melancholy, but it is as you say. She is not the same girl, Richard! Certainly not the same since Ramsgate and, I daresay, not the same girl she was before.”
“Did you speak to her about her charitable venture?”
“To be sure.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “She is adamant about it,
and,
you will be astonished to learn, she has added weekly Sunday visits to the poorer of my tenants.”
“Good God!”
“Precisely,” Darcy agreed. “Can you make any sense of it, Richard?”
His cousin shook his head slowly, “Seems a rather odd start. I have heard of something like, but
that
cannot be.” In silence, the two sipped at their coffee until finally Richard broke it. “Fitz, Georgiana is dear to me — you know that is true — and her happiness is an object with me scarcely less than it is with you.” He waited for Darcy’s nod of assent before continuing. “I cannot say why or how but I
can
tell you that from deep in my bones I am sure that Georgiana is truly happy, that the shadow cast by Wickham over her life is gone. My advice to you, old man, is not to question it!”
“Rather the opposite advice given me by her companion!” Darcy mused aloud.
“Companion?”
“Mrs. Annesley,” Darcy returned, “a clergyman’s widow who came to me last summer with impeccable references.” Fitzwilliam shrugged his ignorance. “She visits her sons in Weston-super-Mare for the holidays. It was she advised me to ask Georgiana, but I have not yet dared to do so directly.”
“Well, there you are, Fitz — that explains it! A clergyman’s widow!”
“Perhaps,” Darcy replied, “but she claims not!” He set down his cup, his cousin doing likewise, and both rose to their feet. “So here we are at
point non-plus,
with neither of us possessed of enough courage to do more about it.”
“Let it rest, Fitz.” Fitzwilliam clapped him on the shoulder. “Mother was entranced with her last night; His Lordship said it was like seeing his sister returned to him. It is Christmas — let it rest!”
“You will continue to observe her…watch over her?” Darcy demanded.
“Here’s my hand on it, Cousin.” Fitzwilliam took Darcy’s hand in a sure grip. “Now, I have a puzzle for you. My door, which I distinctly remember shutting last night, was found open by my man this morning and, Lord help me, but one of my boots has gone missing!”
The words of the collect for Christmas Eve day echoed from the old stone walls of St. Lawrence’s as all who were able of the farms and estates of the region crowded within its holy precinct. The ancient church glowed as the candlelight reflected off silver and gold plate and illuminated the shining woodwork of the rail and chancel, festooned now with holly. The beauty of the sanctuary did not deter most eyes from observing the Darcy pew, which was quite full this day, as His Lordship, the Earl of Matlock, and his family were come with the master of Pemberley and his sister. The presence of His Lordship’s family was the crowning proof to those without the intimacy of Pemberley that the traditional celebrations of Christmas were truly once more inaugurated at that great estate. The whispers and smiling nods of the knowledgeable assured even the humblest present that a gracious welcome, a full stomach, and a few hours of merriment on the eve of the Great Day awaited them.
Darcy stood tall and grave beside his sister as they recited from their prayer books, his gaze alternating between the page and the beauty of the stained-glass windows that flanked the chancel. How many hundreds of times had he been caught up by their drama and richness of color, he could only guess, for they had delighted him from childhood. How often had he sat beside his father, trying manfully not to swing his heels but to “conduct himself as a Darcy,” and the glorious windows had saved him.
Beside him, Georgiana’s voice sounded clearly, and it was this, as well as the peculiar earnestness of her
“Did you speak to her about her charitable venture?”
“To be sure.” Darcy rolled his eyes. “She is adamant about it,
and,
you will be astonished to learn, she has added weekly Sunday visits to the poorer of my tenants.”
“Good God!”
“Precisely,” Darcy agreed. “Can you make any sense of it, Richard?”
His cousin shook his head slowly, “Seems a rather odd start. I have heard of something like, but
that
cannot be.” In silence, the two sipped at their coffee until finally Richard broke it. “Fitz, Georgiana is dear to me — you know that is true — and her happiness is an object with me scarcely less than it is with you.” He waited for Darcy’s nod of assent before continuing. “I cannot say why or how but I
can
tell you that from deep in my bones I am sure that Georgiana is truly happy, that the shadow cast by Wickham over her life is gone. My advice to you, old man, is not to question it!”
“Rather the opposite advice given me by her companion!” Darcy mused aloud.
“Companion?”
“Mrs. Annesley,” Darcy returned, “a clergyman’s widow who came to me last summer with impeccable references.” Fitzwilliam shrugged his ignorance. “She visits her sons in Weston-super-Mare for the holidays. It was she advised me to ask Georgiana, but I have not yet dared to do so directly.”
“Well, there you are, Fitz — that explains it! A clergyman’s widow!”
“Perhaps,” Darcy replied, “but she claims not!” He set down his cup, his cousin doing likewise, and both rose to their feet. “So here we are at
point non-plus,
with neither of us possessed of enough courage to do more about it.”
“Let it rest, Fitz.” Fitzwilliam clapped him on the shoulder. “Mother was entranced with her last night; His Lordship said it was like seeing his sister returned to him. It is Christmas — let it rest!”
“You will continue to observe her…watch over her?” Darcy demanded.
“Here’s my hand on it, Cousin.” Fitzwilliam took Darcy’s hand in a sure grip. “Now, I have a puzzle for you. My door, which I distinctly remember shutting last night, was found open by my man this morning and, Lord help me, but one of my boots has gone missing!”
The words of the collect for Christmas Eve day echoed from the old stone walls of St. Lawrence’s as all who were able of the farms and estates of the region crowded within its holy precinct. The ancient church glowed as the candlelight reflected off silver and gold plate and illuminated the shining woodwork of the rail and chancel, festooned now with holly. The beauty of the sanctuary did not deter most eyes from observing the Darcy pew, which was quite full this day, as His Lordship, the Earl of Matlock, and his family were come with the master of Pemberley and his sister. The presence of His Lordship’s family was the crowning proof to those without the intimacy of Pemberley that the traditional celebrations of Christmas were truly once more inaugurated at that great estate. The whispers and smiling nods of the knowledgeable assured even the humblest present that a gracious welcome, a full stomach, and a few hours of merriment on the eve of the Great Day awaited them.
Darcy stood tall and grave beside his sister as they recited from their prayer books, his gaze alternating between the page and the beauty of the stained-glass windows that flanked the chancel. How many hundreds of times had he been caught up by their drama and richness of color, he could only guess, for they had delighted him from childhood. How often had he sat beside his father, trying manfully not to swing his heels but to “conduct himself as a Darcy,” and the glorious windows had saved him.
Beside him, Georgiana’s voice sounded clearly, and it was this, as well as the peculiar earnestness of her
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