminable delay.

***

Georgiana steeled herself for the conversation she was about to have. It was going to be awkward and she did not want to go through with it, but it must be done. She needed confirmation; she needed reassurance.

She knocked softly on the door of Elizabeth’s drawing room. It had been Lady Anne Darcy’s favorite room, so many years ago, but Georgiana could barely remember her mother and the room seemed so much like Elizabeth’s now that it was hard to believe that that had not always been the case.

"I must talk to you," Georgiana whispered when Elizabeth called her in.

Elizabeth smiled expectantly and gestured to one of the empty chairs. Georgiana sat down but remained silent. She could not seem to find her voice, now that it came down to it. 

Elizabeth did not seem to mind. She did not pressure Georgiana to begin; she did not look annoyed or impatient. She gazed comfortably out of the window and away from Georgiana, allowing Georgiana the time to will herself into saying the words she did not want to say.

"How do you know when you are in love?" she burst forth suddenly. 

It had occurred to her, in this wait for Jonathan Metcalfe to make his proposals (and oh God, it was so presumptuous to imagine they were forthcoming), that she was not entirely sure. She had never been in love before. Perhaps she was not now. Perhaps it was infatuation, or desperation, or a misguided fancy. How terrible it would be if she were wrong about her own heart. How dreadful if she had talked herself into love when she was not in love at all. She thought she was, and she felt that she was, but what did she know?

Nothing. She knew nothing.

And, well… she had convinced herself, all those years ago, that she had been in love with George Wickham. She burned with shame at the thought of it. Her judgment, clearly, was not sound.

She could not consider marriage, even hypothetically, if she were not sure. Oh, she knew people married every day without love, but she could never be like them. She could not marry Jonathan without loving him; she could not bear the thought of making him so miserable, and she would certainly not wish such a marriage for herself. 

Oh, how awful it was to ask the question! She knew that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth had guessed her true feelings - or her perceived feelings - for Jonathan, but it was quite another thing to all but admit them to Elizabeth now. She felt vulnerable and exposed and she did not like it. She did not want to confess any of her feelings out loud. It would make it so much worse if she were wrong about herself … and agony if she were wrong about Jonathan. 

Elizabeth’s expression was thoughtful. "I am not sure," she said finally. "I believe you just know."

Well, that was wildly unhelpful. 

Something in Georgiana’s reaction must have betrayed her dissatisfaction with this answer because Elizabeth smiled at her knowingly. 

"It is an odd sort of sensation, one that is different from any other, and it is likely unique for everyone, my dear."

"How did you know you were in love with Fitzwilliam?" she asked. 

It was an impertinent question, and her tone was demanding and insistent in a way that was foreign even to her own ears. She should have been embarrassed, even ashamed of talking to Elizabeth in this way (and she thought that she probably would be, whenever she looked back on the moment later), but right now, she just needed an answer, she just needed guidance, and it felt almost as though Elizabeth were being deliberately withholding. 

If Elizabeth was offended by either the question or the tone, she did not show it.

"I do not know that either, I am afraid," she mused. 

Georgiana felt as though she might just cry in aggravation, but Elizabeth continued.

"I do not know that there was one particular moment that made me love Fitzwilliam, or, at least, not one particular moment when I knew I loved him. It crept up on me." Her smile was soft and tender and beautiful. "I knew that I thought of him, and wondered about him, and esteemed him, and longed to be around him. I wanted to see him and to talk to him and to hear his voice. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted to be the one to make him happy. I wanted to confide in him and comfort him; I wanted to be the first person he turned to whenever he needed someone. Whatever was coming in life, I wanted to face it with him." She shrugged. "I just knew."

Oh, dear.

Elizabeth did not ask whether Georgiana thought that she might love Jonathan Metcalfe. It seemed that she knew that, too.

Georgiana left for her own room feeling both better and worse. So she hadn’t misjudged her own feelings. She was in love after all.

She just wished she knew for sure that Jonathan was.

Chapter Text

The next time Darcy saw Jonathan Metcalfe was when they were both passing through Kympton. The two greeted each other in their customary way, and Darcy was just about to ride off when Metcalfe inquired whether it would be too great a freedom to call at Pemberley the following morning. 

It was considerably more formal than usual from him. Darcy wondered if this was finally the moment, but did not allow any suspicion to appear in his tone or countenance. 

"We need not stand on such ceremony," he said instead. "You are welcome to call at Pemberley at any time, as I am sure you are already aware."

The young man flushed and muttered something indistinct. 

Elizabeth was radiant with excitement when Darcy told her of the exchange.

"Well, he is obviously coming here to propose to Georgiana," she said, grinning and throwing her arms around his neck. "He has certainly taken his time about it."

Darcy agreed on both points, but still believed that he rather ought to manage his wife’s expectations. 

"Oh, do not be a killjoy," she said, laughing in the face of his determined solemnity. "He would not have made such a point of asking you if this were a mere social call."

"I do not know what he has in mind and would not wish to assume that I do," he said steadily.

Elizabeth only smiled at him. "We will need to give the two of them some time to themselves tomorrow. You shall have a letter to write, and I can always escape to the nursery to look in on Anna."

It was difficult, when Elizabeth was this happy, not to be infected by her enthusiasm. 

"And you will need another reason to separate yourself somehow," she continued, "so that he might have an excuse to talk to you alone. Jonathan will never interrupt you while you are writing, so we will not be able to employ that as a trick both times. I think we will have to wait until after dinner. You can go off to the library or your study and he can go after you." She looked suddenly stricken. "Oh, but what will we serve for dinner? Everything will have to be perfect. I must speak with Mrs. Reynolds at once."

And with that, she left Darcy to his amused and anticipatory and pensive thoughts. 

***

Georgiana could not think of Jonathan’s visit that morning without coloring, nor could she calm her fluttery spirits, no matter how she tried to. 

I should wait to see how he behaves before I make myself unreasonable, a stern voice in her head cautioned. I should not allow myself to hope if it is all for naught.

And yet her spirits continued fluttering; the spark of hope had already ignited. 

Jonathan arrived punctually, as was his wont. Georgiana thought he looked slightly alarmed, his eyes wide and round, but he seemed to relax slightly when he saw her. His expression softened and he smiled. Georgiana’s stomach gave a silly little leap.

Do not make yourself ridiculous, she scolded herself, but she was afraid it was probably too late.

The first few hours of the visit passed uneventfully, though only Fitzwilliam was behaving like himself. Her brother was as calm and collected as ever. Elizabeth, however, was in a buoyant mood, even livelier than usual, and was the chattiest among them. Jonathan was very quiet and Georgiana completely silent.

Theirs was not an entirely comfortable reticence, but nor was it agony. It was an odd sort of feeling, this one, Georgiana mused as Elizabeth talked charmingly enough for all of them. She felt as though she was on the precipice of something - she knew not what - and was only waiting for the push or the jump or the fall. It was frightening and wonderful in equal measure. By this very evening, she may be brokenhearted or her life may have changed forever. It could go either way, and Georgiana dared not guess which outcome was the more likely. 

She had just seated herself at the pianoforte, glad for something to do with her hands and for something to distract from her inability to say much of anything this morning, when Elizabeth made her move. Georgiana felt curiously detached as she watched it happen - there had been a look in Elizabeth’s eye, a mischievousness in her manner, that had made Georgiana suspect that some sort of helpful nudge was imminent - nodding politely as Fitzwilliam claimed he had a letter to write, and nodding once more when Elizabeth said, in tones too airy to be natural, that she wished to peek into the nursery and see how Anna was doing.

And then Georgiana and Jonathan were alone.

She felt a thrill of terror and elation, nerves and anticipation. She was striking discordant notes more and more often as she played. Her hands were trembling noticeably. She felt as though her entire body was vibrating. Jonathan waited until the end of the piece before he stood and approached her at the instrument.

Her heart was thudding so loudly that she was sure that he could hear it. All of the air seemed to have gone out of her lungs. She felt quite dangerously faint.

“Miss Darcy,” said Jonathan, and his voice shook slightly as he pronounced her name, “I must beg a moment of your time.”

She nodded, hoping it did not look as frantic as it felt.

“I am sure that nothing I have to say today will come as a surprise to you. I am sure my feelings have been quite plain.”

He could not meet her eyes (which was of little consequence, as she could not meet his), but he had tentatively taken hold of her hand. Georgiana allowed it most graciously. 

“I have admired you for as long as I can remember,” he continued, his voice a little stronger now, perhaps encouraged by the fact that she had not snatched her hand away. “I have always thought of you as everything that is amiable and charming and lovely. You have been a dear acquaintance and a treasured friend. But it has been quite some time now since I have thought of you as much more than that. I--” he faltered, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I love you, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana could not breathe, but curiously, it appeared as though air was no longer a requirement.

Jonathan finally met her gaze, his eyes bright with emotion. “I know that there is not a man alive who is worthy of you, but if you will do me the very great honor of becoming my wife, I will devote every moment of my existence to your happiness.”

Georgiana did not think it physically possible to contain this much joy. 

*** 

This was one of the longest dinners of Elizabeth’s life. It would not seem to end, and she had scarcely ever wished so fervently for an escape. Georgiana and Jonathan were fooling no one. Elizabeth’s machinations had clearly led to the desired result, and all that remained was for the young man to speak to Fitzwilliam. 

She poked impatiently at her plate and cursed her insistence on two full courses.

The period after dinner was, if anything, even worse. Georgiana said nothing and Elizabeth chattered away inanely in her stead; they were both thinking of the gentlemen and whether Jonathan would use this opportunity to speak to Fitzwilliam. 

But when they rejoined the ladies, Fitzwilliam gave Elizabeth a tiny shake of the head which told plainly that no such opportunity had been seized.

Very well. Elizabeth had planned for this.

Elizabeth continued in her determined garrulousness, feeling uncomfortably like her mother, and waited for a good opening to detach her husband once more from their company. Surely a quarter of an hour was enough time. She could not recall fifteen minutes passing so slowly.

Finally, finally, they elapsed. Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth exchanged a glance and he rose from his chair to go to his study.

A moment passed, and then the younger man, pale and anxious-looking, followed, with one quick look at Georgiana.

Elizabeth glanced slyly over at her sister to see how she was coping. Georgiana was concentrating very intently on her needlework, but Elizabeth thought she could see her hands trembling. Everything about her air indicated her agitated spirits and her wish to be alone to suffer without a witness. Elizabeth was forcibly reminded of herself, in agony over her own work, waiting for Fitzwilliam to return from her father’s library, and took pity on her.

“I think I will look in on Anna again,” she said lightly. Who knew that children would prove to be such a convenient excuse to flee a situation?

Georgiana gave Elizabeth one startled, wide-eyed glance, then looked quickly back down at her needlework, muttering something indistinct. Elizabeth placed a light and (she hoped) comforting hand on her sister’s shoulder as she passed, then left the room.

She did not, however, head to the nursery; instead, she walked quietly off to Fitzwilliam’s study, laughing silently at herself as she hid in a nearby alcove to wait for Jonathan’s exit.

Before long, the door of the study opened and was carefully shut. Elizabeth waited until she heard Jonathan’s quick footsteps retreat before she rushed in to her husband.

Fitzwilliam’s face was inscrutable. 

“Did he ask for your consent?” she said eagerly.

“Yes.”

“And what did you say?” 

“I told him I would think about it.”

“Fitzwilliam!”

He laughed at her indignation. “I am teasing you, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth smiled and crossed the room to take her husband’s hands.

“He will be good to Georgiana,” she said.

“Yes, he will be,” Fitzwilliam agreed, though Elizabeth thought she heard the threat behind it.

“They are very well suited.”

“They are.” 

He looked pensively at the door, which Elizabeth had left slightly ajar.

“Shall we go congratulate them?” she asked, tugging him gently forward.

“Not quite yet. We should give them a moment.”

She could not read his expression.

“I would have liked a private one with you, after I had spoken with your father,” he said, pulling her to him and resting his chin lightly on her head.

“I admire your restraint, knowing, as you do, what young couples try to get up to when they are unchaperoned.”

Fitzwilliam himself, of course, had never tried anything of the kind, but she knew it would provoke a response.

Sure enough, he made a noise of protest, something between a splutter and a groan.

“Do not worry, Fitzwilliam,” she said smilingly, “Jonathan is too much in awe of you to try anything very improper.” 

“That is the only thought keeping me here.”

They stood there for a few minutes more, thinking of Georgiana, and Jonathan, and of their own engagement years ago. 

“I think an appropriate amount of time has passed,” said Fitzwilliam. “We should not allow them too much freedom.”

And they walked arm in arm back to the drawing room to welcome the next member of their family.

Chapter Text

Now that his engagement with Georgiana had been formed, Jonathan was a near-constant visitor at Pemberley.

"We might as well invite him to live here," said Darcy wryly to Elizabeth; "or, at least, to stay here until the wedding."

It was not an entirely unserious remark. Darcy would have been perfectly happy to have the married Metcalfes as housemates. Pemberley was large enough that no one would feel in anyone else's way, and it would keep Georgiana around so that he, Elizabeth, and Anna would not have to learn to live without her. 

Jonathan, however, already had a situation in mind that put Pemberley quite out of the picture. 

"My parents have decided against taking Fairview after all," he confessed to Darcy, going slightly pink in the face. "And so while it would not have suited my taste to make it my own home when I was a bachelor, it looks a much more pleasing prospect for a married man. Georgiana deserves a grand estate. I only wish it were not so…" he trailed off, his face flushing more brilliantly now, though whether out of shame for speaking ill of the inheritance or the gaudiness of the house itself, Darcy could not say. He rather assumed it was the latter. 

"You will both have quite a lot of work in front of you, making the place less hideous," said Darcy, saving Jonathan the trouble of finishing his thought, and the younger man laughed in embarrassed agreement. 

Darcy had managed, in this instance, to cover the pang he had felt at the idea - the actual, forthcoming reality - of Georgiana’s leaving his house forever. Yes, Fairview was only an hour’s drive away, and yes, the two of them had been separated fairly often, before Darcy and Elizabeth married, but he had grown accustomed to having Georgiana constantly around and was loath to part with her. He could not fool himself that the distance, easy as it was, would not make a great difference. They could all talk about Georgiana’s nearness and how often they would see each other, but that would not actually be the case. The Darcys did not see the Bingleys as frequently as they all might wish because life always got in the way. The miles were a relatively simple obstacle to overcome; much more difficult were the demands of the day to day, of wives and husbands and children, and when one had a young and growing family, it was not nearly as convenient to move around the country as it was when one had been single and unattached. 

His sister was happy. His sister was marrying a very good man. This soothed but did not erase the pain that would come with her absence at Pemberley.

***

Georgiana, now that the initial ecstatic rush from her engagement had passed, was beginning to feel the familiar nagging of her usual anxiety. What on earth did she know about being someone's wife? And the wife, too, of a future baronet! She was not at all prepared for this new life in front of her. And when she failed, as inevitably she would, she would no longer be involving herself alone in the misery. She would destroy Jonathan's happiness, be a discredit to the Metcalfe family, reflect poorly on Fitzwilliam…

Whenever her thoughts turned in this direction, she took to pacing once again. Though never a particular impulse of hers before this whole business with Jonathan, it was now a veritable habit. She was growing rather fearful for the carpet.

She had to talk to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was the very best person to confide in - not only because hers was the happiest and most successful marriage Georgiana had ever seen, and not only because she had a far greater estate than Fairview to manage, but because… well, Elizabeth was Elizabeth. Georgiana could trust her with anything. 

And so, after a tearful entreaty from Georgiana for assistance in not disgracing herself, Elizabeth began leading a course of instruction, covering everything from household tips to dealing with disagreements with one's husband. Georgiana, privately and childishly, referred to these as her Wife Lessons, and studied them as diligently as she had ever applied herself to practicing on the pianoforte.

"Perhaps the most important thing I can teach you," said Elizabeth one morning, "is that you must always talk to Jonathan. Do not keep secrets from him. I tell Fitzwilliam everything - all that I am feeling, all of my little concerns and fears. It is easy to share the big things with each other, but you must share all of the small things too, lest they grow into something larger and more unmanageable." She smiled at Georgiana and pressed her hand. "The rest of it, you will learn in time. You will make mistakes as you learn to be the mistress of your own home. You will have lovely days with Jonathan and you will have days that are more difficult. But through it all, you each must be the other’s closest confidante and the other's greatest comfort. If you are not, then what is the purpose of marrying at all?"

***

The end of the month brought the delivery of Lydia Wickham's third child - a girl - and some family gossip, gently whitewashed from Jane and gleefully snide from Kitty.

"Mama is disappointed that she now has three granddaughters and is still without a namesake," wrote Jane. "But," she continued with her usual sweet-natured delicacy, "her letter was written just after she had heard the news, and I am sure that she is perfectly cheerful now."

The latest of the Wickham progeny had been christened Angelica, much to the amusement of both Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam.

"I doubt the name will prove to be prophetic," said Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam gave a furtive little snigger in response.

"Lydia is greatly upset that she did not have another son," said Kitty when Elizabeth next visited the parsonage. "She thinks Wickham must be angry." Kitty bounced little James on her knee, looking thoughtful. "But Wickham pays very little notice to the sons he already has, so I should not think that he cares much about not adding to their number. And besides, a daughter will be a companion for Lydia."

Neither for the first nor the last time, Elizabeth felt a stab of pity for the Wickham children, but she did not dwell on it for long. The Darcys had always done what they could for the Wickhams, but they had their own family to look after. Their second child would be arriving before they knew it, and Anna was toddling around, saying more words, and already showing flashes of the independence and assuredness that so characterized her parents. Elizabeth would not allow the Wickhams to distract her from her own life and joys.

***

Jonathan was once again spending the day at Pemberley, and he and Georgiana had escaped out of doors (aided and abetted by Elizabeth) for a bit of privacy.

They were sitting on the little bench by the stream, hands intertwined; Georgiana had felt bold enough to rest her head on his shoulder, which had pleasantly surprised them both, and it was all very lovely and comfortable. Georgiana could have danced where she sat from the sheer joy of it.

“What made you wait so long to talk to me?” she teased gently. 

It was an odd thing, how freeing it was to be engaged. She could be panicky about her abilities as a future wife when she was alone, but as soon as she was with Jonathan, Georgiana felt suddenly playful and impertinent. She remembered those early days of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s marriage, when she had been so astonished by Elizabeth’s sportive behavior toward him. It made perfect sense to her now.

Jonathan had gone faintly pink at the ears. “I think I was rather frightened of speaking with your brother,” he said sheepishly, ducking his head and running his free hand over his neck. 

Georgiana laughed. “No, really.”

“Well, I did not wish to do the wrong thing,” he said, slowly and more seriously. “I did not wish to make you uncomfortable, should your feelings not be what mine were.”

“But I was so encouraging!” Georgiana burst forth indignantly.

He gave an embarrassed sort of grin. “I hoped that it was encouragement, but I did not want to assume anything beyond charitable kindness.”

Georgiana breathed an exasperated sigh. “I spent months in agony, wondering whether you cared for me!”

Jonathan gripped her hand tighter, looking more serious than ever. “Causing you pain was the last thing that I ever wanted.”

It hardly mattered now. She was too content and she did not want to dwell on her recent suffering.

“Was that all it was, then? Your fear of Fitzwilliam and of doing wrong?”

“No. I worried that I could not give you a better home or situation. It felt very much like presumption, asking you to leave the grandeur and happiness of Pemberley. What could I have to offer in comparison?”

She protested vehemently against this.

“And,” he said, looking down at their clasped hands, “you are the loveliest woman I have ever known. How could I possibly deserve you?”

He was such a dear, sweet man, and Georgiana couldn’t help herself: she kissed him, suddenly and firmly, before she could think better of it. 

Jonathan’s eyes widened in surprise, but only for a second. Then he was kissing her back, just as enthusiastically, and everything was so perfect that she wished she could pause time and live in this moment for a little while longer.

She wouldn’t say anything, as it was such a formidable standard to live up to, but Georgiana had a suspicion that she and Jonathan were going to be just as happy as Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth.

Chapter Text

The next several weeks were a whirl of frenzied activity at Pemberley, with preparations for Georgiana’s wedding underway. Both Georgiana and Jonathan were adamant in their desire for a small, simple wedding, but, as Elizabeth said, even that required quite a good deal of work. 

Darcy had, by and large, stayed out of it. He would spare no expense for his sister’s sake, but he left the details to Georgiana and the Metcalfes. He refused to step on anyone’s toes. 

Not, of course, that that was the only reason for his not overly involving himself. Now that the time was nearly upon them, he was finding it increasingly difficult to face the fact that his sister - the girl he had practically raised, in one way or another - would soon be a married woman, the mistress of her own home, and the future Lady Metcalfe. 

He was delighted for her. He was. All he had ever wanted was for Georgiana to be happy, and Jonathan Metcalfe, and their love for each other, and their future life together made her happy. Darcy would have sacrificed far greater than his own personal comfort to see her so. 

But it was no use denying that it was costing him his personal comfort. It was selfish of him, and silly, and wholly unreasonable, but his sister had been so thoroughly a fixture in his life and at Pemberley and even in his family with Elizabeth that the prospect of that changing left him feeling, it must be said, increasingly bereft. He shoved it aside as often as he could (though, admittedly, that was not very often at all) and spent long hours off by himself in the library, attempting to force himself into some semblance of rationality, but he was not sure how great his success was. 

He rather thought that inundating himself against the shock was a useless endeavor. He would only be able to properly face the loss after she had gone.

***

Georgiana’s wedding day was quickly approaching, and it had fallen to Elizabeth to have the awkward but necessary conversation with the bride-to-be.

“Well,” she said to Fitzwilliam afterward, “I have spoken to Georgiana.”

Georgiana had not met Elizabeth’s eyes once during that very uncomfortable half-hour, her face scarlet and her expression mortified. When Elizabeth had finally, blessedly run out of things to say, Georgiana had not left the room so much as fled from it. 

“How did it go?” asked Fitzwilliam, one eyebrow raised wryly. He gave her a look both commiserating and amused.

“I think I alarmed her,” said Elizabeth. 

She had not meant to, of course, but Georgiana was very innocent. It was important to prepare her for what was in store for the wedding night. 

Fitzwilliam winced.

“Oh,” said Elizabeth with more levity than she felt, “these things are never comfortable, you know. The talk I received from my mother was agonizing. She terrified poor Jane. I do not think this went nearly as poorly.”

They sat in a vaguely troubled silence for a few moments.

“It will all work itself out,” said Elizabeth stoutly. “It is the not knowing that is the problem, and now… now she knows what to expect.”

Good heavens, she hoped so. Elizabeth did not know how much Georgiana had actually heard while actively attempting to disappear into the sofa. 

***

Georgiana was not sure what her emotions were doing as the last of her hours as Miss Darcy slipped by. There was less than a day to go now before she would be exchanging that title for another. She was happy, she knew, even if she did not always feel so. She was often elated, and overcome, and so deliriously ecstatic that she was unable to attend to anything and instead wasted untold numbers of hours just whiling her time away, lost in a reverie created by her own felicity. 

But at other times, she was still terrified, still panicky. She worried about her own inadequacies and how they would affect her in her new role. She worried that Jonathan would grow weary of her. She worried about… well, everything that Elizabeth had told her, for one. She had received a few cryptic hints from Kitty about all of that, but Elizabeth had been very… frank. She had not covered everything in a haze of euphemism and innuendo, the way that Kitty had. 

Georgiana supposed she was grateful for the information, in an academic sort of way - it would have been far worse, she thought with a little shudder of horror, if she had gone into her married life totally blind - but in the meantime, it just added even more for her to be anxious about. 

And she was scared about the wedding itself: that something disastrous would happen, that she would do something wrong, that people would speak derisively of the spectacle. She did not enjoy the thought of so many eyes upon her as she made this enormous leap into wifehood, did not relish the idea of declaring her love and commitment to Jonathan in front of other people. She felt guilty about this reluctance - she was marrying him, for heaven’s sake; why should not she make it known that she adored him? - but she had never been one to lay her feelings and emotions bare to others. It was not that she did not feel those things for Jonathan. Of course she did. She only wished she did not have to make her vows in front of other people. The union in heart, body, and mind; loving and comforting and honoring; forsaking all others… was not it better to promise all of these things to each other without the need to say it in front of an audience? And of course, there were the parts about avoiding carnal lusts and the bearing of children and avoiding fornication. How would she be able to hear it all without blushing to the roots of her hair and fainting dead away in sheer embarrassment? 

But all of her fears were tempered by an equal measure of anticipation, her agonies with eagerness. She wanted to become Jonathan’s wife, even if she could do without the wedding ceremony itself. She could scarcely wait for tomorrow - for it to be over, certainly, but for all of the future happiness that would come as the result of this momentous and long-awaited occasion. 

It was only hours away now. What a terrifying and dizzying and extraordinarily amazing thought.

Chapter Text

Georgiana, when she had imagined this day, had thought she would be nervous. She thought she would be more anxious than she had ever been in her life.

And yet… she just wasn’t. The waiting had been immeasurably worse.

She was not, perhaps, perfectly calm, but nor was she worried. She seemed to have gotten rid of all of her dread and disquietude during the planning of her wedding. Now that the morning had arrived, however, she found herself remarkably at ease.

It was eager anticipation, she thought, trying out the words in her head and liking the sound of them. More than anything else, more than the fear she imagined she would feel, or the panic, or the stress, she merely felt expectant. She had found a man she loved - and who loved her in return! - who was kind and considerate and good. How silly she had been to fret about the trappings of this day! What time she had wasted, envisioning calamity! She had wanted this,  yearned for it, waited for it, mourned the idea of its never happening for her. Of course she was able to face it, now that it was here, with very little in the way of those nervous apprehensions that she was usually so prone to. 

It was a comforting thought, and a welcome one. She was doing the right thing. She had found the right husband. She was going to be happy - happier, probably, than she had ever dared to hope or dream.

She thought of Jonathan, wondering how he was feeling today. Restless, probably; hazel eyes round and wide, fingers fidgeting with his cravat. He would be wearing his dark green coat; Georgiana had requested it specifically. She thought he looked his handsomest in green. Perhaps not everyone appreciated his looks the way she did - his nose a little too long, his cheeks a little too thin - but she had never known a face so dear.

She grinned at herself, a little giddily, in the looking glass, her hair arranged gracefully, her gown beautiful, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparkling brightly. She was ready for today, and tomorrow, and for all of the days that would follow. 

She walked slowly to the door of her room, glanced around her, and left it for the final time as Miss Georgiana Darcy.

***

That couldn't be Darcy's little sister, the same baby he'd held hours after she was born while swearing to love and protect her forever. When had she had time to grow into the elegant young lady before him? Darcy tried to ignore the lump forming in his throat.

He didn't have important enough words to say, to tell her that she was stronger and more capable than she knew; that she deserved every happiness that came her way; that she was a kind, gentle, lovely young woman, and that he adored her. 

"I am so proud of you," he said, his voice a little gruff.

Georgiana beamed and hugged him, heedless of her delicate gown and carefully-arranged hair. "Oh, Fitzwilliam. I can never thank you enough, for everything. You are the very best brother in the world."

There were few things in life that had been a greater honor.

***

Darcy had never been all that interested in weddings. He had, in fact, always tried to avoid attending them. They were always full of such pomp and nonsense. Much better to have a small, private ceremony between the only two people involved and not invite it to become so much of a spectacle. 

Oh, he had very much enjoyed his own wedding, but that was because of what it signified: his union with Elizabeth. The wedding itself was utterly beside the point. He had just wanted to be married to her, after the misunderstandings and tension and strain that had so characterized their relationship (and his mental state) from the moment they had met. 

He was ill-qualified, therefore, to judge Georgiana’s wedding, for better or for worse. The church looked lovely, the ceremony went smoothly, Georgiana looked beautiful, and the only tears that were shed had been happy ones.

It still did not change his mind about weddings themselves. They were silly and unnecessarily showy and there was really something inherently awkward about them. Professions of deep emotion were uncomfortable enough when one could not be easily overheard by a crowd; making them in public was downright ostentatious. Darcy liked hearing them as little as he liked speaking them. 

Well, he did not mind speaking them to Elizabeth. He had not even felt like cringing while declaring them when they had married. He had worried about it beforehand, of course, but when the time had come, he would have gladly shouted his feelings to the whole of the country.

Being in love made you impervious to the shame of public pageantry, he supposed, though he could not imagine why that was. 

At any rate, Georgiana’s wedding had not been too painful - neither in embarrassment nor in grief - and she was radiant with happiness, which was what he truly cared about. As long as Georgiana was happy, he could bear with the rest of it.

***

The Metcalfes were married, the wedding was over, the food had been eaten, the guests were gone, and though Jonathan and Georgiana were to stay the night at Pemberley before traveling to Fairview in the morning, they had long since disappeared. It was just Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam now. 

Elizabeth glanced surreptitiously at her husband. Fitzwilliam had handled the day very well indeed. She had always known that he would, when called to exert himself. He had borne it all - the event, the people, his own conflicted emotions - with great fortitude and grace, and Elizabeth thought that she was the only one who could see that by the end of the day, his composure was beginning to slip. He looked weary around the eyes and mouth, and he had started to pinch the bridge of his nose when he thought he would not be observed. 

Georgiana might have noticed, had she not been so preoccupied, but Elizabeth had long since noted that one could grow self-involved and uncivil when one was in love. The new Mrs. Metcalfe had much more interesting things to think about on her wedding day than her brother’s well-being. She had eyes only for Jonathan, who looked dazed by his own felicity, and Elizabeth did not think that Georgiana had stopped beaming for one moment that day.

She could not blame her, and Fitzwilliam certainly did not. They were delighted to find her so wholly wrapped up in her own elation that she was quite unconcerned about anyone else’s. Elizabeth, however, had a much closer concern for her husband’s state of mind. She could tell that he wished to be alone, even away from her, to gather his thoughts and regain his usual degree of self-possession.

“I will go see how Anna is getting along,” Elizabeth said gently. “You have had a long day. You should go to the library for a little while, now that all is quiet.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, grateful for this simple, intimate understanding; Fitzwilliam pressed her hand warmly and kissed her forehead before they parted. 

It had been a good day, Elizabeth thought, and as soon as his initial sadness wore off, Fitzwilliam would be the first to agree. She knew how he adored Georgiana, how he always wanted the best for her. His joy for his sister would soon overtake his own despondency. 

Anna was awake when Elizabeth arrived at the nursery, and was made gleeful by the sight of her mother. This was what Fitzwilliam needed: Anna and Elizabeth and the tangible reality of their family that would remain at Pemberley.

Elizabeth scooped up their daughter - a more difficult task now, with the arrival of the second young Darcy so close at hand - and walked with her through the passages of the house and to the library. They would both be there when Fitzwilliam emerged, ready to greet him with smiles and comfort and hands to hold.

Chapter Text

The new Mrs. Metcalfe, though perfectly happy with her choice and eager to begin her life as a married woman, found leaving Pemberley more difficult than she had anticipated. When the time came, despite her promises to herself that she would not do so, she began to cry, embracing her brother and Elizabeth and trying courageously to smile through her weeping. 

Elizabeth, deeply affected herself, was unable to hold back her own tears, but she swiped them away impatiently and murmured words of congratulations and good cheer.

As the Metcalfes’ carriage drove away, Elizabeth looked up at her husband. He had been all smiles and comfort as she and Georgiana cried, but Elizabeth knew how badly he was taking the prospect of his younger sister’s leaving. His face, now that Georgiana had gone, was pale and drawn, his mouth tight and thin, his eyes dark and downcast. 

She took his hand and squeezed it.

“Jonathan is a good man,” she said softly.

“I know,” said Fitzwilliam.

“She will only be an hour away.”

“I know.” This, very quietly, swallowing hard.

Elizabeth increased her pressure on his hand.

“If we are not brave enough to face this,” she said, forcing herself to sound bright and airy, “how will we ever manage when Anna is married?”

Fitzwilliam made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “I do not want to think about it.”

“Well, we have a while yet,” Elizabeth said gently, drawing him close to her. 

Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be folded into Elizabeth’s embrace, closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair. He did not cry - he was not a crier; was not inclined to excessive displays of emotion in general - but his jaw was clenched and every muscle was taut, the telltale signs of his agitation. Elizabeth rubbed his back soothingly, hoping that her own presence, warm and loving and there, would comfort him, and they stood like that for quite some time.

“Come, Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth, when she felt him relax. “I do not wish to return to the house just yet. Let us take a little walk.”

And she led them slowly down their favorite path, never dropping his hand.

***

Georgiana was not entirely certain what she felt on this day, her official departure from Pemberley. She had found the leavetaking to be quite agonizing, but now that she had gone and the first shock was over, she was growing increasingly excited to be established in her new home. She took Jonathan’s hand and beamed up at him. He grinned back, lacing his fingers through hers. 

“I am sorry about Fairview,” he said, the smile still lingering on his face but a touch of worry now evident in his expression. “It is so very unsophisticated. You are used to far better at Pemberley. But that is fortunate, for the house and for me, as you will bring your taste and elegance to the place and it will be improved much faster through your influence than it would ever have been through mine alone.” He stopped suddenly, looking rather sheepish. “Pray, do not misunderstand me. I have not married you in order to force you into this employment, which is sure to be arduous and time-consuming. I only mean to say that Fairview is lucky to have such a very fine mistress. As am I.” He flushed. “Lucky, that is, to have married such a fine wife. And your ability to improve the place is the least of your charms.” He went pinker still. “Though, of course, it is a charm that is far from inconsiderable! I only mean to say--”

He was growing ever more flustered, his color heightening even as she looked at him. Georgiana found it all very endearing, but she leaned toward him to kiss him, thus silencing him in the most effective way she knew how. She thought he might enjoy being put out of his misery.

***

It would be maudlin and ridiculous and would deserve to be mocked if Darcy went to Georgiana’s now-empty room to stand there and to bury himself in his own melancholy thoughts. He was not prone to such displays of sentimentality and was generally impatient with those who were so. 

Still, there was a part of him (a small, easily-squashed one, thank God) that rather wanted to do it. 

It was just that he had gotten used to having his family under one roof - his wife, his sister, Anna, the child on the way - and he was mourning the loss of part of it. It was not an irrational reaction, really. Still, it was better not to give into the temptation to dwell on one’s unavoidable sorrows.

Instead, he distracted himself by playing with Anna.

“You will, I am certain, never meet a man worthy of you,” he said, tickling her and laughing at her high-pitched squeal of delight, “and you are perfectly welcome to remain at Pemberley forever.” He smoothed her hair. “In fact, I encourage it.”

“You are going to turn her against all men before she ever has anything to do with them.” 

He had not seen Elizabeth walk in, as his back was to the door, but he turned to face her now, to hold her gently against him and to kiss her temple. With Elizabeth in one arm and Anna in another, he had no right to complain about a thing. 

“That is absolutely my intention,” he said. “I issue no denials.” 

“Heaven help her, and any young man she eventually falls in love with. How will she ever meet anyone good enough to please you?”

“It will be impossible.”

He looked fondly at his daughter, her wide eyes and chubby cheeks and sweet smile, and could not help but to smile back. “But if she insists upon marrying one day, perhaps we will be able to persuade her and her unworthy husband to stay at Pemberley anyway.”

“To have Anna with us forever or to keep an eye on the poor man?”

“Both, naturally.”

Elizabeth laughed. Darcy watched her, her hair glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows, her beautiful eyes made even lovelier in her amusement, and felt an odd, pleasurable sort of ache in his chest. 

It was time to put his sadness aside. He could not hold on to it any longer, not when he was so fortunate in what he still had.

Chapter Text

The Darcys eagerly awaited Georgiana’s first letter as a married woman and were rewarded with pages and pages of ecstatic news from Fairview.

“You do both love to write a long letter,” said Elizabeth smilingly as she refolded it. “Well, she certainly sounds happy, and I do not think her capable of hiding it, if she felt otherwise.”

“We would be able to tell,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “Georgiana never was able to feign stoicism.” 

“Nor inclined to try to do so.”

“I am concerned that she may be somewhat romanticizing her new life. She finds all the work that must be done at Fairview to be a thrilling project now, but it is sure to be a long, unpleasant task, and a sobering prospect for a new bride.”

“Oh, I would not fret too much about it, my dear. You have done a splendid job raising her. She has turned out very well indeed and is more than able to meet the challenge.”

He flushed slightly and disclaimed any significant hand in the development of Georgiana’s merit, but Elizabeth stopped him mid-sentence.

“There is no use protesting against it, Fitzwilliam,” she said firmly. “You were a prodigious influence on her in her youth and you raised her into womanhood. You deserve your share of the credit for the marvelous way in which she has grown up. You got her through the death of both her parents, the most trying teenage years, the trauma of Wickham, and everything in between, and she has come out lovely and sweet and accomplished and good. Some of that is born out of a person’s innate character, but some of it comes from how they are brought up, and you have always been greater than a brother to Georgiana. You have been both mother and father to her, too. She is who she is partially through your guidance, and I could not be more pleased that Anna, and our next little friend, and however many children that may follow, have your exceptionally splendid example to use as a model.”

He was quite red now. Elizabeth smiled and took his hand. 

“Do not be embarrassed, Fitzwilliam. I speak nothing but the truth. Besides, you must know that I would have never settled for any man but the very best, so it should come as no surprise to you that I consider you the single most wonderful man I have ever known.” She grinned up at him winningly. “And there is not one of my acquaintance that comes particularly close to challenging you.” 

He murmured something, earnest and sweet, about her own claim as the best woman he had ever known, but Elizabeth cut him off with a kiss.

“Oh, you do not need to tell me such things. I have an enormously high opinion of myself, as you well know. Only imagine the strength of one’s self-regard, to consider oneself worthy of being your wife!” She toyed playfully with the curls at the nape of his neck. “And I do consider myself that worthy.”

He showed her how very much he agreed.

***

It was not long after the arrival of Georgiana’s letter that Darcy received a message from a rather more unexpected quarter: from Mr. Horatio Thomas.

Though Thomas had been slowly but dutifully paying back the money Darcy had loaned him, the two did not correspond in any way, and certainly not in a meaningful one. The sight, therefore, of Thomas’s careless scrawl took Darcy aback, and it was shortly followed by a feeling of deep apprehension. He could not imagine why the man was writing to him now, but he was sure it could not be for any sort of agreeable reason. 

But to his further surprise (and to his grudging respect), the letter did not contain any notably bad tidings. Instead, it detailed a decided shift in Thomas’s character.

You will be interested to hear, he wrote, after the introductory niceties had been made, that I have found George Wickham.

Darcy’s head gave a particularly painful throb as he prepared himself for the worst, but Thomas continued:

I did not go looking for him, as I am sure you are imagining, but met him quite unexpectedly at a dinner party hosted by a mutual acquaintance. Though the setting forced my hand, as far as civility was concerned, I soon realized that I felt more contempt for Wickham than anger and that it was too much of a bother to do anything but ignore him. You were quite correct when you said that he could not be worked on. I see that now. Both you and my very excellent wife have persuaded me to let bygones be bygones, and so I write to assure you that you have no future violence to worry about, from me at least, and that I am determined to repay you for your generosity as quickly as I can. My compliments to Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Metcalfe. 

Your obedient servant,

Horatio Thomas

Darcy was rather astonished by the whole thing.

“Your good influence is spreading, my dear,” said Elizabeth, kissing his cheek. “You are the model of the perfect gentleman for all of the country; or for all of our acquaintance, at the very least.”

He had always taken this as a gentle joke, but it appeared that she might just have a point.

Good heavens.

***

Georgiana looked around Fairview and smiled to herself. There was certainly no escaping its gaudiness and lack of taste. It was, indeed, nothing compared with Pemberley, and in quiet moments, she admitted that she missed Pemberley so much that it ached.

And yet… she felt no longing to go back; not to live there, at any rate. That part of her life was behind her - a sweet and cherished memory - and she had new dreams to look forward to, new memories to make here, in her grand, ugly house with her kind, good husband. 

She breathed a contented sort of sigh. She had waited for what felt like forever for this feeling. She had spent so much time longing for love and connection and companionship. It was still hard to believe that this was her life now and not one of her old, wistful daydreams, but it was real and it was here and she could barely contain the sheer felicity of it all. 

It had been said many times before and by many different people, but she truly was the happiest creature in the world.

Chapter Text

Pemberley was once more a flurry of bustling activity. Maids hurried hither and thither, directed briskly by Mrs. Reynolds. Doctor Hooper was called in, at the master’s insistence. Orders were given that Mrs. Darcy must immediately receive whatever she asked for. 

“How is that different from any other day of the year?” tittered one of the maids.

“Hush,” smiled another. “They are sweet.”

Mrs. Darcy, for her part, was calm and undemanding, acting for all the world as though nothing extraordinary was happening that day. 

The same could not be said for her husband. 

Mrs. Reynolds, with that peculiar power she had - part housekeeper and part surrogate grandmother - gently but firmly led the master to the same room he had used, not so very long ago, to wait out the birth of his first daughter. 

He still jumped at every noise. He still drove himself into a panic. He still paced and rushed out frequently to hear the latest news. He still did not eat or sleep or concentrate on anything else. Experience had not lessened his anxiety. 

Mrs. Reynolds saw it all with pain and sympathy, but knew there was nothing she could do to help. They must all wait, either patiently or impatiently, for it to be over. 

And then, finally - finally - there was the sound of a cry; there were joyful faces; there was a flow of congratulatory exclamations. The father comprehended very little of it. He acknowledged it vaguely, as though in a daze. Everything and everyone was a blur to him as he staggered into the room where his wife sat up, beaming. She was the only clear thing in the world, with her bright eyes and glowing countenance, and as he made his way to her, she presented him with the latest addition to their family.

***

Darcy was exhausted. 

He hadn't even done anything - certainly nothing compared with Elizabeth - and yet he felt utterly drained, from worry and terror and elation and delight. 

He wondered if this was ever going to get less wearying; if he would ever lose that feeling, numb and helpless, that came with the birth of his children.

He rather suspected the opposite. Every child added to his happiness; every child was a danger to Elizabeth; every child meant there was more for him to lose if…

He couldn't even think it.

He gazed down at their new daughter, cradled in his arms, instead. She was bigger than Anna had been, with less hair and a red, disgruntled-looking face.

She was beautiful. 

"Jane Catherine Georgiana Darcy," said Elizabeth, smiling down at her.

Darcy raised an eyebrow. Much of the name had already been decided on, but Elizabeth had made a last-minute addition. "Catherine?"

Elizabeth’s smile grew wider. "I thought you might tell the Fitzwilliams that it is in honor of your aunt."

“I was not aware that my aunt deserved to be honored.”

“Oh, but it is such a simple way to build goodwill.” She looked at him mischievously. “Besides, it is only what we need tell them. It can be our secret that we are actually honoring Kitty.”

He laughed, giddy with relief and his own happiness. 

Jane Catherine Georgiana Darcy. He couldn't wait to get to know her.

***

It had been two weeks since their little Jane had arrived at Pemberley, and as perfectly lovely as the baby was, and as delightful as Elizabeth found their family life, she was enjoying a little respite, while both Jane and Anna slept. She took full advantage of the quiet by going on a walk with Fitzwilliam. 

"I have finally heard from my mother," she said smilingly. "She has been suffering greatly from her nerves, it seems, and could not write to me sooner. I do not think she knows what to make of her least favorite child finally giving her a namesake."

"I thought we agreed that Jane is named for your sister," said Fitzwilliam wryly.

"Oh, you and I know that, of course, but I did not see any reason to inform Mama of the fact." She grinned at him. "It is too great an entertainment to behold her confusion. She never expected me to show her this greatest maternal honor."

"Still, you have not been her least favorite child since we married," he teased.

"Oh, I do not know, Fitzwilliam. I believe she still loves Lydia most of all, and Jane is such an angel, and Mary is the only one of us who did not leave her. It is either Kitty or me who she loves least, and I always gave her the most trouble. I dare say that, after the initial surprise had worn off, your money and greatness did not raise me much in her esteem."

“But by naming our child Jane, that will mean that you are shown greater favor?”

“Only until one of my sisters has a Jane of their own. Then Mama will be able to return to thinking of me as the least dear of her children without any conflicted emotions.”

“Or perhaps this will alter you permanently in her opinion, and she will be very often with us here at Pemberley.”

“Do not joke about such things, Fitzwilliam.”

Elizabeth held his arm tighter and leaned her head against his shoulder, smiling up at that spot where their daughters slept in the nursery, feeling so enormously satisfied that she thought it might actually be indecent. Life was not perfect, but it was close enough, and she was so grateful for all of it that it left her speechless. To have this home, and this husband, and these children… what had she or anyone ever done to deserve such happiness? How was she so lucky, when others were much less fortunate?

She brushed those thoughts aside. You could not dwell on life’s injustices. She certainly could not. She could only live for today, for this moment, for her young and growing family. She did not know what the future held, but she would meet it bravely and cheerfully, with Fitzwilliam by her side. She could not ask for more than that. 

They wandered idly through the grounds with no particular destination or goal, their minds similarly bent in that benignly self-involved way that can occur among the thoroughly content. All that mattered was here. Oh, one could not cut oneself off from the world, and they had friends and family that they cherished. They were not so absorbed in themselves as to feel that their little party was their only source of happiness.

But in the end, what was most important of all was the four of them: Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth and Anna and Jane - the Darcys of Pemberley.