Page 230 of A Question of Character

Darcy took Elizabeth to Ireland and Bingley took Jane to Bath.

The two journeys reflected the temperaments of the gentlemen who planned them. Bingley wished chiefly for comfort, pleasant scenery, and opportunities for companionship with Jane. Darcy, knowing Elizabeth’s delight in seeing new places, resolved to show her landscapes unlike any she had yet encountered on her last trip to Ireland.

They were detained at Holyhead for two days while the packet master waited upon a favorable wind. When they finally crossed beneath a brisk winter sky, the sea was rough enough to command respect without making the voyage intolerable.

Elizabeth spent much of the crossing wrapped in a warm cloak upon the deck, laughing whenever the spray reached them despite Darcy’s repeated assurances that the cabin would prove considerably more comfortable.

“You did promise to show me Ireland,” she reminded him. “Not merely the inside of a packet.”

“I begin to suspect my wife possesses little regard for comfort when curiosity presents itself.”

“You married me knowing as much.”

“I did.”

His smile suggested he considered the circumstance among his greatest blessings.

Elizabeth enjoyed every moment of the Emerald Isle, but happily returned to England, eager to see her husband’s estate.

They visited Dublin, admired the broad streets and elegant squares, wandered through ancient ruins that inspired more questions than their guides could answer, and traveled among green hills unlike any Elizabeth had known in Hertfordshire. Everywhere she found something to delight her, whether it was the warmth of the people they encountered, the dramatic coastline, or simply the pleasure of discovering each new place beside the man she loved.

Yet as their journey drew toward its close, her thoughts focused increasingly toward Derbyshire.

“You have praised Pemberley so often,” she confessed one evening as they sat beside the fire at an inn, “that I fear my imagination has become unreasonable.”

Darcy reached across the small table and took her hand.

“Then I hope that reality disappoints you less than you expect.”

She smiled.

“I think that impossible.”

When at last they crossed again into England, Elizabeth’s anticipation grew with every passing mile. Ireland had given her treasured memories she would recall throughout her life, but home—her new home—awaited beyond the familiar roads of Derbyshire.

They stopped in London for business and to see how Georgiana fared to find her more petulant than ever.

Elizabeth had hoped the months since the attempted elopement would have softened Georgiana’s resentment. Instead, she found a young lady still struggling beneath the weight of wounded pride. Georgiana greeted her brother and sister-in-law with proper civility, but the warmth that had once characterized her manner appeared in brief moments before retreating again behind reserve. She spoke respectfully to Lady Matlock, though it required little observation to discover that obedience had not yet become willing.

During their time in town, they learned that the Bow Street Runners Darcy had employed to find Wycombe had traced him to Liverpool. There, he had been pressed into service of His Majesty’s Navy. The ship he served on went down in a storm. There were no survivors.

Georgiana’s reaction upon learning of Wycombe’s fate bordered on ridiculous. Darcy bore the disappointment with admirable patience. Still, he visited his sister every day they remained in Town, never reproaching her, never reopening the painful history unless Georgiana herself raised the subject. Elizabeth watched those meetings with growing admiration. There had been a time when Darcy would have expected immediate improvement through reason alone. Experience had taught him otherwise. He answered sharp words with calm ones, accepted silence without demanding conversation, and departed each evening after reminding Georgiana that he loved her.

The young lady seldom replied.

Once, however, as Darcy prepared to leave, Elizabeth happened to glance back from the doorway and observed Georgiana watching her brother with unmistakable longing. The expression vanished the instant Georgiana realized she had been observed, but it remained enough to encourage Elizabeth. Beneath the stubbornness, affection had survived.

Lady Matlock hired a companion well-known for her militant personality at Darcy’s urging.

The lady proved everything Darcy had promised and rather more besides. Mrs. Harcourt, a respectable widow who had spent many years governing the daughters of an earl, possessed an unwavering conviction that idleness invited folly. Georgiana’s mornings became occupied with correspondence, languages, history, music, charitable visits, and long walks undertaken regardless of weather unless conditions became genuinely dangerous. Complaints received polite acknowledgement before being assigned another page of translation or an additional chapter of Fordyce.

Elizabeth quickly perceived why Lady Matlock approved of the arrangement.

“If Miss Darcy has sufficient leisure to feel sorry for herself,” Mrs. Harcourt remarked one afternoon, “then I have failed to provide enough occupation.”

Lady Matlock merely nodded.

“Quite right.”