Page 89 of Companions of Their Youth
Neither man responded.
When the carriage rolled to a stop before the modest but well-kept home of Longbourn, she stared at it in outrage. “You would leave me here? At this hovel? Among country nobodies? Do you even know what people will say?”
Darcy turned to her. “What they would say if we permitted you to continue in this behavior would be worse.”
They stepped from the carriage into the cool twilight. The Bennet footman opened the door with a quiet, “Welcome, gentlemen.”
Inside, introductions were brief. Georgiana glared at Elizabeth, then Mr. Bennet, then Elizabeth again.
“This is preposterous,” she said flatly. “You made your point. Now let us go.”
Darcy said nothing.
“Brother?” Her voice trembled.
“We will return in a few days to check on your progress,” he said stiffly.
“Cousin?” she turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Fitzwilliam inclined his head. “You will be in good hands.”
“No!” Her composure shattered. “I promise I will behave. I will be good. Please, do not leave me here!”
Darcy’s throat tightened. Her eyes were wet, her lip trembling, and for the briefest second, he hesitated.
Elizabeth stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Georgiana’s shoulder. “You will not be alone. You will be safe.”
Georgiana threw herself on the dias and sobbed dramatically.
“Go,” Mr. Bennet said quietly to the men. “She is in our care now.”
Darcy forced himself to turn. The weight in his chest was almost unbearable as he walked towards the front door. “Brother!” he heard her shriek, voice heavy with tears.
Darcy’s heart clenched. His footsteps faltered—but Elizabeth stood behind him, calm and composed.
“We will care for her,” she said softly.
Colonel Fitzwilliam touched his arm. “Come.”
Darcy gave one last look over his shoulder. Georgiana had sunk to the floor, weeping bitterly.
Then he turned, jaw tight, and stepped outside.
Chapter 19
In 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.”
