Page 2 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said immediately. “Indeed, that might be necessary, though given Lydia’s passion for acting, she may well run off one day in the hopes of winning a role at Covent Garden.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, do not say such a dreadful thing!” Charlotte cried out in dismay.

“Lizzy is quite right,” Jane continued solemnly, though her eyes were twinkling. “Lydia wants nothing more than to act in a Shakespearean comedy or tragedy, and it is your husband’s fault, Charlotte!”

“My fault?!” Josiah echoed with overly dramatic indignation .

“Of course!” Elizabeth said, thankful to find her spirits rising in spite of her father’s illness.

“It was you who introduced Jane to sculpting and wood carving, and me to sketching, and Kitty to the rabbits, and Lydia to acting. I suppose we must be thankful that Mary has embraced music. That, at least, is a respectable accomplishment for a lady!”

Josiah grinned at these words, but then he grew serious and said, “I am very proud of all my nieces and rejoice in your varied interests, though of course my dear wife is correct; it would not do at all for Lydia to become an actress!”

“Of course it would not,” Jane agreed, “and Charlotte, we are only teasing. Lydia knows that.”

“We hope,” Elizabeth added wryly.

/

On the Road to Meryton

The Next Day

Fitzwilliam Darcy leaned against the squabs of the carriage and closed his eyes. As usual, he had not slept well the previous night. With the vehicle sufficiently well sprung and the road adequately well maintained, the movement of the carriage was nearly enough to lull him to sleep.

Nearly...

The Darcys’ footsteps clicked down the beach-worn boards of the Ramsgate boardwalk.

To their left, children darted shrieking about in and out of the waves, up and down the sand, while harried nurses chased runaway toddlers and windblown clothes alike.

Nearby, a bathing machine rattled down into the water, drawn by a patient plodding horse.

Shadows ghosted across the beach, the sailing clouds above casting their shapes onto the sand below.

“It is beautiful, is it not?” Darcy asked, patting his sister’s arm gently.

He had spent the previous two weeks in London, which was, at this time of year, incredibly hot and in some areas, smelly.

He was thankful that his business with his solicitor had taken less time than expected, and thus he had been able to steal away from Town to visit his dear sister at Ramsgate.

He came to a halt and stared out at the distant ocean, with its dark blue shifting to lighter blue shifting to aqua and finally to clear water, beneath which Darcy could see rippled sands .

He felt a tug at his arm, and he looked down into Georgiana’s face.

She was a pretty girl, his little sister, though she was not, in fact, so very little now.

She had grown even in the four months since they had last seen one another.

She had always been a shy girl, but now there was a strange look on her countenance; one of . .. dread? Fear? Anxiety?

“Is something wrong, Georgiana?” he asked, concerned.

She stared up at him, her cornflower blue eyes filling with tears, and she gasped, “Oh Brother, I ... I...”

Now he was truly worried. “My dear, what is it?”

She gulped and reached out to take his hands in her own. “Brother, I am afraid you might be angry, or perhaps you will not. I do not know. But I feel I must tell you ... I am in love.”

Darcy froze with a mixture of bewilderment and anger. In love? His little sister? What an absurd statement! She was but fifteen years of age! But she looked so frightened, so distressed, that he knew he must tread gently and slowly.

“In love?” he repeated, as kindly as he could manage. “With whom, my dear? ”

Georgiana Darcy, only daughter of Mr. George Darcy, with a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, dropped her head to stare at her brother’s well shined boots.

“I am in love with George Wickham,” she whispered.

“Darcy! Darcy!”

As was common when Darcy was coming out of this particular dream, it took him a moment to reorient himself. When his eyes had opened, and his vision had settled, he observed his Cousin Richard Fitzwilliam seated across from him, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Yes?” Darcy asked, and upon realizing his voice sounded foggy, cleared his throat and repeated, “Yes?”

“You were mumbling,” his cousin explained, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” Darcy said and grimaced, “I apologize.”

Fitzwilliam gazed at him thoughtfully and asked, “Ramsgate?”

Darcy gritted his teeth and nodded. “Yes, and Wickham. I should not have allowed him to escape without repercussions.”

His cousin shook his head. “You made the right decision by sending Wickham a letter and immediately removing Georgiana from Ramsgate. ”

“I wish I had tracked him down and punched him in the nose,” Darcy said truculently.

“And he deserved it,” Richard said patiently.

“But Georgiana was your primary concern at the time, and you could hardly leave her alone and find Wickham in the no doubt vile boarding house he was hiding within. Mrs. Younge had betrayed us all, and you needed to stay with Georgiana and help keep her safe and secure.”

Darcy sighed and looked out at the countryside, his mind drifting back to his previous vision.

“You are right, of course,” he confessed, “but oh, how I wish I had been able to knock a few of his teeth out!”