Page 36 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

D arcy stepped down from his horse with no small reluctance, his eyes fixed on the grand, yet now stiflingly familiar facade of Netherfield Park.

The soft glow of lamps inside promised warmth, but not peace.

He handed his reins to the waiting groom and paused a moment longer than necessary before mounting the steps.

As the butler opened the door, the scent of roast meat and dried lavender wafted into the cool air—comforting in theory, but to Darcy, it only sharpened his dread.

He had scarcely stepped into the marble-floored foyer when Miss Bingley descended upon him with a rustle of silk and a simpering smile. Her hand slipped through the crook of his arm as though she belonged there.

“Mr. Darcy,” she cooed, “what a delight to see you returned. And how fortunate that dear Miss Darcy is at last with us! I shall consider it my sacred duty to take her under my wing. She must learn how to conduct herself as mistress of a great house—how to pay calls, preside over the tea table, manage staff—”

Darcy drew back slightly, just enough to extricate his arm without causing a scene. “You are kind,” he said evenly, “but such guidance would be more properly given by my aunt, Lady Matlock. She is better acquainted with the expectations Georgiana will encounter in our level of society.”

The effect was instantaneous. Miss Bingley’s lips thinned, and a flush rose in her cheeks. “Forgive my interference,” she said coldly. “It was kindly meant.” With an aggrieved sniff, she turned on her heel and swept from the hall, her skirts hissing like offended serpents.

Darcy exhaled slowly. That could have been handled better, old chap , he chastised himself as he climbed the stairs.

At the far end of the guest wing, he found Colonel Fitzwilliam seated on the floor, his back resting against the wall outside Georgiana’s room. His legs were stretched out before him, his cravat loosened, and his expression was one of exhausted vigilance.

“She is quiet now,” the colonel muttered.

“Hoarse from all the screaming. It began again just after you left. I am grateful Bingley had the good sense to place her in the most remote room—no one else can hear her. It shows a bit of forethought that I had not thought him capable of.” This last bit was said with a smirk.

Darcy nodded and sat down beside his cousin. “I spoke with Mr. Bennet.”

Fitzwilliam turned his head sharply. “And?”

Darcy explained everything—Elizabeth’s insight, Mr. Bennet’s warnings, and the offer they had extended. As he recounted the details, Fitzwilliam’s eyebrows rose more than once, but he said nothing until the tale was complete.

At last, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It is generous of them. Surprising.”

“It is,” Darcy admitted. “But Mr. Bennet was clear: if we agree, we must relinquish control. No undermining, no interference. She must be treated like a child in a household, not a guest.”

“She is not going to like that.”

“I know.” Darcy paused. “And neither will I, if I am honest. Mr. Bennet warned me—she will cry, beg, manipulate. If I intervene, it will undo everything.”

Fitzwilliam gave a half-laugh. “I know what you mean. When she starts sobbing, it twists something in your gut.”

Darcy closed his eyes. “He said that is what makes men poor disciplinarians. That we want to fix everything.”

There was a long pause. Fitzwilliam leaned his head against the wall. “Did they mention corporal punishment?”

Darcy’s jaw tensed. “No. That… did not come up.”

“Then we shall ask in the morning.” The colonel pushed himself to his feet with a groan. “At first light?”

Darcy nodded. “At first light.”

As if summoned by the thought, a maid appeared with a covered tray. “For Miss Darcy,” she murmured. Darcy thanked her and took it himself.

He cast one final glance at the closed door. There was no sound now. No screaming. But he did not trust the quiet. Not yet.

Deciding to leave the tray on the floor for his sister if she deigned to open the door, Darcy turned and went to change his clothes, preparing for a long night of standing guard to ensure his sister would not attempt to escape. Morning would come far too soon.

∞∞∞

Darcy stood in the small morning room of Netherfield, staring out the window as the first pale light crept across the lawn.

He had surrendered his post outside Georgiana’s door at midnight to Colonel Fitzwilliam, though sleep had not come.

Instead, he had paced his chamber until dawn, at which point he made his way downstairs.

The house was silent save for the occasional creak of floorboards and the low murmur of servants beginning their duties. A tray of tea and bread sat untouched on the sideboard, but he had no appetite.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway. A moment later, Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room, shrugging on his coat. His eyes were shadowed, his hair slightly askew. “I trust she was quiet during your shift?” he asked, voice low.

Darcy nodded. “She has lost her voice, I think. Or perhaps she is finally exhausted.”

“Let us hope so,” the colonel muttered. He reached for a cup of tea and grimaced at its lukewarm state. “Ready to ride?”

Darcy glanced at the clock. “Yes, we had best be off before anyone else wakes. The fewer questions we must answer, the better.”

A footman brought their hats and gloves, and within minutes, they were mounted and riding toward Longbourn through the chill morning air. The fields glistened with dew, and the road was mercifully empty.

After several minutes of silence, Fitzwilliam shifted in his saddle. “I had time to think last night,” he said. “And I find myself surprised.”

“By what?” Darcy asked.

“That you told the Bennets anything at all,” his cousin replied. “You barely know them, Darcy. A few weeks at most—and yet now you are willing to entrust them with Georgiana’s care.”

Darcy exhaled slowly, watching the vapor of his breath rise and vanish.

“I was surprised myself, when I considered it. But it does not feel as though I have only known them a few weeks. There is something about their manner… their home…” He paused.

“I play chess with Mr. Bennet nearly every morning. We speak of books, politics, philosophy. He challenges me, but he respects me. I feel like—”

“Like a son?” Fitzwilliam offered, his voice gentler.

Darcy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. And I did not realize how much I had missed that kind of relationship until it was offered.”

Fitzwilliam was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “And the rest of the family?”

“The eldest Miss Bennet is beautiful and composed,” Darcy said. “Bingley is quite taken with her. Then there is Mark, who just left for school. He and Bingley are acquainted, which is how we came to take the lease here. The younger two I scarcely know. They are around Georgiana’s age.”

Fitzwilliam smirked. “And the one you just happened to leave out?”

Darcy stared ahead. “I beg your pardon?”

“You did not mention Miss Elizabeth, whose name I only know due to Miss Bingley’s incessant complaints. Which means you were trying not to.”

Darcy grimaced. “Must you always be so perceptive?”

“It is my singular gift,” the colonel said with a grin. “You admire her.”

“I do,” Darcy said simply. “She is intelligent, compassionate… And she helped me when I was at my worst.”

Fitzwilliam glanced at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I was planning on writing to you, but there have been more suspicious notes here at Netherfield.”

“What?” Fitzwilliam exclaimed loudly, causing his horse to rear slightly.

Darcy recounted the details of Elizabeth finding the first note tucked away in the book he had lent to her. The colonel listened without interruption. When Darcy finished, he whistled low. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“I had planned on it, but then you arrived without warning—and it is not as though we have had much time to speak privately.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression was sober. “Well. I look forward to meeting the paragon who cracked open your locked-up heart and made you stop pretending you could do everything yourself.”

Darcy gave a quiet snort of amusement. “Do not tease me, Richard.”

“I would never,” he said solemnly, then ruined the effect with a cheeky wink.

They turned down the final lane toward Longbourn, its hedgerows silvered with mist. As the house came into view, its chimneys just beginning to smoke, Darcy felt the tightness in his chest ease ever so slightly.

This must be what it feels like to have true friendship with someone who is not away at war all the time.

This visit was the first time Darcy had come to Longbourn and not been immediately overwhelmed by the chaos and noise that can come from a household of girls. Only Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth were awake, other than a few servants. They greeted the men warmly and showed them to the study.

“My cousin has a few more questions,” Darcy said.

“Then by all means, fire away,” said Mr. Bennet with a small wink at the military man, who grinned at the expression.

Fitzwilliam cleared his throat. “There is the matter of discipline. If Georgiana behaves inappropriately—violently, for instance—what sort of consequences might she expect?”

Mr. Bennet leaned back. “I have used physical discipline only a handful of times, and never in anger. Not something I prefer.”

“But in certain cases,” Elizabeth said carefully, “it may be warranted. She is old enough to know better. If she throws objects at people—particularly something like a chamber pot—a switching might remind her of the seriousness.”

Darcy nodded slowly. “Agreed. Only in cases of genuine harm. And never in anger. It must be measured and purposeful.”

Fitzwilliam asked several questions: would Georgiana go hungry? Would she be publicly shamed? Who would supervise her?

Both Bennets assured them that while Georgiana might be served unappetizing food as a consequence, she would never be denied nourishment or publicly humiliated.