Page 174 of A Question of Character

“I have had practice.”

“So I perceive.”

Nothing more was said.

Another time, while they rested beneath an oak overlooking the fields, Elizabeth traced idle patterns across the head of her walking stick.

“I cannot help believing—”

“Have I told you,” Darcy asked with determined brightness, “that Georgiana has finally consented to attempt Italian?”

Elizabeth regarded him with unmistakable exasperation.

“You are impossible.”

“I have been accused of as much before.”

She laughed despite herself, and the moment passed.

Darcy accepted the small victory with shamefully mixed feelings.

Each avoided wound preserved the peace between them.

Each avoided wound also remained unhealed.

Letters from Georgiana arrived faithfully every week.

She wrote of her studies under Mrs. Annesley’s supervision, of improvements to the conservatory at Pemberley, of a spaniel that had somehow persuaded every servant to indulge its whims, and of Mrs. Reynolds’ conviction that the south orchard would produce an extraordinary crop.

Every letter mentioned Elizabeth.

When may I hope to meet Miss Bennet?

Do assure Miss Bennet that I continue my practice and shall endeavor not to disgrace myself at the pianoforte when she visits.

I believe she will like the west gallery best.

Georgiana even ventured little jokes now and again.

Darcy treasured every line.

One subject remained untouched.

Ramsgate.

At first he searched each page for some passing reference.

Soon he ceased.

His sister had promised that, when she was prepared, she would tell him everything.

She had also asked him to trust that she was no longer the frightened girl he imagined.

He folded her letters carefully after each reading.

Whatever had happened during that unhappy summer, pressing her would reopen a wound she plainly wished to master in her own time.

If Elizabeth could ask patience of him, surely Georgiana deserved no less.