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.