“With complete certainty,” replied Georgiana firmly. “When we arrived in London, I found him greatly changed from the gentleman he had been at Pemberley, more thoughtful and reserved; but ever since he learnt that you too had come here, he has seemed…lighter.”
Georgiana paused again. As she had done more than once already, she hesitated before the final word and fell silent,standing still uncertain upon that boundary between childhood and maturity, yet eager to appear a young lady entirely sure of herself.
“I doubt I can have had any influence upon it,” replied Elizabeth.
Without intending it, those words unleashed an adorable torrent concerning her brother and Pemberley, mixing everything together and, in the end, Elizabeth herself. Georgiana spoke, smiled, and blushed in delightful succession, revealing, willingly or not, a truth she had evidently felt compelled to express.
Yet when she said, “My brother is different when you are near him,” it became clear that she knew what she was talking about. That unsettled Elizabeth still more, for of one thing she was certain: Darcy would never use his sister to convey a message. And yet Georgiana’s words contained one, though it appeared to come solely from her own observations.
As Elizabeth said nothing, evidently too surprised to speak, Georgiana continued.
“Pemberley has flourished. I do not remember how it was when my mother lived, but everyone has told me the same thing, that at last our home has returned to the cheerfulness it possessed in her time.”
“Perhaps Mr Darcy has finally exhausted the grief he felt after the loss of your parents, and the result has been a desire to restore the traditions your mother established.”
“We exhausted our grief long ago, but our family never returned to what it had been before our parents died,” she replied with sincerity. “Something entirely different is at work. Lady Fletcher told me that Fitzwilliam is at last ready to bring a mistress to Pemberley.”
Elizabeth blushed so deeply that poor Georgiana said, almost fearfully this time, “Forgive me. Forgive me. I do notknow what has come over me. I have never spoken so much in all my life. Have I offended you?”
She looked at Elizabeth with alarm, and Elizabeth managed to smile.
“No. Why should you offend me?”
She might have appeared displeased by Georgiana’s frankness, yet in truth she could not remember ever having felt so bewildered and disconcerted. She loved him; of that she was certain. Yet all their conversations had concerned apologies for what had been wrong or improper in the things they had once said to one another. Never once had Darcy spoken of his proposal or of the love he had declared then. His love for her had been crowded between reproaches and conflict, but even that dreadful mixture remained proof of his love. At Pemberley, he had behaved as though friendship were all he now felt for her. Against such a thing, she could not contend.
Georgiana’s awkward and incomplete words had revealed another possibility. Perhaps he still loved her.
“I have offended you. It is perfectly clear,” murmured Georgiana.
“No. I am disconcerted, not offended,” Elizabeth replied firmly, for she felt the need to speak honestly.
“Why are you disconcerted?”
“By what you have said.”
The girl pressed her hands to her cheeks, as though wishing either to hide herself or apologise.
“Good heavens, I scarcely know what I have said. But I want Fitzwilliam to be happy so very much. And I am certain he has something he wishes to tell you and…he is so reserved that he does not know how.”
At last, Elizabeth smiled. Georgiana’s interpretation of events, her understanding of her brother, was so pure and sincere that Elizabeth could not help loving her for it.
Without glancing at her purse which contained the cameo, for this concerned herself alone, she said, “I, too, have something I should like to tell him.”
“Indeed, Miss Elizabeth?”
The voice came from the doorway.
Both ladies turned with a start towards the door, which had opened without sound, or perhaps they had been too absorbed in their conversation to hear it. One thing, however, was certain. Darcy had heard what they were saying, or at least her final words.
“Georgiana, pray leave us alone.”
“No,” Elizabeth stammered.
Neither of them paid the slightest attention.
She watched him move one of the armchairs and place it directly in front of her. Then he sat down, very close indeed.
“So, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, “what is it that you wished to tell me?”