Chapter Text
Historical note:
This novel is set in the 1780s, twenty-five years prior to the date of Pride and Prejudice’s publication.
The idea for this novel came when I had the idea of a story where Darcy was a veteran of a war in India. While trying to figure out what else the story would involve, I read an essay in the Jane Austen Society of North America journal which argued Jane Austen meant contemporary readers to understand that Colonel Brandon had been captured during the Second Anglo Mysore War. That essay led me to the captivity account in Memoirs of the Late War in Asia, and the story it told was so fascinating that I needed to use it.
Chapter 1
February 1779
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Thirteen-year-old Elizabeth Bennet eagerly grabbed her letter from the silver platter the Bennets’ short footman balanced in one hand.
More sedately, her father took his correspondence out of the morning post and laughed at Elizabeth’s eagerness. “Is it from little Georgie?”
Elizabeth nodded as she leveraged off the wax sealing the paper with her thumbnail. “Papa, I’m going to go take a walk about while I read.”
Mr. Bennet waved his hand to let her go while he opened a letter that Elizabeth could see was from Georgiana’s father. “Do have fun. Bundle up tightly.”
Elizabeth laughed and put on her warm blue coat. It was a warm day for February, but still quite cold. Elizabeth had met Georgiana three years ago when she traveled the continent with her father.
As a child, Elizabeth had eagerly listened to Papa’s stories of the great Roman ruins and museums and cities he had seen during his Grand Tour.
She wanted to be just like her father and experience everything he had.
Now that she was so much older she realized it was silly, but when she was a little girl, Elizabeth’s ambition had been to be a gentleman of letters like Mr. Bennet. Of late, she had decided she could be a very learned lady instead. Elizabeth almost hoped Mama was right, and she would scare off all of the young gentlemen. She hadn’t met many, but she was quite sure their distaste would be no great loss.
Elizabeth had begged for so many stories that Papa decided to travel again, this time with her. Rather than waiting till she was older, he set off immediately as he was worried that another war would begin between England and France.
Remembering her wonderful trip to the continent, Elizabeth walked outside. She looked around to ensure no one could watch her; at almost fourteen she was quite old for letting people see her unladylike behaviors. She carefully folded and held her letter to protect it from the wind and ran down the lane at full pace. When she came to a stop, Elizabeth laughed and blushed at the gamekeeper who had stood from examining a trap to smile at her.
With a gay wave, Elizabeth skipped away from him, breathing heavily.
Georgie was much younger than Elizabeth, and she had become lost from her party in a large museum in France. She had been the most adorable blonde little girl when she walked up to them, drawn by the familiar sound of English. Georgiana was crying and terribly scared, and it was impossible for Elizabeth to not adore the sweet little girl. Elizabeth entertained Georgiana, by telling her stories Papa had told her about the paintings, while they searched for her father and brother.
Mr. Darcy and his son were tall gentlemen with gleaming white stockings and solemn faces. However, they both had warm smiles when delighted, like when Georgiana ran up to Mr. Darcy and Fitzwilliam when the two groups found each other.
Papa and Mr. Darcy had become immediate friends, because they were both completely obsessed with classical languages. They spent the rest of the day switching between Latin and Greek as they argued about the contents of the museum. Because Papa had taught them to Elizabeth, so that he could keep in practice, she spoke both languages perfectly. But even though she understood their conversation, she was happy for there to be another girl to pay attention to, even if Georgiana was much smaller.
Mr. Darcy was touring the continent with his younger son, Mr. Fitzwilliam, who planned to purchase a commission in the army as soon he returned from the tour. His older son, Stanley, who, she had been informed by Georgiana, was named after his godfather who was an earl, had been left at their home in Derbyshire to enjoy the taste of independence and to manage the estate.
As both gentlemen had a similar itinerary, they decided to journey together since it would be far more fun to voyage with another gentleman who was sensible in the same way.
For Elizabeth, Georgiana proved to be a superb substitute sister. Even though Elizabeth had loved traveling just her and her father, she had missed Jane and her little sisters. Georgiana was such a quiet, sweet girl, but even though she was much younger than Elizabeth, they played games and talked together constantly. It was like having Kitty and Lydia with her, except better because Georgiana listened to her with wide-eyed nods.
Today’s letter from Georgiana described how she practiced the piano and how her governess spoke French and Italian with accents almost as good as the natives. Fitzwilliam’s regiment had returned from America, and he had left that regiment and purchased a captain’s commission in a new one.
Elizabeth was not sure if she liked Fitzwilliam. As she walked back towards the house, buffeted by the cold breezes, she contemplated that serious question again. The day they met he had been superior and insisted that she couldn’t speak Latin, since little girls didn’t speak Latin.
Ha! She had proven quite quickly that she spoke it far better than he could. And then he started to tweak her on the nose, like he did Georgiana.
Georgiana adored Fitzwilliam, but she didn’t like Stanley much. Elizabeth had never met Stanley because he’d been too busy to meet his father’s friends the time they reunited in London a year after the trip to the continent ended.
Most of the time Elizabeth liked Fitzwilliam. Even if he was far too sure he was right about everything, he listened to both her and Georgie, and he never got terribly bored the way most adults did. They had argued often while traveling from France to Italy to Germany and finally to the Dutch Republic.
Instead of dismissing her like most adults did, especially male adults, he went to the effort to prove that she was wrong. It was terribly annoying that he often succeeded. But he would admit he was wrong if she came up with a really good counterargument.
The few times he did so were almost worth the annoyance of being proven wrong so often.
So, despite being dreadfully tall and proud, Elizabeth thought he was the best young gentleman she knew. Not that she knew many young gentlemen, not being out, but Elizabeth had seen enough of the species — and Charlotte had confirmed this — to know they usually spoke terrific nonsense.
Elizabeth opened the door to Longbourn and smiled at the pleasant blast of warm air. She immediately shut the door to keep out the cold and pulled her gloves off and hung up her pelisse without waiting for one of the servants to help her. She mentally composed the beginning of her response to Georgie.
It was a great responsibility to have a friend so much younger who looked up to her. Elizabeth needed to be worthy of Georgiana’s admiration.
She ran up to her room to place Georgiana’s latest letter in the boxwood writing desk in her room with all of the other letters she had received from her friend.
When she had finished placing the letter, Mrs. Hill knocked on Elizabeth’s door and opened it. “Your father wished to see you the moment you returned."
Elizabeth immediately knew when she stepped into the library that something was wrong. Papa had taken his spectacles off, and he stared through the paper on the desk before him; his face was gray and still. Even though as a general rule he did not reply quickly to letters, Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy had carried on a weekly correspondence, written in Greek, Latin, or the Hebrew they were learning in tandem.
Mr. Bennet looked up at Elizabeth, and he rubbed his hand over his pale forehead and cheeks.
Worry twisted in Elizabeth’s stomach, and she grabbed at the scratchy sleeve of her father’s grey wool robe. “Papa?”
“Mr. Darcy is dying."
“But…” Elizabeth had seen him last spring in London, and he had been vigorous and gray-headed, with infrequent bright smiles. He was only a little older than Papa. Elizabeth bit her lip and said in a rush, “Georgiana did not say anything — you must be mistaken.”
Mr. Bennet slowly folded up the letter from his friend. “He wishes to hide it from her until Fitzwilliam is present. And… Georgiana has few friends. He hoped that we would visit and stay until…well to ensure that Georgiana has company, even if Fitzwilliam’s leave ends.”
“Is it certain? There must be some hope. They are so rich can they not find some doctor?"
Mr. Bennet slumped into his chair and pulled Elizabeth to him so he could kiss her on the forehead and hold her. He shook his head. “He has already seen several specialists. There is no hope. It will just be a few months."
Elizabeth began to cry, frightened for Georgiana and her father. “Poor Georgiana. Poor Georgiana.”
*****
Pemberley was enormous. Elizabeth had known that the Darcys were wealthy from seeing their substantial London house, which was situated in a fashionable square. However, Pemberley was special. The park had endless winding lanes, a bubbling stream from which fish leapt, a substantial deer park, and the house itself had rooms and rooms, and long galleries, and three wings.
Having been to the continent, Elizabeth had seen the palaces of great aristocrats and monarchs. Versailles, for example, was certainly far vaster and more impressive. But Elizabeth was certain there could be no estate of a private gentleman more perfect than Pemberley. The large old house belonged in the green Derbyshire landscape.
The instant Elizabeth arrived in the house, Georgiana ran up to her and seized her in a sobbing embrace. A few days earlier Mr. Darcy had told her after he had a bad day. It terrified Elizabeth to imagine that such a thing could happen, and one day would happen, to her own father.
Georgiana clung to Elizabeth like a rescued puppy. They talked together hour after hour, and they walked around the estate together looking at the house from every perspective. Georgiana pointed out all of the nooks and crannies of the vast mansion, and they ate and played together.
It would do no good to let Georgiana dwell on how her father was dying so Elizabeth contrived to keep her distracted each day from morning until the family gathered in the drawing rooms in the evening.
The staff was kind, and the cook always let Georgiana and Elizabeth steal a little morsel, even if the hour was quite late or very early. The housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, lectured them sternly after they broke an old vase playing a game that involved chasing each other through the halls, but Elizabeth could tell her eyes were amused. Elizabeth decided she liked her.
Georgiana’s governess, Miss Churchill, made sure that Georgiana spent at least a few hours every day on her lessons, and Elizabeth joined her and studied the books that Papa wanted her to read.
Fitzwilliam arrived a few days after Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth. He immediately went to his father, and he stayed in the study with him for a long time. As soon as a servant informed Elizabeth and Georgiana that Fitzwilliam had arrived, Georgiana insisted they wait in the hallway so that she could speak to him at the first possible moment.
They sat together on the solid heavy dark chairs with carved lion’s paws for feet. Elizabeth held Georgiana’s hand, and her friend gripped it back. Georgiana was so eager to see her favorite brother that she vibrated and bounced up and down on the blue cushions. Most of the time Georgiana tried to pretend Mr. Darcy would get better, even though she knew he wouldn’t. After a long time, the tall door to Mr. Darcy’s private study was at last pulled open, and Fitzwilliam tottered out with a white-faced look that made Elizabeth’s heart squeeze for him.
Georgiana pulled her hand from Elizabeth’s and hurled herself into her brother’s arms. He embraced her and bent to kiss her forehead. Mr. Darcy followed his son out of the room and smiled at seeing his two children together. Elizabeth had not seen Fitzwilliam for two years, and his appearance struck her.
He wore his scarlet uniform, with epaulettes on his shoulders, a gleaming white belt and tall black boots. He had a long noble nose, and a strong jaw line. His skin was vibrantly tanned. He was even taller than his father, and his hair had a dark shade of brown and fell in neat lines over his forehead and around his ears. He had bold eyebrows and deep blue eyes. There was a haunted look in those deep eyes. He looked at her over Georgiana’s shoulder.
Elizabeth wanted to embrace him like she could embrace Georgiana until he felt…warm despite being so sad. She would do anything to make him look less lost.
Still holding Georgiana around her shoulders he nodded to Elizabeth. “Hello, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth stood, as Georgiana exclaimed, without releasing her hold on her brother, “Oh, she has been so wonderful. It will now be like when we were in France again. All of us together.”
“Yes.” Fitzwilliam smiled in the saddest manner possible and reached forward his left hand to tweak Elizabeth’s nose like he used to when she was a child, and she did not have the heart to complain, even though he was still treating her like a child. She also liked the familiarity and being touched by him. His fingers were long and neatly trimmed.
The day Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet arrived at Pemberley they met Georgie’s older brother, but he was not often about the estate. In mornings he talked about estate matters at length with his father, but he had already been well trained and did not need to learn more. He now managed most business matters that arose. He almost never talked to Georgiana, and the only words he spoke to Elizabeth were when they were introduced. He was a little shorter than his father and brother, and his face was a little softer. He was said to take after his mother’s family in looks more than the Darcys.
Instead of staying near the estate, Stanley drank and raced his carriage with friends from around the neighborhood. Elizabeth overheard a conversation between Fitzwilliam and Stanley, where Stanley said it was terribly inconvenient that the old man was dying now and forcing him to be dull in Derbyshire during the first months of the London season, when everyone who mattered was gone and it was too late for most hunting. He’d been looking forward to the races this year.
Fitzwilliam was desperate to be near his father. Elizabeth had seen how close they were during the tour of the continent. Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy were as tight as she and Papa. Fitzwilliam spent hours every day talking and reading to Mr. Darcy.
With Fitzwilliam there, Georgiana had two idols to split her attention between, and Fitzwilliam was willing to entertain them both when he wasn’t with his father. He laughingly played hide and seek with them, he walked them both about the estate, and he played cards and checkers with them during the day when he wasn’t with his father. And he talked to Elizabeth about what she read.
During the evenings when Mr. Darcy had guests, Georgiana and Elizabeth ate in the nursery, and Fitzwilliam always came for a few minutes to talk to them before the dinner began. Then they waited to be called into the drawing room where they would play the piano and sing to amuse the guests. After dinner was over, Fitzwilliam brought them down himself, and he always tweaked Georgiana’s nose, though Elizabeth had convinced him to stop tweaking hers.
During nights when there were no guests, they gathered in the drawing room, and the adults argued about politics and philosophy, and all manner of interesting subjects. Elizabeth listened eagerly and pushed her way into the conversation when she could. Mr. Bennet had always encouraged her to think and speak for herself on any topic that interested her. Fitzwilliam treated what she said as seriously as Papa did, like she was a fellow intelligent creature, instead of just a girl.
It made Elizabeth’s heart flutter.
He had a perpetually serious expression, except when he smiled and laughed. He often smiled and laughed when with her and Georgiana. Elizabeth liked it when that sad look completely left his eyes for an hour or two.
Some evenings they took turns reading pieces from great plays and poetry: Shakespeare, Molière, Milton. Fitzwilliam had a perfect voice. Elizabeth loved it when it was his turn to read because she could unembarrassedly watch him speak.
A few days after he arrived at Pemberley, Fitzwilliam entered the schoolroom and sat next to Elizabeth while she listened to Georgiana practice the piano. Elizabeth blushed and felt a little confused by the fact that he was speaking to her alone.
He went to tweak her nose. But Elizabeth blocked his hand and said, “I’m quite too old for that now. I’m almost fourteen.”
He suppressed a smile as he nodded in agreement. “Very old indeed.”
She wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but that would only prove his point.
“I am very glad you are here for Georgie… You know how fond she is of my father. You have kept her from sickening or obsessing too much. Miss Churchill told me she was quite unmanageable for the two days before you arrived and she almost refused to eat anything. You…you are always so patient with her.”
“Oh, no! Don’t thank me. I must. I must. Georgie is as dear to me as my own sisters. There is nothing praiseworthy in that.”
He smiled at her, a real smile, not the sad smile that he showed when he remembered that his father was dying. Elizabeth smiled back, smitten.
He sprung his hand forward and tweaked her nose.
Elizabeth blushed. “Fitzwilliam. Stop that.”
He laughed. “Yes, yes you are too old. But if you are like a sister to Georgie, I promise you I will annoy her when she is fourteen and old.”
It made Elizabeth glow inside that night. She was so happy that Fitzwilliam thanked her, even though keeping Georgie company really wasn’t anything but doing what she wished to. And she decided she didn’t mind so much when he tweaked her nose. At least not when he laughed afterwards.
As the weeks went on, everyone strove to be cheerful for the sake of Mr. Darcy, and his condition worsened quickly.
At first Mr. Darcy had looked pale and thin, but not so different. But day by day he visibly shrank. His nose became smaller, the skin around his eyes became stretched out, as though the illness in his body was eating all of his being. He tired easily and went to sleep each night before even Georgiana became fatigued. His voice weakened, and while he still loved to listen, he said less and less during their evenings. He stopped calling on his neighbors and only let those he was close to call on him.
One day a little more than a month after the letter informing them of his condition had arrived, Mr. Darcy was old and frail suddenly. In the course of that month he had aged from middle-age to decrepitude.
The pained, solemn way Fitzwilliam looked at his father when he could do so without his father seeing him made Elizabeth hurt for the dying man and his family more than anything.
One evening, Fitzwilliam announced in the drawing room, “The letter I received from the Colonel this morning, we now know what our orders are. In four or five months, once we are done recruiting and training the new soldiers, we sail for India.”
“India?" Mr. Darcy was surprised by his son’s information. “So they will not send you to back to America?”
“The recent entry of the French into the war has changed matters — the Company informed the ministry that the French are negotiating an alliance with a great local monarch in the south of India, and they have requested that more European soldiers be sent to boost our position."
Elizabeth looked admiringly at Fitzwilliam, who spoke proudly of how he was to go out to fight. She imagined herself as an Amazon warrior, from the old Greek tales, able to fight alongside Fitzwilliam to protect their happy England and promote the interests of King George. Weeks of listening to Fitzwilliam’s fervent belief in the Empire had pulled Elizabeth away from her father’s cynical opinions.
Though she thought it was good that he would fight the fantastical natives of India, Elizabeth remembered her travels through France far too fondly to think of fighting them as a noble task, even though the French lacked British liberties.
Both Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy had dark frowns. Fitzwilliam said with a wry twist of his lip to Mr. Bennet, “You should be pleased by this news — after all, you do not approve of our war in the colonies."
“I do not approve of the Company’s rule of India either. No, that is not why I sigh. We are at war, and young men who read the Iliad when they were young will be entranced by hope of glory. More men die of disease than in battle. India is not a healthy place for European men."
Elizabeth felt a chill at those words.
“I shall take every reasonable precaution to protect my health.” Fitzwilliam spread his hands wide. “It is not so very unhealthful.”
Mr. Darcy’s voice had become a perpetually hoarse croak. “I wish you had gone into the law, or the church, anything but this.”
“I am doing something great, something which matters, something important. I would not be a coward who stays at home to earn money while my country is beset all around with enemies. Britons shall never be slaves.”
“It is a terrible thing.” Mr. Darcy paused; there was something portentous in his manner that prevented any interruption. “It is a terrible thing to leave this world and know that my son shall head off as soon as he has buried me into a battle."
Fitzwilliam looked mulish, as though he wished to argue with his father, but would not out of respect. Elizabeth’s heart seized as she looked at Georgiana’s vibrant and healthy brother.
Would he die too?
The brilliant scarlet of his uniform seemed bloody.
Mr. Darcy started coughing endlessly, and he clutched at his chest. Fitzwilliam jumped from his seat and held him so he could hack more easily. Georgiana was wide-eyed and pale, and she clutched at Elizabeth’s arm while they watched Mr. Darcy’s coughs go on and on.
Once his coughs had receded a little, Fitzwilliam rang the bell for a servant. Mr. Darcy weakly said, “Do not send for the doctor. I am fine, I am fine.” He stood up unsteadily and weaved as he tried to walk towards the door.
Fitzwilliam took his arm and helped Mr. Darcy to sit down again as he could not stay up.
“Son.” He pulled Fitzwilliam close, so that he could speak to him without raising his voice. Though she strained her ears, Elizabeth could not hear what he said. Fitzwilliam nodded somberly and helped his father stagger out of the room.
From that day Mr. Darcy’s decline became precipitous. For the next two nights he sat out with them and listened, but he said almost nothing. The day following that, when he woke, Mr. Darcy was unable to leave his bed. The doctor was called, but he could do nothing except give his patient a strong dose of opium to dull the pain.
In a weak whisper Mr. Darcy told his servants to carry him into the library. He sat in his favorite chair. They all stayed in the library that day, even the oldest brother, Stanley. The doctor did not believe Mr. Darcy would live out the week. Mr. Bennet sat next to his friend and read to him in a firm steady voice from the book of John in Greek.
Elizabeth whispered to Georgiana the words in English as Mr. Bennet spoke. “Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again. Martha saith unto him, I know that he shall rise again in the resurrection at the last day. Jesus said unto her, I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet he shall live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
Before he was carried back to his bed that night, Mr. Darcy had all of his children come to him, and he kissed their foreheads and whispered a message to each.
The next morning, when the servants came to wake him, they were not surprised to find Mr. Darcy cold in his bed.
Elizabeth knew when Fitzwilliam and his brother entered the breakfast room. The expression on Fitzwilliam’s face told her what had happened during the night.
Stanley announced his death.
Georgiana started up, pushing her chair backwards with a scrape before Elizabeth could grab at her arms. “No. No. No. I must see him. He can’t be.”
Fitzwilliam grabbed her to prevent her from running from the room, and he shook his head, holding her.
“No, no! Let me see him. Let me see him.” Georgiana wrung her small hands.
“You do not. He is no longer here, he is elsewhere.”
Georgiana tried to struggle out of Fitzwilliam’s hold to get around to the door.
“Let her go,” Stanley said sharply. He was now Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth thought. Stanley brushed at the edge of his eyes. “She wishes to see Father’s body, I say, let her."
Fitzwilliam’s expression was bleak and dry. He still held his sister and shook his head again, no.
“The deuce." Stanley brushed his hand across his eyes and exclaimed, “I’ll not cry in front of you all — you don’t make the decisions for Georgie, I do.”
He seized his sister’s hand and roughly dragged her out of the room, saying, “Let’s see Papa."
Elizabeth started up behind them, but Stanley showed her a forbidding glare and said harshly, “I’ll not make this corpse viewing a mass spectacle. Stay here. By God, I am the master of this house now.”
Elizabeth sat back down, and she thought of Mr. Darcy, dead and cold in his room. She softly cried.
Fitzwilliam looked towards the door with a frown, and then went into the hallway and spoke in a low, steady voice to Mrs. Reynolds, making plans and giving orders. Elizabeth knew he was fighting to stay calm by keeping busy.
After several minutes Georgiana ran back into the room, white faced and tear streaked. She ran to Fitzwilliam and hugged him, sobbing against his shirt. Fitzwilliam held Georgie tenderly and carefully.
Georgiana pounded her fists against Fitzwilliam’s chest. “Why aren’t you crying too? Why aren’t you crying? Even Stanley is crying.”
His eyes looked out over the room, a little helplessly, and they caught Elizabeth’s. Elizabeth’s stomach clenched with grief for them. Georgiana could not see that her brother was crying, just not with his eyes. She thought it was worse to cry only on the inside.
Elizabeth took her dear friend from him and held Georgiana tightly in her arms and cried with her. She worried for Fitzwilliam.
That day there was a constant clatter from the drive of carriages and horses arriving, as the neighborhood visited en masse to pay their respects and offer condolences to the family.
Fitzwilliam and Stanley stood in the entry hall greeting people, quietly shaking hands and listening to endless kind words about their father. For part of the day Georgiana sat out on display to the neighborhood, with her hand tightly clutching Elizabeth’s. But when she began to sob again, Stanley querulously demanded she remove herself to the nursery.
It was a somber day, and instead of going to her own bed that night, Georgiana cried herself to sleep with Elizabeth.
The next day the Darcys’ high relations, the Earl of Matlock and his lady, and Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park, arrived. Lady Catherine had a nasty sneer, and she almost refused to be introduced to Mr. Bennet by Fitzwilliam. Georgiana and Elizabeth sat in the nursery, and Georgiana talked about how Lady Catherine frightened her.
A little after noon that day, Stanley summoned Georgiana and her governess to speak about how she would be educated now that her father was dead.
It was a fine warm day, and Elizabeth left the house to walk about the park, knowing that they would soon leave the beautiful estate. Elizabeth felt a dread for Georgiana in her stomach. Stanley hardly cared about his sister. Elizabeth would need to send her even more and more letters once Fitzwilliam had left the country.
Despite the beauty of the day, and the presence of spring butterflies fluttering about, Elizabeth felt somber and sad. On the point of crying again, she saw near the stables a friendly cat lying rolled over on the ground. This cat often butted her head up against Elizabeth and begged to be picked up.
Elizabeth wanted to clutch a warm creature, so she ran towards the grey striped cat. However, the animal, startled by Elizabeth’s rapid approach, jumped up and ran into the barn. More cautiously Elizabeth followed her with a smile on her face. But once she entered the barn, she was startled by the sound of a sniffle and saw that Fitzwilliam sat on a yellow pile of straw. He brushed with the back of his hand at his splotchy face. His eyes were puffy and red, teardrops stood on the edge of his nose, and he’d pulled his hand through his hair making it wild and disordered.
Seeing her, Fitzwilliam began to rearrange his clothes and he wiped at his face as though embarrassed. Following an impetuous impulse, Elizabeth grabbed him in a tight hug and said, “Don’t stop crying. Don’t stop. You shouldn’t cry alone.”
He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. He didn’t say anything, so Elizabeth said, “He was always very kind to me. Do you remember how he made fun of you when you told me I shouldn’t speak Latin because I was a little girl? And how you then…”
“Yes, I remember. We had such good times.” Darcy’s voice was choked. “I never saw him happier than on that trip, eagerly showing me and Georgie his favorite sights. He would look at me, and his eyes shined when I ran around the ruins of a castle.”
“Papa loved arguing with him. It was so lucky they met each other.”
“Two good English gentlemen, wandering Italy with copies of Plato and Cicero open. He was so happy to find a man with a similar spirit.”
Elizabeth sobbed. Fitzwilliam’s tears also began again and with their arms around each other they sat on the rough straw and wept.
*****
A week after Mr. Darcy died, Fitzwilliam left Pemberley to join his regiment. The new Mr. Darcy was clearly not enthused about continuing to host his father’s guests, and Mr. Bennet had made plans for him and Elizabeth to leave just a few days later.
The day before they left, Georgiana and Elizabeth tramped through the fields and woods around the house. Georgiana was miserable. “Papa is dead. Stanley doesn’t want me, he has decided to dismiss Miss Churchill and send me to a school, and Fitzwilliam will go to India. Maybe he will die like Papa did.”
“You shall write me exceedingly often, and we will find some way to visit in between the sessions of your school. Do not cry.”
“I can’t help it. I am alone now.”
“You are not. You are not. We have each other, and even when we are separated we still are present with each other, like you and Fitzwilliam are together. You are another sister to me.”
“But we are not really sisters.”
Elizabeth smiled at Georgiana’s small screwed up face. “Come, we shall become sisters.”
“How?”
Elizabeth interlaced her fingers with Georgiana’s. They set off to find yellow roses, which symbolized friendship, and some candles and paper. The two girls wove the yellow roses into each other’s hair, and then Elizabeth had them write on strips of paper: We are sisters, Lizzy and Georgie are sisters. Then they put the papers under a candle holder and lit the candles and danced around it in a circle, with their hands interlaced and foreheads touching.
They chanted, “Lalalala, we are sisters. We are sisters.”
Then they blew out the candles, and each girl took the paper the other had written and one of the candles as a keepsake.
“Now,” Elizabeth said. “We have chosen to be sisters and will always be connected in the heart, no matter what else happens. We are really and truly sisters in the heart.”
Georgiana smiled, and while both girls wept the next day at parting, Elizabeth knew her friend was much happier than she had been the day before.