Page 73 of Near Pemberley

“Miss Bennet,” said she gently, taking Lydia’s cold hands between her own, “we are very glad you are safely arrived.”

The simple warmth of the words seemed nearly to undo Lydia at once.

She attempted to answer but failed entirely.

Georgiana stepped forward then, shyly but with unmistakable sincerity.

“I am very happy you are here,” she said.

Lydia stared at her in astonishment. “You cannot be.”

“Yes,” Georgiana answered.

Lydia’s lips trembled violently. She looked as though she barely understood how kindness could still be offered to her at all.

Mrs. Annesley guided her gently towards the fire.

“You are chilled through. Sit down first, and everything else may wait.”

Lydia obeyed almost mechanically.

Darcy remained near the doorway, watching silently while Georgiana poured tea with hands only slightly unsteady. He had imagined half a dozen possible disasters. None of them included Miss Lydia weeping because someone was kind to her.

There was something extraordinarily moving in the sight.

Neither girl possessed the ease to comfort elegantly. Georgiana remained naturally timid; Lydia too overwhelmed by shame for conversation. Yet precisely because of that awkwardness, their gentleness towards one another appeared more genuine than polished sympathy could ever have done.

Georgiana crossed quietly towards Lydia with the tea.

Their eyes met briefly.

And suddenly, Lydia burst into tears again. “Oh, you ought not to be kind to me!”

Georgiana looked startled but not offended. “Why not?”

“Because I have behaved abominably.”

Fresh sobs interrupted the words entirely.

Mrs. Annesley moved immediately beside her, but Georgiana surprised even herself by kneeling before Lydia’s chair.

“No,” she said, though tears had risen in her own eyes as well. “You have been unhappy.”

Lydia covered her face at once.

Darcy turned away, then towards the window, not wishing either girl to be observed too closely in such distress.

Behind him, Lydia’s broken weeping gradually softened beneath Georgiana’s quiet reassurances.

And with every moment, Darcy’s resolve hardened further.

Whatever society might say of Lydia Bennet now, he would not permit Wickham’s cruelty to define the remainder of her life.

And somewhere in London, Wickham remained at liberty.

Chapter XVII

George Wickham examined his reflection in the cracked looking-glass with growing dissatisfaction.