Page 33 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but at that very moment, a familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Darcy! I had no idea you invited your sister and cousin!” Bingley called cheerfully as he bounded across the gravel, cravat slightly askew.

Darcy turned, his mouth tight. “I… did not.”

Before he could say another word, Georgiana’s head whipped around, her expression transforming as if a mask had dropped. A sugary smile curved her lips, her eyes sparkling with sudden animation.

“Oh! Mr. Bingley,” she cooed, leaning forward with theatrical delight. “How lovely it is to see you again. You simply must show me this charming house of yours. I have missed you dearly .”

She stepped down from the carriage with unnatural grace, ignoring Darcy’s offered hand in favor of taking Bingley’s arm and pressing herself against it ever so slightly.

Bingley froze, visibly unsure what to do.

Darcy stared in mute horror.

Georgiana giggled, twirling her bonnet ribbon between her fingers. “It is such a pretty place,” she said breathlessly, batting her lashes. “Will you give me a tour?”

Darcy’s voice was cool, controlled. “I believe, Sister, that Mr. Bingley has many arrangements to oversee—particularly now that you have arrived without warning.”

Bingley looked to him, eyes wide with gratitude, and nodded quickly. “Of course, yes, yes, quite right.”

“Besides, I wish to speak to you… alone.” Darcy’s voice was low, threatening.

But Georgiana clung a little tighter to his arm.

“There is no need for privacy,” she said with practiced sweetness. “After all, Mr. Bingley is practically family .” Her voice dipped slightly on the word.

Bingley turned scarlet and looked to Darcy again, silently pleading for rescue.

Darcy gave him a nearly imperceptible shake of the head. “No,” he said firmly. “He really must go, and you will attend me. Bingley, which room might we use until some can be prepared for these two?”

Bingley did not wait to be told twice. “Quite right, quite right—I shall… tell my sister… about the rooms,” he called over his shoulder as he almost tripped up the front steps. “The small yellow parlor near the library will do nicely, yes?”

Darcy did not respond, because Georgiana was now openly pouting .

“You are no fun,” she muttered under her breath.

As soon as Bingley was safely out of earshot, her entire demeanor changed. The smile vanished, and her eyes darkened with fury.

“You ruined everything,” she snapped, voice low and venomous. “You always do.”

Darcy’s jaw clenched. He stepped forward, took hold of her arm—not harshly, but firmly—and said nothing as he all but marched her through the front door, Colonel Fitzwilliam trailing wearily behind.

Georgiana did not fight him. In fact, she smiled again—at the footman they passed in the hall, with a coy tilt of her head that made Darcy’s stomach churn.

Once in the yellow parlor, he shut the door behind them with a finality that made even Georgiana blink.

“Sit,” he said, voice low.

She flounced onto the settee.

He crossed his arms. “Now. Explain. Everything.”

Georgiana opened her mouth to speak, but Darcy held up a hand to silence her. She glared at him and slouched back into the sofa, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Richard?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed and sank into a chair, rubbing his eyes with his hands. “I did not know what else to do, Darcy. There was absolutely no other choice.”

Darcy waited.

“She has become completely ungovernable. Refuses to follow any schedule laid out for her. Mrs. Younge tried everything—lessons, letters, music, gentle walks, even new frocks as incentive. None of it worked. If she was meant to go to the piano room, I would have to lift her from her bed and carry her there myself. If she was scheduled to read, she would tear pages from the books. She locked Mrs. Younge out of her own sitting room at one point and set her petticoat on fire in the fireplace ‘for amusement.’”

Darcy gawked at his cousin. “Surely you must be joking.”

“I wish I were. She would not even bathe unless I threatened to summon the apothecary to bleed her for malingering. Darcy, it was getting dangerous. The neighbors were beginning to talk. I had to confine her to her rooms, and even that proved inadequate. We had to post two footmen—one outside her door, one beneath her window—because she would shout that she was going to run away to find her dear George if we so much as turned our backs.”

Georgiana snorted and smiled faintly at the mention of Wickham.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his temples. “Mrs. Younge was doing her best. She promised to remain until I found a replacement, but yesterday morning—” He broke off and shook his head.

Darcy’s voice was tight. “What happened?”

“She tried to rouse Georgiana from bed. Georgiana refused. Mrs. Younge—frustrated, exhausted—took up a glass of water and warned her she would pour it on her head if she did not rise. Georgiana responded by throwing her chamber pot—her full chamber pot—at the poor woman.”

Darcy inhaled sharply.

“It struck her arm,” the colonel continued. “Hard. Bruised and swollen now. The filth ruined the bedding and carpet. Georgiana thought it was hilarious.” He shot the girl a look of disbelief.

Georgiana gave a theatrical shrug. “It was. You should have seen her face.”

Darcy turned to her, stunned. “It is no laughing matter.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “You are such an old fuddy-duddy.”

The surge of anger came so swiftly, Darcy literally saw red in front of his eyes.

At that moment, a knock sounded. “Darcy?” came Bingley’s genial voice. “The rooms are ready.”

Georgiana’s entire manner transformed. She sprang up with a bright, simpering smile and darted toward the door, calling sweetly, “Mr. Bingley! What perfect timing. And where are your dear sisters? Oh, I cannot wait to take tea with them this evening and catch up on everything . You know, I feel like they are my own sisters.”

Darcy stepped sharply between her and the doorway. “You will not. You are not out, and you are under my guardianship. You will dine in your room, and a tray will be brought.”

She tossed her head and laughed, twirling a curl around her finger. “And what exactly will prevent me from coming downstairs at dinner anyway? I am far too big for you to throw over your knee.”

Darcy gaped at her.

She grinned and added mockingly, “Besides, you will have to let me visit with them at some point—or people might talk. Would not that be tragic , brother dearest? A scandal about the famed Darcy name?”

Pressing his lips together, Darcy did not respond. Instead, he crossed the room and opened the door. Bingley stood waiting, his brow furrowed in concern.

“I shall take her upstairs myself,” Darcy said quietly. “Might I have the key?”

Bingley blinked. “Of course.” He passed it to him without question.

Darcy grasped his sister’s arm. She did not resist, only swayed her hips slightly and batted her eyes at the footmen as they passed. Once inside the guest corridor, he stopped at the small yellow bedroom. Without ceremony, he unlocked the door, pushed her in, and shut it again.

“You will remain here until you can conduct yourself like a young lady.” Darcy locked the door with a sharp turn of the key and stepped back just as the knob jiggled violently.

“Do not dare, Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana shrieked from within, her fists pounding against the wood. “You have no right! I hate you!”

Darcy said nothing.

There was a pause. Then her voice dropped into a falsely calm sing-song: “Fine. Let us see how well you manage to keep this from the servants.”

A moment of silence—and then came the shattering crash of porcelain against plaster, accompanied by a feral scream.

Another. Then something heavier struck the floor with a deafening thud.

“I” - crash- “HATE” - crash- “YOU !” she howled again, her voice raw with fury.

Darcy turned away, his chest heaving, but he forced himself to remain upright. From inside the room came another crash—glass this time, unmistakable in its delicate, high-pitched ruin.

A footman rounded the corner, eyes wide, and Colonel Fitzwilliam hastily stepped forward. “We have it in hand,” he said tersely. “Thank you.”

The man nodded and vanished, retreating hastily.

Darcy pressed his hand to his temple and exhaled.

From beside him, the colonel’s voice was quiet. “What are we going to do?”

Darcy looked straight ahead, jaw clenched. “I do not know. But I know someone who might.”