Page 35 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)
Darcy nodded miserably. “It struck Mrs. Younge quite hard. She resigned on the spot.”
“Good heavens,” Mr. Bennet murmured.
“I certainly cannot blame her,” Elizabeth said. “The poor woman.”
“I—I do not know what to do,” Darcy said, his voice low. “I have completely failed my sister.”
“No,” Elizabeth said at once. “You have done the best you could under difficult circumstances. It sounds as though you have done more than most brothers would even attempt.”
“Then how has it gone so utterly wrong?” Darcy’s shoulders slumped.
“Even though it may not seem like it,” Elizabeth said, “most poor behavior does have a logical reason, even if that logic only makes sense to that person. You need to start looking for the why of the behavior.”
“I do not even know where to begin.”
The despair in Darcy’s tone nearly broke Elizabeth’s heart. “When did all of this begin?” she asked gently.
He sighed. “It was such a gradual shift. I first became aware of her temperament changing some three years ago. She had just turned twelve years of age, and she starting acting sullen and withdrawn. I thought perhaps she was lonely, so my cousin Richard—he is her other guardian—and I agreed to send her to finishing school, one that came highly recommended by my aunt, Lady Matlock.”
Mr. Bennet snorted. “I imagine that she returned from there as a completely different creature.”
“Precisely,” Darcy groaned. “I visited her weekly when I was in London, but she only grew colder and more distant. I told myself she simply needed time to adjust. That it was adolescence, or grief over losing our father, or growing pains. But now…”
His voice trailed off, heavy with guilt.
“Did she enjoy school?”
“No. It was rigid. Competitive. Focused on refinement, deportment, and… social perfection.” He grimaced. “She hated every moment. By the time she came home that first summer, she was… changed. She smiled less. Laughed never. And when she did speak, it was all sharpness and spite.”
Elizabeth winced. “But you kept trying, did you not?”
“Yes, of course. It was around that time that I decided her schoolmates were a poor influence on her. I removed her from the school immediately and hired Mrs. Younge. But instead of being grateful, Georgiana was furious with me. In order to placate her, I sent her to Ramsgate for a holiday, hoping it would make her happier.”
Elizabeth absorbed this. “What does a typical day look like for her? What is her routine?”
“Only the typical schedules for a young lady of her station. Masters for the piano, drawing, and dancing; a governess for lessons on history and literature, along with a bit of mathematics and science; meetings with the housekeeper to learn what is entailed in running a household…”
Darcy’s voice trailed off for a moment, then he said.
“I thought if I kept her busy, she would not have time to think about her unhappiness. But no matter what I did, she became increasingly more rebellious. She ignored Mrs. Younge’s schedule, refused to dress properly, slammed doors, mocked the servants…
and that was in the weeks prior to her trip to the sea. ”
“And how did you respond?”
“Usually by sending her to her room, but it was not much of a punishment. She could lay in bed, order food from the kitchens, and read novels. Then after Ramsgate… I did not wish to pressure her too much. She told me she hated me.”
“That was kind of you,” Elizabeth said gently. “But routine and consistency are not severity. They are stability.”
Mr. Bennet added, “Especially for a headstrong young lady in the throes of independence and hormones. And let us not pretend those are easy waters to navigate—for her or for you.”
Darcy gave a huff of agreement, half-laugh and half-defeat.
Elizabeth leaned forward. “She needs structure. Gentle consequences that reflect her choices without humiliating her. For instance—if she throws a tantrum and leaves her chamber in disarray, she cleans it herself. If she refuses breakfast, she prepares her own food—or goes hungry. She must be made to see how her behavior affects others.”
Darcy looked troubled. “And if someone sees? If word spreads? Miss Bingley and her sister would turn it into scandal. I fear it could be used to blackmail me—into marrying Miss Bingley. Or worse, to force Bingley to marry Georgiana.”
Elizabeth stiffened, horrified. “Surely not. Not when he is besotted with Jane, and she with him.”
“They would not need to succeed,” Darcy said grimly. “The threat alone would be ruinous.”
Mr. Bennet drummed his fingers against his armrest. “You cannot take her to Pemberley?”
Darcy shook his head. “It would be impossible. There, we are the center of attention. Everyone watches us, even the servants. If Georgiana were seen in such a state—or worse, if she ran away on the journey there… it is five days of carriage…”
He let out a long sigh. “I cannot take her back to London. I cannot return to Pemberley with her. But nor can I remain at Netherfield without exposing her character to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.”
There was a long silence.
Then Elizabeth spoke quietly but firmly. “Well then. There is only one option available to you.”
Darcy looked up. “Throttle her?”
A startled laugh burst out of Elizabeth. “No. Bring her to Longbourn.”
Both men stared at her. Darcy straightened slightly in his seat. “You cannot be serious.”
Elizabeth met his gaze directly. “I am. She would not be a guest in society, as she would have to be at Netherfield. For all intents and purposes, here at Longbourn she would simply be a child in a family home.”
Darcy stared at her, disbelief and gratitude warring in his expression. “That would be a tremendous imposition to your family. I do not exaggerate when I say that she is completely wild and ungovernable at the moment.”
“Then it is a good thing you are acquainted with experts in the field of raising young girls on the cusp of womanhood,” Elizabeth replied, gesturing towards her father.
“But the scandal—if word spread—”
“Here, it would not,” Elizabeth said gently. “Our staff is discreet, and our neighbors busy with their own concerns. Besides, what is the alternative? Miss Bingley whispering about her at every tea table in London? Pemberley’s name dragged through drawing rooms by people who do not even know her?”
Darcy dropped his gaze to the rug. “No… That would be worse.”
There was a pause.
Then he looked up, his voice rough. “You would truly be willing to endure this, for her? For me?”
Elizabeth’s answer was soft but certain. “Yes.”
He stared at her for a long moment—eyes searching, expression unreadable. Then he nodded once. “Very well.”
“Before you commit, Darcy,” Mr. Bennet interjected, his face suddenly very serious, “you need to know what exactly this will entail. I know this will take a good deal of trust on your part, Mr. Darcy, and I am not unaware of the magnitude of the decision.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“If your sister comes here, she will not enjoy the arrangement—that much is certain. She will push boundaries, test rules, cry injustice—especially when she does not get her way. And when you visit, Darcy, she will cry to you.”
Darcy winced. “Yes. She always has. And I—”
“You will want to fix it,” Mr. Bennet interrupted, not unkindly. “You will want to smooth things over, make her happy again. That is the nature of a man when someone he loves is unhappy. You will want to make it better.”
Darcy nodded slowly, his brows drawn. “Of course.”
“But you must not,” Mr. Bennet said firmly. “You must support us. Reassure her if you must—but do not contradict us. If she senses you are uncertain or sympathetic, she will exploit it. She is clever, yes?”
A pause. “Too clever.”
“Then she will know where to drive the wedge,” Mr. Bennet said. “And it will not merely undo our efforts—it will make the situation worse. We would be building walls only for you to walk behind us and knock them all down.”
Darcy was silent, staring at the hearth as if the right answer might flicker out from the dying coals. At last, he said, “I do not know if I can bear to have her hate me any more than she already does.”
“I understand,” Mr. Bennet said gently, “but your task as her guardian is not to remove every tear. It is to help her become a woman who can face life without crumbling. Right now, she is building her future on a crumbling foundation. That must be torn down first.”
A long silence stretched between them. Elizabeth held her breath, watching Darcy’s face—tense, thoughtful, uncertain.
Then Mr. Bennet spoke again, more softly. “Son… I know this is a tremendous decision. I, for one, will not be offended if you decide to say no.”
Darcy blinked and looked up. There was something raw in his expression—a mix of fear and hope, pride and humility. He turned toward Elizabeth, their eyes meeting. She gave the smallest nod.
Darcy exhaled. “Very well. I shall speak with Richard—that is, my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. He is her guardian too. If he agrees—then we shall do it.”
Mr. Bennet gave a small, satisfied nod. “Excellent. If he has any questions or concerns, we shall be at home tomorrow. I daresay you and Mr. Bingley will be calling, anyway.”
A ghost of a smile touched Darcy’s lips. He stood, bowing to them both. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “Truly.”
“God help Longbourn,” said Mr. Bennet, reaching for the brandy. “We are about to receive a storm in muslin.”
His jest dispelled the heavy weight of the room, and the quiet chuckles from all three made them feel light.
Elizabeth walked with him to the door of the study. He paused there, turning as if to say something more, then seemed to think better of it and gave her a slight, reverent bow before taking his leave.
As the door closed behind him, Elizabeth leaned her back against it and drew a slow breath.
Please let this work, Lord, she thought, closing her eyes. He already carries more burdens than any young man ought to bear.