Page 159 of Companions of Their Youth
“I will,” Elizabeth whispered.
When the door shut behind her mother, Elizabeth sat quietly in the candlelight, the words still echoing through her mind.
She had never thought of her mother as particularly wise. Not until now.
And when the time came—if she ever had doubts, or fears, or questions she could not bring to her husband—she now knew exactly where she would turn.
Chapter 33
Darcy had expected to feel more on the morning before Wickham’s execution.
Dread, perhaps. Or relief. Even a sense of finality. But instead, as he pulled on his gloves and stepped out into the cold December air, he found his mind curiously empty of it all.
It had been a quiet decision—uncomplicated, even. When he had told Fitzwilliam of his choice not to visit Wickham in the gaol, or attend the execution itself, his cousin had simply nodded, somber and unsurprised.
“I think that best,” Fitzwilliam had said. “I have visited him myself. A few times, out of duty more than anything. But he hardly knew me. His mind wanders—half-mad from the laudanum they drip between his teeth to ease the pain. His jaw is so badly broken he cannot speak anything clear, but he tries. Lord, hetries.”
He had looked away at that, his jaw tight.
“The rage in him—when he sees me—it’s… overwhelming. It’s worse than with the guards, or even Forster. If he sawyou, cousin… I do not know if his body could endure what his mind would try to force him to do. And I do not think you should have to see him this way.”
And so, Darcy had let it go.
There were better things to think about—like his wedding in a little over two weeks.
He and Bingley mounted their horses in the light flurries of a pale winter morning. The snow dusted their shoulders and melted on their faces. It was the first Friday of December, and the road to Longbourn gleamed faintly with a thin crust of ice where wheels had passed earlier.
“The banns will be called again in two days,” Bingley said cheerfully as they trotted through the woods. “Second time! Can you believe it?”
Darcy gave a small smile. “Yes. It is, in fact, happening exactly as planned.”
Bingley sighed. “I only wish it were sooner. Why not marry Monday, the day after the third calling? We would be respectable by Tuesday!”
“How many times must this be explained to you, Charles?” Darcy asked with a bit of exasperation. “Their brother Mark’s term ends on the seventeenth. He will go to the Gardiners for the remainder of the week, and they will journey here that Friday. Their original dates were the twenty-third through the thirtieth, but that would leave no time for the wedding until after Christmas. So, they have adjusted their plans and will be stayingfrom the twentieth to the twenty-seventh instead, which allows us to marry on the twenty-third.”
“I know, I know,” Bingley said with a groan. “It’s just… it’s such alongwait.”
Darcy only smiled again. He understood. He, too, was impatient in his own way, but he knew Elizabeth would never wish to marry without her brother present.
They arrived at Longbourn not long after, dismounting and brushing snow from their coats as a footman took their horses round the back. Inside, the drawing room was already full—Mrs. Bennet presiding with animation over two neighbor ladies, their daughters chattering softly over wedding decorations and trimming lace gloves.
Elizabeth sat across the room beside Georgiana, her embroidery forgotten in her lap, her eyes immediately lifting to meet his as he entered. Her cheeks tinged pink as he gazed at her with warmth, and he wondered what was going through her mind that caused her to blush.
He crossed to her without hesitation.
“You have snow on your boots,” she said with a smile, rising to greet him.
He gave a slight bow, reaching up to brush it away. “Then I hope it at least makes me look suitably dashing.”
“It made you look cold,” she retorted, but her tone was teasing. “Come, sit—Georgiana was just telling me about her newest project.”
Darcy took the seat beside her as Georgiana glanced up from her own needlework, her face lit with eager animation.
“I have been helping Sarah make winter clothes for some of the tenant children,” she said. “There are two little ones who had nothing but torn linen and old stockings. Their father is a tenant but uses all their funds for drink, and their mother did not know where to turn.”
Darcy blinked. “You are sewing for tenant children?”
Georgiana nodded, proud and shy all at once. “Sarah taught me how to patch sleeves. I am still rather poor at mittens, but Elizabeth showed me how to line the seams with flannel.”
