Page 47 of The Winter of Our Discontent (Pride and Prejudice Variations #1)

The dilemma of where to take my sister absorbed the background of my mind as I roared up and down the stairs barking out orders.

My prevailing fear of taking her to the Countess of Matlock in London was that once she had Georgiana in her possession, our aunt would find ways to keep her.

She took my father’s directive that Richard and I serve as guardians with very little good grace and had long wished to mould my sister in her own image.

No, I would not put my sister under her power.

Besides which, London, being realistically four days away in winter, was out of the question.

Lady Catherine was similarly ruled out. I thought vaguely of prevailing upon Mr Maunders, but Georgiana remaining in the neighbourhood would not serve.

If there was an epidemic in Lambton and hereabouts, then she would still be at risk.

Barring that, she would be close enough to visit my wife the moment my back was turned.

For a half second and with a touch of dark irony, I considered my estate in Scotland.

My lack of options flummoxed me. I, a wealthy man, was used to a full array of solutions for every eventuality.

The situation I now faced was the consequence of my damnable reticence and my determination to protect my sister from everyone—though only after Wickham imposed on her.

I had practically imprisoned her, and I should not wonder she became so enamoured of my wife, who widened her circle in spite of me.

With a helpless sense of resignation, we left for Manchester.

There was a decent inn there. Mrs Annesley, a brace of footmen, and my friend Greeley could be counted on to keep an eye on my sister.

Georgiana sat across from me in defeat. She had begged not to go, pleaded, and cajoled. I was in too great a hurry to be patient. I simply said, “My love, this is what she wants. She made me promise.”

The toll of the past few days had been high, and my sister wept her way through the frenetic business of packing and our precipitous removal, and now she sat sagged against Mrs Annesley.

Our silence left me to sit with my ragged reflections, none of which were welcome.

How easy I had found it since even before I reached my majority only to dwell on my strengths and accomplishments.

How self-satisfied I had been as I catalogued the finer points of my character.

A gentleman, both liberal and well educated, with an impeccable record of doing his duty and preserving the reputation of his name, so cultured, so discerning and meticulous, and so—so deplorable!

Wealth and privilege had shone a great light on me, a God-given benefice I took to be my own doing.

How easy it was to stand in the light and refuse to look behind at the shadow I cast.

The great long list of my failures was due an unflinching review.

But I was stubborn, and I believed they could be dismissed en masse without a painfully detailed review.

I shifted in my seat, striving to find a comfortable position, and instead of the reckoning that was long overdue with regard to myself, I began to consider the matter of my forced marriage.

That is to say, I wished to think on the substantive fact.

I could not and would not remember the experience that forced me to the altar.

No. That was entirely too painful, and even to think about recalling every vivid detail left my heart pounding in panic, much as it had pounded the moment I realised my fate was well and truly sealed.

What I preferred to ponder was this: Mrs Darcy had every appearance of goodness.

Just as my sister pointed out in her heated defence, my wife tried as hard as she could to be an excellent mistress to my estate.

She was tireless, sympathetic, and engaged.

She had turned Mrs Reynolds and others into supporters and had shown a surprising lack of self-interest. Her expenditures were so small they could not even be called modest. What she did spend on—support for my tenants and cottagers, the school, and Mr Hodges’s poor relief—she financed with very careful management.

This was hardly evidence she was a fortune hunter.

And as a sister for Georgiana, she had wildly exceeded every expectation.

Had I not acknowledged all this in defending her against Miss Bingley’s snide attack?

Yet, this same woman, with a chilling genius for seizing opportunity at a public assembly, saw a half second lapse of concentration on my part and cruelly used it against me. I could not put the two women together and make a whole person.

Yes, I could stay fixed in my disgust of her with effort, sometimes great effort, but she had thrown me once again into confusion by insisting I protect Georgiana from even the possibility of contagion.

A person can easily pretend to be selfless while they are strong and vital, but struck down and made miserable by illness, few could maintain a pretence.

I began to believe she truly cared for my sister.

Truly, from her heart! I always prided myself on my capacity for reason, but this puzzle outstripped me.