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Georgiana had only felt truly alive when she played, music was the only sound above a whisper that her home had ever known since her father’s death.

The music could be cheerful even when she did not feel cheerful.

It let her escape her own life and enter a brighter world, where her brother was not as serious and her father and mother were still alive and could embrace her.

She could be whoever she wanted. She could dance when she was alone, she could hear the sounds of thousands of people living their lives.

Music had come into her world, or at least it had permitted her to escape from hers.

Fitzwilliam actually smiled at her from time to time when she played for him, and told her how proud he was of her. Seeing her brother happy was the most important thing she could ever hope for. If she was not able to be happy, then she would do everything in her power to ensure that he was.

But George had changed everything. He had looked at her and talked to her like an equal.

Not as some poor young rich girl, whose parents had died and left her in the care of her brother.

She felt like a woman and like the young girl she had never had the chance to be.

He made her smile and laugh; he showed her a life she had never thought possible, and Pemberley had not seemed so chilling, beautiful and silent.

Was it any surprise she had fallen in love with him?

And even now, when she knew that he did not love her.

That he would never love her. That all he had wanted was her dowry and to hurt her brother, she could not help herself.

She knew some part of her would never be able to let go completely, he would always hold at least a piece of her heart.

She had seen the way he looked at Elizabeth Bennet.

She had been jealous, for she wished that she could have been the one he looked at like that, or the one dancing with him instead of Elizabeth’s youngest sister, Lydia.

But she knew he did not love her. For months she had hoped that he would appear and beg her brother to allow them to get married.

A long engagement would prove their regard to Fitzwilliam, if they waited until she was nineteen or even twenty, he would be convinced.

But George never came. And she had thrown herself even more into her music than she had been before.

She had a piece of a note he had written to her, hidden among her jewellery box, next to a necklace that had belonged to her mother.

It simply said, “My dearest Georgiana”, it was not enough for anyone to realise who had written it.

But it was enough for her. Even though the sentiments it depicted were false, even though she knew that she would never be the object of his affections.

For the moment, it was enough, or at least that was what she told herself .

Lucy, her maid, had finished plaiting her hair and wishing her a good night as she left the room. Georgiana, climbed reluctantly into bed, blew out the candle, and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Longbourn - Elizabeth

As the party wound down, Elizabeth found a quiet moment to herself.

The weight of the evening’s events settled upon her: Wickham’s insinuations, Dr Russell’s arrival, and most unsettling of all, how Mr Darcy’s presence seemed to linger in every conversation despite his absence.

She could not escape thoughts of him - each mention of his name, each reminder of his concern for her through Dr Russell’s presence, made her heart ache anew.

The thought of her ailing father and vulnerable family quickly doused these dangerous feelings.

“I made my choice,” Elizabeth reminded herself firmly.

“I cannot falter now, no matter what Mr Darcy may have intended by sending Dr Russell, no matter how my traitorous heart leaps at each indication of his continued regard.”

As Elizabeth prepared for bed that night, her fingers brushed against Mr Darcy’s letter, hidden in her dresser.

Despite her best efforts to maintain her resolve, she couldn’t help but wonder what might have been, had circumstances been different.

He had shown her attention in his own quiet way - dancing with her when he danced with no other lady, seeking her out in company when he usually stood apart.

If only she had understood then what those subtle signs had meant, if only he had been more open in his regard like Mr Bingley was with Jane.

But such thoughts were dangerous - they could lead nowhere now .

Though she had questioned her decision many times since accepting Mr Collins’ proposal, Elizabeth knew she could not have acted differently.

The stark contrast between her dutiful resignation to Mr Collins and the tumultuous emotions Mr Darcy stirred in her heart only made her situation more painful.

The evening’s encounter with Wickham had forced Elizabeth to confront how thoroughly she had misjudged both him and Darcy. Yet even this realisation could not change her circumstances - she was legally and morally bound to her engagement.

As she imagined her future as Mrs Collins, Elizabeth felt the familiar wave of resignation.

She would endure the tedious sermons and Lady Catherine’s patronage, finding what intellectual stimulation she could in books and correspondence with friends.

She had made this choice with open eyes, knowing the cost to her own happiness.

Despite everything, Elizabeth steeled herself.

She had given her word, not just to Mr Collins, but to her family.

Breaking that promise would destroy not only her own reputation but her sisters’ prospects as well.

She would find a way to be content with having secured her family’s future, even if her own happiness remained forever out of reach.