Page 38 of Companions of Their Youth (Pride and Prejudice “What if?” Variations #9)

I n the carriage, Fitzwilliam slumped beside him, his arms crossed and jaw tight. The landscape rolled past in a blur of gray trees and washed-out skies, but neither man looked out the window.

“She will hate us for it,” the colonel said quietly, his voice rough with fatigue.

Darcy’s eyes did not move from the road ahead. “Let her,” he replied hoarsely. “If it saves her.”

Neither man spoke again for the remainder of the journey.

When the carriage wheels crunched over the gravel drive of Netherfield, Darcy stirred at last. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his shoulders heavy with weariness.

Sleep eluded him, had eluded him for days now, and yet his mind was still a battlefield of thoughts too sharp to dull.

The carriage slowed. A footman hurried to open the door, and Darcy descended stiffly, his legs aching from tension.

The butler was waiting in the foyer, bowing deeply. “Welcome back, sir. A letter arrived for you. It is on the silver tray in the front hall.”

Darcy froze at the threshold. “Who was the sender?”

“No name, sir,” the butler replied evenly. “But it is postmarked from London.”

A chill ran down his spine, slower than ice, deeper than fear. The scent of beeswax and burning coal from the nearby parlor barely registered. He crossed the marble floor on autopilot, each step heavier than the last.

It could be anything. It could be nothing. He told himself this, repeated it like a chant.

But then he saw it.

The letter lay on the silver tray like an omen—delicate ivory paper, folded with unnatural precision. The writing on the front danced before his eyes: feminine, fluid, beautiful in its symmetry. Too perfect. Too practiced.

Too familiar.

No air moved in the hall. Only the beat of his heart—loud, uneven—filled his ears, drowning out Fitzwilliam’s voice behind him.

“Darcy? Darcy—are you well?”

He did not answer.

He reached for the letter slowly, as if touching it too quickly might cause it to vanish—or explode.

The seal cracked beneath his thumb, and the words leaped from the page.

I have to follow you, my love, though you do not want me to. It will not stop my love for you; I cannot stay away. I am coming .

∞∞∞

Georgiana had gone utterly silent. No more tantrums, no tears—just a stiff, blank stare as the sound of the departing carriage faded into the distance. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her eyes unblinking.

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with her father before gently touching the girl's elbow. “Miss Darcy,” she said, her voice even but not unkind, “may I reintroduce myself? I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I shall be helping to oversee your time with us.”

Georgiana did not respond.

“Let us get you settled.” Elizabeth turned toward the staircase. Mr. Bennet gestured for Stephens to follow them with the trunk.

They ascended to the nursery suite—three connected rooms at the rear of the upper floor.

The main chamber served as a bedroom, with two modest beds and a washstand.

Off to one side was the schoolroom, lined with shelves, a long table, and a chalkboard.

The third room, smaller and spare, was for the temporary governess.

Georgiana swept her gaze over the rooms and promptly wrinkled her nose. “This is a nursery.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact. “It served our family well for many years.”

“I am nearly out,” Georgiana said sharply, folding her arms. “And I am the granddaughter of an earl. This is entirely inappropriate for someone of my age and breeding.”

Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Stephens, still carrying the trunk, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he placed it at the foot of the bed.

“I see,” Mr. Bennet said mildly, stepping into the schoolroom behind them.

“Well, your brother has placed you under my guardianship for the present, and in my household, you shall be treated not as the granddaughter of an earl, but as a young lady who must relearn what it means to be a member of society. That means living as my daughters do—which includes this room.”

Georgiana turned toward him, eyes wide with indignation.

Mr. Bennet continued, his voice now firmer.

“There are a few rules to keep in mind, Miss Darcy, and I shall expect them to be followed without exception. First, every member of this household—regardless of birth—treats servants with courtesy. They are not required to serve anyone who speaks to them unkindly. If you abuse their patience, they may refuse to wait on you at all.”

Georgiana scoffed softly.

“Second,” he went on, “you will take your meals with the family. We do not deliver trays to anyone except the truly ill. You are in good health, and so you will join us in the dining room for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner.”

“But what if I do not like what is served?” she snapped.

“Then you may wait for the next meal,” he replied. “This house does not cater to caprice.”

Elizabeth folded her hands in front of her, watching Georgiana’s tightly drawn expression with calm sympathy.

“You may find this a difficult adjustment,” she said gently.

“But we are all on your side, Miss Darcy. If you will meet us halfway, I believe you will find far more comfort here than you expect.”

Georgiana glared at her. “I highly doubt that.”

Mr. Bennet cleared his throat and continued, folding his hands behind his back as he paced a step or two before Georgiana, who remained planted where she stood.

“Now then, a few more expectations, young lady. You are to manage your own belongings. If you leave your gown on the floor rather than placing it in the hamper or hanging it properly, the laundry maids will not touch it. You will be expected to wash and press it yourself.”

Georgiana’s eyes widened.

“If you ruin a meal through tantrums or neglect—for example, throwing your tray or refusing to eat what is served—you will cook or assemble the next one yourself under the supervision of the cook.”

Elizabeth noted that Georgiana’s lips had parted in silent disbelief.

“You will receive the same allowance—pin money—as the other girls in the house, and you may spend it as you see fit. However, once spent, it is gone. No advances. No special exceptions will be made for you, Georgiana.”

“Excuse me, but I did not give you leave to address me so informally.” The girl’s nose rose haughtily in the air.

The action caused the girl to look so much like her elder brother had at the Meryton Assembly, and Elizabeth was forced to stifle a giggle before saying, “As mentioned, you will be treated like one of the daughters of the house. My father certainly never refers to us as ‘Miss’. That title is reserved for strangers, which you no longer are.”

Georgiana’s opened her mouth to protest, but Elizabeth raised a hand to halt the diatribe that was sure to come.

“If you throw a fit—screaming, stamping, or similar outbursts—you will be confined to your room. If it occurs during mealtimes, you will receive bread and water until your conduct improves.”

Georgiana gasped aloud. “You cannot mean it.”

“I assure you we do,” Elizabeth said simply.

Mr. Bennet gave her no reprieve. “If you physically harm anyone—servant or family—there will be a switching. Not in anger, not out of cruelty, but as a calm and fair consequence. The same rule applies to every child in this house.”

“My brother will never allow it!” Georgiana cried, tossing her hair with a snap. “I shall tell him at once!”

“Your brother approved every one of these terms before you arrived,” Mr. Bennet replied, unshaken. “He is very concerned for your well-being, Georgiana. He has entrusted us with this responsibility—because he loves you.”

Georgiana stared, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

Elizabeth stepped forward. “Now, that said… good behavior earns privileges. For example, the girls will be walking into Meryton tomorrow afternoon. If your room is kept tidy and your morning lessons are completed with diligence, you may accompany them.”

There was silence.

“You will find, Georgiana,” Mr. Bennet said in a lighter tone, “that the rules of this house are not meant to punish, but to teach. We aim to build self-respect, not destroy pride.”

Georgiana did not reply. Her gaze drifted to the small window at the back of the nursery, her lips pressed in a tight line.

Elizabeth caught her father’s eye. They had sown the field. Time would tell if anything would grow.

∞∞∞

Darcy woke with a start.

He did not recall falling asleep, but the faint light of dawn coming through the curtains was evidence of the time that had passed. The late evening after retiring to bed had been agonizingly difficult. The candle had burned low on his desk, but he had not dared extinguish it.

Even once in bed, every creak of the floorboards, every gust of wind at the shutters set his nerves alight. The letter lay locked in the drawer beside him—yet its words repeated over and over in his mind, louder in the dark than they had been on the page:

I am coming .

Unable to lay in bed any longer, he rose and began to pace the length of the room. He rose before dawn, half-dressed already, and paced the length of the room. He had tried to convince himself it was some elaborate prank, but no—it had the same meticulous, feminine script as the others.

He had read the note only once, but it had nearly sent him reeling.

His chest had tightened; his throat had gone dry.

If not for Fitzwilliam’s calming presence after the last incident, he might have suffered a full loss of composure.

That night, he had barely touched his supper, doing all he could to ignore Miss Bingley’s cloying attentions and whispered barbs.