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The next morning, Georgiana rose late from her rumpled bed with grim determination.

After a lonely breakfast in her room (she could not face the family breakfast room alone again), she sat down at her writing desk and penned two notes in her clearest script.

The first was soon on its way to Gracechurch Street, inviting Miss Elizabeth Bennet to spend the afternoon with her.

The second note was given over to the butler to deliver to her brother immediately upon Elizabeth’s arrival at Derwent House. Miss Darcy gave careful instructions that, should her brother refuse to open it, Holmes or Hawkins was to read it aloud to him.

My dear Brother,

Miss Elizabeth Bennet will be spending the afternoon with me and I hope to take her on a tour of our home. I would be very happy if you joined us for tea.

Georgiana

Miss Darcy was not certain what response she was hoping to garner from her note.

Ideally, Fitzwilliam would clean himself up and join them.

She had a brief flight of fancy in which she would include her brother’s rooms on Elizabeth’s tour of the house and that lady would tease Will out of his funk.

Georgie was certain that Miss Bennet was fully capable of it but unsure if Darcy would ever forgive his sister for allowing his beloved to see him in such a state.

The messenger soon returned with a note from Gracechurch Street accepting her invitation and Georgiana was left with several hours to pass before her visitor arrived.

She attempted a book on the history of the Roman Empire but soon abandoned it in favor of a lighter book of verse, though it didn’t hold her attention for long, either.

She turned to a piece of embroidery that was half finished but succeeded only in stabbing her finger several times.

Returning the offending needlework to her workbasket, Georgiana slumped back in her chair with a most unladylike grumble.

Looking around her room, she was struck with a sudden wish that the Derwent House servants would not be quite so efficient—she had a great desire to straighten, sort, or clean something.

For a moment she considered finding the linen closet and refolding the sheets.

It was probably lucky for the housekeeper’s nerves that Miss Darcy’s eyes fell upon her own desk and bookshelves at that moment.

Instead of joining the scullery maid in the kitchens washing dishes, Georgiana spent the remainder of the morning organizing her correspondence and alphabetizing her books.

As for many, a tidy house begat a tidy mind and before she knew it was time to prepare herself for her visitor.

Elizabeth arrived promptly, descending from the Gardiner carriage and blowing into the foyer of Derwent House with a gust of May wind.

Miss Darcy did her best to focus on her guest and hide her emotional distress as they greeted each other.

Even so, Elizabeth caught a glance between the young mistress and the butler that led her to intuit that something was not quite right.

The two ladies were just sitting down to tea in the music room when the butler announced Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth easily recognized that her new friend was just as surprised as she was.

She watched carefully, but there was no sign that Mr. Bingley viewed Miss Darcy as anything other than the young sister of his good friend.

She did notice that the gentleman appeared a little thinner than he had been in Hertfordshire and had shadows on his face suggesting a lack of sleep.

His eyes seemed to search her face with a desperate intensity that she had never seen in him before, and in a flash of intuition she guessed that he was looking for similarities to her sister.

As her two guests were greeting each other, Georgiana was thinking furiously.

Her ploy to lure Fitzwilliam from his rooms with a visit from Miss Elizabeth had not worked and she could not take a single lady into his apartment, however good her intentions.

But Mr. Bingley… even in his worst moments, her brother had stressed his intention to confess everything to his friend and surely Mr. Bingley could cheer up anyone short of a corpse.

Mind made up, Georgiana waited for a natural break in the conversation.

“Mr. Bingley, I know that my brother wished to see you immediately upon your return from Yorkshire. However, he is unwell and was forced to remain in his rooms today. It is nothing contagious, I assure you, but would you mind visiting him in his chambers? I know he very much wished to speak with you.” Georgiana finished in a rush, slightly embarrassed by her prevarication to such a gentle, friendly man.

As she expected, Mr. Bingley was all concern and friendliness.

“Of course! I admit that my purpose in calling was to see your brother. Darcy’s note left me very curious—hence my appearance on your doorstep just an hour after my return to London.

But is he well enough to receive a visitor?

I can’t imagine Darcy being ill—he always seems immune to whatever befalls us lesser mortals. ”

Georgiana was already leading him to the door where a footman would guide him to her brother’s private sitting room.

“Oh, your visit will do him a great deal of good. He can tell you all about it.” And with that, Charles Bingley was bustled off to visit his friend.

It was only after he had departed up the stairs that Georgie realized that Holmes himself was doing the honors.

She smiled slightly; her Aunt Eleanor had once told her that the best servants knew what their master or mistress wanted before they knew it themselves.

Georgiana’s smile vanished when she turned back to the room and saw the concerned look on Miss Bennet’s face.

“Mr. Darcy is ill?” Unable to conceal her worry in the face of such genuine solicitude, the younger girl burst into tears and was soon guided to a settee and wrapped in Elizabeth’s arms, taking comfort as her back was rubbed and soothing noises made.

“Is this what it would be like to have a sister?” she wondered to herself inconsequently.

Meanwhile, Charles Bingley was having a very odd afternoon.

Guided upstairs by the butler, he gave it little thought when the servant tapped on a door that was opened by Hawkins, Mr. Darcy’s valet.

It was a little strange that the two led him through the master’s dressing room but if Darcy was indeed ill, then perhaps the rooms had been rearranged to suit whatever his needs were.

It was not until Mr. Bingley stepped into his friend’s private sitting room that he realized that something was definitely wrong.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, owner of half of Derbyshire, nephew of the Earl of Matlock, and head of the illustrious Darcy family was seated on the floor by a large chest that he appeared to have been pushing to block the hall door.

He was dressed only in an untucked shirt and breeches and appeared to be growing an impressive set of whiskers.

“Charles?” asked a slurred voice. At that moment, Mr. Bingley noticed the half-empty whiskey bottle in his friend’s hand. He was too stunned to reply.

“Charles? Is that you? Or perhaps I’m to be visited by phantoms all the people I’ve wronged… serves me right… half of England will be here…”

Bingley shook his head. He might never have seen Darcy soused to the eyeballs before but he certainly had experience with friends drowning themselves in a bottle and could recognize a maudlin drunk at fifty paces.

“Hullo, Darce. I’m just back from Yorkshire and dropped by. Miss Darcy sent me up. How are you?” He adopted a light tone even as he studied the other man carefully.

“Oh… course she sent you up… I’s afraid she’d send HER .

” Suddenly Darcy looked up from the patch of carpet he had been studying.

“But how’d you get in? Thought I’d battened down the hatches so’s any raiders couldn’t…

couldn’t… get in.” After waving the whiskey bottle around the room, Darcy peered up at the other man.

“Can’t let ’em in, you know. Hurts too much. ”

Charles didn’t know, exactly, but he had enough information to be of service to his friend.

The first step was to separate the man from the immediate source of his downfall.

Keeping his tone friendly and conversational, he bent down on his knees.

“Hmmm… Well, I’ve pulled up the gangplank behind me and Hawkins is guarding it so I’d say we’re safe for the present. ”

When Darcy grunted and seemed somewhat mollified, Charles continued.

“Mind if I have a taste of that? I’ve just spent an hour being henpecked by Caroline; apparently I’ve wrecked her Season because I wasn’t in town to provide an escort.

” He was pleased when the other man grunted and handed over the bottle.

“Must tell ’er I’m not going to marry ‘er. Not going to marry anyone, but ‘specially not her. Too much orange… feathers… can’t be natural.”

Bingley hid his smirk at his friend’s slurred words by rising and carrying the bottle to the side door where he had entered. He was not surprised to find both Hawkins and Holmes on the other side. Handing them the bottle, he spoke quietly and then returned to his unlikely charge.

“Hope you don’t mind, Darce; I’ve asked Hawkins to bring us some food. I’m a tad peckish after the carriage ride this morning. We came straight on from Biggleswade without a stop.”

It was odd to find himself in the role of caretaker but Bingley assumed the mantle without much thought.

He seated himself on the floor and listened to Darcy’s drunken ramblings with only minor contributions until the food arrived.

Then he helped his friend to a pair of armchairs by the window and encouraged him to eat some sandwiches and drink a large mug of strong coffee.