Darcy could not imagine the man giving anyone useful spiritual advice. His devotion to Lady Catherine far outweighed his devotion to a more divine being. He glowered at Collins until the other man’s face was a deep red and then said, “You are forgiven.” Collins’s mouth dropped open in shock while Darcy turned to Mrs. Bennet and solicited her opinion on the day’s weather.
***
“Georgiana?” Darcy knocked gently on his sister’s door, torn between demanding she open it and not distressing her further. She had been delighted when he returned from Hertfordshire three days ago and had eagerly regaled him with all the latest gossip which they had missed during their time abroad.
Her spirits had been somewhat muted at breakfast, but she claimed only to experience a little fatigue. She had then joined two friends from school for a morning shopping expedition that was expected to take most of the day. Anticipating that he would have uninterrupted hours, Darcy had settled into his study to review his correspondence.
He had only been toiling away at the task for two hours when he heard a commotion in the front hallway. He arrived just as Georgiana disappeared up the front stairs and into her bedchamber. The footman who had accompanied her had been able to offer no explanation, except that she and her friends had visited a coffee shop after the mantua makers. Georgiana had emerged alone, tight-lipped and desperate to return to Darcy House at once. He did not know what had occurred to agitate her.
Elizabeth cared so tenderly for her sisters and everyone at Longbourn; if only she could talk to his sister. It was a silly flight of fancy, for the two women were unlikely to ever meet. But he could remember how she cared for Jane when her sister was sick at Netherfield, how she watched over her sisters, and how she provided food for the tenants. Darcy always strove to treat his sister with patience and understanding, and yet sometimes he was completely at a loss—not understanding her or knowing what to do.
If Elizabeth were here, he just knew she would be the right person for Georgiana to speak with.
He ran both hands through his hair, disheveling it. Elizabeth was not here, and he needed to cope with the situation himself.
Darcy knocked a little more forcefully. “Georgie? Dearest? Will you please tell me what has distressed you?” He turned the doorknob again, but it was still locked. Should he leave and return, hoping she would be of a mind to talk later? Or should he insist on seeing her now to ensure her well-being?
Damnation! Darcy slumped against the wall as if he could no longer hold himself upright. During their travels, Georgiana had seemed confident and in high spirits. Darcy had been sure she was finally prepared to come out and celebrate her London Season.
But they had only returned a little over a week ago, and her old anxieties and doubts already seemed to be creeping back. She had said she did not want another companion, but perhaps Darcy should engage one anyway…
Suddenly, the lock clicked, and the door swung open. Darcy quickly straightened and slipped into the room while he could. Georgiana, tear-stained and disheveled, stood in the shadows behind the door, clinging to the handle. “Dearest?” he asked. She had removed the pins from her hair so that it tumbled in unruly golden waves around her shoulders.
She took two steps and was in his arms, clinging to him as he enfolded her in a fierce embrace. Although she was no longer crying, her entire body trembled. After a long moment, she slid from his arms and stumbled to the fainting sofa, collapsing onto it in a pile of light blue muslin. After closing the door, Darcy followed her, taking up a chair beside the sofa.
“I pray you, tell me what is distressing you.” He winced at the pleading tone in his voice. “Did you have a quarrel with Marianne or Emma?” Silently Darcy prayed this was not the case; he had no confidence in his ability to mediate friendship disputes among young women.
Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. “If only it were that simple. No, my friends are not the source of my anguish—or not the primary source.”
The unhappiness twisting her face made his heart ache. Leaning forward, he took one of her hands. “Will you tell me?”
She sighed, releasing his hand as she curled up on the sofa. “After we visited the mantua maker, Marianne suggested we visit the coffee shop for coffee and sweets. She and Emma were talking about the Season and their coming out balls. They were so excited about it, talking about the gowns they would wear and the men they would dance with.” She gave a self-deprecating laugh. “It sounds exhausting.”
“You know you need not attend every event, my dear,” Darcy said. “Only the ones you feel comfortable accepting.”
Georgiana bit her lip and nodded. “I know, but… They were so excited about the prospect, and I could only feel…dread. It built and built until I believed I would…explode from the pressure! So I hurried out of the shop and asked Briggs to hail a hansom for us.”
Darcy’s heart twisted in his chest. “No doubt it will be frightening at first. Anything new always is. But soon you will become more comfortable with the social whirl and—”
She sat up suddenly, swinging her feet over the edge of the sofa. “But I am not like them! I am not like the other girls! Not after what happened with Mr. Wickham.”
For the thousandth time, Darcy cursed Wickham’s name. At the moment he wanted to wrap his fingers around the man’s neck. The damage he had done to Georgiana’s self-confidence was incalculable.
“Nobody knows what passed between you and Wickham. You did not conceive a child, fortunately. You were right not to elope with him and to tell me.” Darcy thanked God for the hundredth time that when Wickham had taken advantage of Georgiana’s ignorance, it had not resulted in a baby. His seduction of Georgiana had left enough scars.
“What if somebody guesses? What if I do or say something and—”
“Dearest,” he interrupted, “it is not written on your face. Nobody will guess.” He moved from his chair to sit beside her on the sofa. He stroked her hair like she was a little girl again as she leaned her head against his shoulder.
“But what if no man will want to marry me after he learns the truth?”
&n
bsp; Darcy’s face hardened. “If something so insignificant matters to any man, then he is not worthy of being your husband. You are not ruined, dearest. The right man will love you for who you are and will understand you made a mistake.”
She hung her head. “The world is not very forgiving of women who make mistakes.”
That is true, Darcy thought ruefully. Wherever Lydia Bennet was, she was suffering for her momentary foolishness with Wickham—and the rest of her family along with her. Darcy had managed to conceal Georgiana’s indiscretion, but it could have implications for her future. He should not tell her otherwise when it might not be true.