Page 31 of Return to Pemberley

"You have done far more," Georgiana replied with growing assurance.

"You have brought such vitality to these rooms. Even the servants remark it—Mrs. Reynolds declared yesterday that the house never seemed so young, nor so full of promise.

And my brother—" Here she paused, seeming reluctant to continue.

"Yes?" Elizabeth prompted, her interest thoroughly engaged.

"My brother smiles as I have not seen since boyhood," said Georgiana, mischief flickering in her eyes. "Not the smile he wears for the world, but the one he had when we raced to the lake and he always permitted me to win."

Elizabeth was momentarily overcome. She thought of Darcy's gravity, his reserve, and those precious moments when his guard fell and revealed the warmth beneath. That Georgiana had noticed and treasured those same glimpses pleased her beyond measure.

"I am very glad to know it," she said quietly.

They sat in contented silence, broken only by distant kitchen sounds and the garden's bird-song. Presently Georgiana spoke again.

"I wish you might never leave," she said, then blushed at her own boldness. "That is—I mean only that it would be a grievous loss to Pemberley, and to myself, should you ever consider departing."

Elizabeth, touched by this artless confession, reached across to clasp Georgiana's hand. "I have no intention of leaving. Indeed, I begin at last to feel that I truly belong here."

Georgiana smiled, and in that moment seemed to shed her former tentative self, emerging instead as a young woman secure in her own place and worth.

They finished their tea and watched the sunlight claim still more territory across the carpet, until every shadow had surrendered to the advancing day.

I t was perhaps the growing ease between them—the sense of mutual understanding and shared conviction that the day might yet be mastered—that emboldened Georgiana to venture upon ground hitherto untouched.

"Elizabeth," she said, her tone so gentle it might have passed unheard, had not Elizabeth been attending. "Forgive me, but I cannot help observing that you remain... disquieted. Is it the matter of Shepherd's Lot?"

Elizabeth, surprised yet not displeased by the question, set down her cup and regarded her companion with gravity tempered by candour. "It is indeed. I confess it occupies every idle thought. I am uncertain what course to pursue—or whether I ought to pursue any course at all."

Georgiana reached for Elizabeth's hand, this time with quiet authority rather than hesitation. "If you do not act, who shall? I have never known my brother to hesitate in anything save where you are concerned. He trusts your judgment above all others—though he may not always declare it so."

Elizabeth smiled, though her eyes remained troubled. "He is exceeding good to me, but I fear in this instance I have presumed too far. Lady Catherine's opinion was made abundantly plain—I am an upstart and a busybody, and if the house comes to ruin it will be by my own hand.”

At this, Georgiana's eyes kindled with uncharacteristic fire. "Lady Catherine has never regarded anyone's happiness but her own. Were she capable of reflection, she might acknowledge that you have preserved Pemberley—by insisting it be just as well as grand."

This vehemence from gentle Georgiana both startled and comforted Elizabeth, enabling her at last to voice her deepest fear.

"I am afraid that by interfering, I have worsened everything. That my zeal for justice has created greater suffering for those who must bear the consequences. If scandal follows, it will touch not me, but those I hold dearest."

Georgiana's clasp tightened. "You must not torment yourself so. Fitzwilliam values truth above reputation—he would rather face the world's censure than live by its hypocrisies. And he values you precisely because you have never fled from duty, however disagreeable."

Elizabeth turned away, reluctant to expose the depth of her emotion. "You are very wise—wiser than I have shown myself of late."

They sat in contemplative silence, their words suspended like unspoken promises. Presently Georgiana spoke again.

"Might I venture one observation more?" she asked, her manner grown almost playful.

Elizabeth nodded, steeling herself for further revelation.

"I have watched you and my brother together," Georgiana said, a small smile touching her lips.

"You speak of courage as though it were some distant virtue, yet you both possess it beyond anyone of my acquaintance.

I believe you were formed for each other—despite your differences, or perhaps because of them. "

Elizabeth could not suppress her laughter, the morning's tension dissolving at last. “You are quite the philosopher today, Miss Darcy.”

"Perhaps it is the influence of present company," Georgiana replied, visibly pleased with the designation.

They drained their cups, and the silence that followed was no longer weighted but companionable and bright. Elizabeth, feeling her natural vigour return, rose and moved to the window, the morning's anxieties now manageable through the knowledge that she need not bear them alone.

"Thank you," she said, gazing once more upon the garden. "For everything."

Georgiana smiled, her countenance illuminated by streaming light. "I am glad to prove useful at last. It is a novel sensation, and I find I like it exceedingly."

Elizabeth laughed again, her spirits wholly restored. She turned from the window with clear and determined gaze. "Then let us be useful together, and see what the world dares do to prevent us."

With that, the two women quit the morning room side by side, prepared to meet whatever trials the day—or fortune—might present.

The sunlight, now at its zenith, accompanied them down the corridor in silent celebration of their compact.