Page 93 of Companions of Their Youth
Darcy hesitated, then shook his head. “I want to. More than I can say. But… no. Not yet.”
Fitzwilliam arched a brow. “She will think you abandoned her.”
“Yes,” Darcy said heavily. “But perhaps that is what it will take. We have tried everything else, and her behavior is more than just improper—it is dangerous.”
“I suppose you are right,” Fitzwilliam said reluctantly. “But wewillcall soon.”
Darcy nodded once. “Give her time to settle. Then we go.”
They returned to Netherfield as the morning wore on, the house bathed in sunlight and dew. As they handed over their reins, Fitzwilliam clapped his cousin’s shoulder.
“Worst case, I have about a week left before I must report. Let us use the time wisely.”
Darcy gave a grim smile. “Then let me show you the list of suspects I have compiled.”
∞∞∞
Elizabeth was tired.
Georgiana Darcy had been at Longbourn for less than twenty-four hours, and it already felt as though a month had passed. Dinner the previous evening had been an exercise in strained civility. Georgiana had scowled into her soup and replied with clipped, dismissive tones each time someone addressed her kindly.
When Jane complimented her gown, she replied, “It is not new.”
When Lydia asked whether she liked music, Georgiana merely lifted her chin and said, “I have been taught by masters,” before turning her attention to her bread roll as if the conversation were beneath her notice.
And tea—heavens. Elizabeth had endured tea with her on the sofa in the drawing room, explaining gently what would be expected of her: lessons after breakfast; chores appropriate toher age and station; such as keeping her room straightened; family walks; meals taken with the household.
Georgiana had listened in stony silence for a time before fixing Elizabeth with a look of imperious disdain and saying, “I do not see why I must be trained like a scullery maid. My governesses never required such things of me.”
No, Elizabeth had thought with some sharpness, but your governesses evidently fled the position for good reason.
Now, with breakfast already cooling on the sideboard, Elizabeth stood at the base of the stairs, her hand resting on the banister, preparing to go up—for the third time—to attempt coaxing the spoiled girl from her room.
“Leave her,” Mr. Bennet said behind her, his voice low and steady. He stood with his coffee cup in hand, his brows lifted with faint amusement. “A third summons would only make her queen of the castle. Let the breakfast go cold. Let her stomach rumble.”
Elizabeth hesitated. “She has not eaten since tea yesterday.”
“Nor, I dare say, has she spent the night sewing her apology into a sampler,” he replied. “Let her feel the consequence. Natural and unavoidable.” He took a sip of his coffee and added, “Besides, your face, my dear, looks as though it dearly wishes to be wrapped in a warm towel and left alone.”
That coaxed the faintest smile from her. “My face and I are not currently on speaking terms.”
“Then let your eyes rest and your spine remain vertical. The world will continue to turn if Miss Darcy misses a meal.”
With a breath, Elizabeth turned from the staircase and walked back toward the parlor. Georgiana might yet appear—hungry, haughty, or halfway human—but if she did not, so be it.
If Georgiana wished to isolate herself, that was her choice. They would not dance attendance on her whims.
No one would beg her to come down.
Chapter 20
The following four days were no easier for Elizabeth than the first had been. It was as if Georgiana were intentionally testing the limits of every boundary laid before her, searching for weak points with the tenacity of a seasoned saboteur.
On the first morning, she had come down late, only to find the breakfast table already cleared and the family mostly dispersed. She looked genuinely affronted. “Where is my food?” she demanded.
Elizabeth had met her gaze calmly and handed her a plate with a thick slice of bread and a single glass of water. “This is what is given when one arrives after the meal.”
Georgiana recoiled. “That is servant fare.”
