“I am not really sure,” she replied, as we entered the music room. “Following…my um, experience with Wickham, I lost interest. Brother purchased this instrument for me soon afterwards, hoping to encourage me. I took it up again after my marriage but…”
It was a magnificent pianoforte, truly the loveliest I had ever seen. I imagined him having it made, giving his attention to the details of woodwork and ivory, longing for his young sister’s spirits to heal, with no real way to make that happen. How hopeless he must have felt! No wonder he had not wished to dance and mingle with strangers in Meryton! Yet he had asked me to dance at Mr Bingley’s ball. It seemed more meaningful now; he had not danced with anyone else beyond his own party. And what had I done? Taunted him with his supposed injuries to Wickham! He had hinted, of course, that I did not understand the whole situation, but I had not listened, believing my evening spoilt by Wickham’s absence. Blaming him for it. How was it, I wondered, that he had remembered me with any fondness at all?
I was startled out of my reverie by Georgiana’s playing. She had begun with the sheet music that was on the instrument, something that I—an indifferent musician—had been stumbling around in my usual lackadaisical fashion. She began slowly at first, and then with more confidence, until she was playing the difficult piece with beauty and power. The gentlemen re-joined us with gratifying speed, and Mr Bingley immediately went to his wife to turn her pages. Her music was joy, delight; happiness given substance. No wonder she could not play when she was miserable.
Mr Darcy seated himself beside me and took my hand in his strong, warm one. He appeared completely enraptured with his sister’s playing but his thumb rubbed softly against the back of my hand, capturing almost as much of my attention as the lovely music.
When she finished the piece, Mr Bingley bent his head to murmur something in her ear. Georgiana blushed. Within the hour, the Bingleys had retired to their rooms, while Mr Darcy followed them with his eyes, a look of wonderment upon his face.
When they were gone and the servants dismissed, he turned to me. “Do you know what has changed between them?”
I hesitated, but only briefly; there had been far too many secrets at Pemberley. I wished the truth would not hurt Mr Darcy so deeply, however. As surely it must.
I told him what lies Anne had administered to Georgiana, as well as what truths I had revealed to her. I knew he would not like her knowing he had been cuckolded, and I was prepared to defend my decision.
But he did not argue it, though he dropped my hand to run his through his hair, his own gesture of frustration. “I ought to have spoken to her long ago. I have only increased her suffering by hiding the truth. When will I learn that I know nothing?” Leaning forward, he buried his face within his hands.
I moved closer to him, rubbing his broad back with soothing strokes. “If it helps at all, I do not believe the truth would have done much good at the time. She was so terribly hurt, and it is likely…” I trailed off.
“Say what you think,” he demanded. “You believe Anne would have twisted it into something still worse, even.”
“She certainly was a master manipulator,” I agreed. “It would have taken a concerted effort to break free of her machinations and likely she would have found many to believe her version of events if you had repudiated her, as you feared. Perhaps she would even have found a way to ruin Georgiana utterly.”
“And perhaps I was a coward, and only feared she would,” he said bitterly. “Why not confess to you the worst of it? Except for my sister, for whom my feelings were impossible to hide, I withdrew from every member of my family. I only saw my cousin, Matlock, on the most infrequent occasions, and then kept the knowledge from her. She demanded I accept the earl’s invitations, but I always made my excuses, telling her I did not like any of them and could not be bothered. If I wrote to them, I wrote privately, and asked for any return letters to be sent in care of my man of business. I separated from all my friends, except for Bingley—and of course, there was already a rift between us.”
“Cowardice? Is that what you call it when you strive to protect those whom you cherish most?”
“Do not forget—I protected myself, and my reputation, most of all,” he retorted. “I have never been an amiable man. It was not too difficult to remove myself from amusements, clubs, and the people who frequent both.”
I looked at him almost helplessly, certain that this disavowal of his family and friends had come about gradually. It was simply that he could see it all now, how she had increasingly isolated him from his peers and relations by playing upon his fears for himself and others. Until he was alone—utterly, mercilessly alone.
Again, I could have asked him then how she died, but in that moment, I did not care. I was, simply, glad she was gone.
I moved closer to him, placing my hand upon his cheek. “You must adopt my attitude—remember the past only as it gives you pleasure, and greater perception for the future. As you do, you will remember that you did protect them. You were successful. She was never able to make victims of other members of your family, correct?”
He nodded curtly.
“And even though you could not protect Georgiana to the extent you wished, neither do I believe the damage permanent. To at least some extent, Anne was held in check. She chose to preserve what hold she had, rather than causing more destruction.”
He looked at me for a long moment. “Will you wait here for a few moments, my dear? I shall not be long.”
I thought perhaps he was going to ask for the tea to be freshened, since none of us had touched any of it, but instead of ringing for a servant, he left the room entirely. He was gone perhaps ten minutes, and when he returned, he again seated himself beside me. “I would like you to have this,” he said, withdrawing a small velvet box.
Inside was a beautiful gold ring featuring a large rose-cut diamond surrounded by two rows of smaller diamonds with more on either side of the shank. I was so surprised, for a moment I could only stare. He misinterpreted my silence.
“This was my mother’s betrothal ring. You need not wonder if Anne wore it first. She never even knew of its existence.”
“It is beyond lovely,” I breathed, slipping it onto my finger. It fit perfectly.
He took my hand and kissed it. “I hoped to give this to you on the perfect occasion, on a perfect day of nothing but perfect memory, but I find I cannot wait another moment to see my ring on your finger. I could not obtain it before the wedding as I wished, so I had my man of business retrieve it. I traced a ring of yours on paper so he could have it sized. When lately in London, I reclaimed it, and also brought back pieces for Georgiana. I dared not give them to her before—I figured Anne would, somehow, manage to manoeuvre them into her own possession.”
I watched the reflected brilliance of the ring, admiring its sparkle upon my finger. “When Mrs de Bourgh leaves, I am going to have her daughter’s things packed and removed to her Ramsgate property with her,” I said at last. “In the normal course of events, I would suggest they be distributed to those who could use them, but her mother is obsessively attached to it all. Despite your demand that she stop—and until her recent, er, malady—Mrs de Bourgh continued to refresh the flowers in Anne’s rooms daily and lay out a new négligée each evening. I went upstairs again, to see if it was so,” I continued, hearing his sharp exhale, and shook my head in remembered disbelief. “She is taking hair from Anne’s hairpieces to place in her brushes. I would not mind it, truly, if rearranging Anne’s belongings brought her any peace. Plainly, it does not. If she is insane, it is the sort of madness that is most dangerous—an infatuation with her own hatred and grief. She is like a wilful child whose favourite toy has been taken away. I fear her tantrums might eventually be dangerous to someone other than herself.”
“How did you enter?” he asked. “How did she?”
“I simply took the keys from the drawer beside your bed,” I said, “and tried each one until I found one that fit. I expect Mrs de Bourgh has other copies. I wished to show Georgiana how cracked she is, and so I took her there this morning. She will tell Bingley. The servants already know it. Word will spread eventually, so that no one will believe a word she says in the future, at least hereabouts. In this instance, she overplayed her hand.”
He only shook his head at me, equal parts resignation and indulgence. “You are mistress here. Do what you like with Anne’s things. I do not care. The worst moments of my life were spent in those rooms, and redecorating cannot fix all that I hate. Someday, you and I will decide together what is to be done with them. For now, I ask you to keep them locked, and to stay away from them. The servants may go in and clear them, and then stay out except for a monthly cleaning. Am I unreasonable? Will that be acceptable, Mrs Darcy?”