Page 79 of Near Pemberley

At this, Georgiana’s eyes filled with tears.

Darcy saw it.

And in that moment, looking from one girl to the other, Darcy was struck by a resemblance he had not fully considered before.

Their temperaments could scarcely have been more different. Georgiana was quiet, where Lydia was impulsive; reserved, where Lydia sought attention. Yet both had been little more than children. Both had trusted where they ought not to have trusted. And both had encountered Wickham at an age when admiration was too easily mistaken for judgement.

Not for the first time, Darcy wondered whether Wickham’s greatest talent had never been charm at all, but rather the ability to discover precisely what another person most wished to hear and convince them he alone could provide it.

Lydia wiped at her eyes awkwardly. “Do you truly think I am not ruined forever?”

Darcy was silent for a moment before answering.

“Yes,” he said in a low voice. “I do.”

And though society might yet disagree with him entirely, he found himself caring less with every passing day about the justice of society’s judgement where Elizabeth Bennet’s family was concerned.

Lydia hesitated. “And what am I to do now?”

The question emerged so quietly that for a moment, nobody answered.

Darcy regarded her steadily.

“In time,” he said, “there will be decisions to make. Your future must be considered carefully, and there may be possibilities once imagined which are no longer open to you.”

Lydia lowered her eyes.

“But that discussion need not take place tonight.” His voice softened slightly. “At present, I think you have spent too many weeks frightened, exhausted, and unhappy. Recover first. The rest may be considered afterwards.”

Lydia stared at him.

No one had spoken to her of the future without either condemning it or attempting to avoid it altogether.

“Recover?” she repeated faintly.

“Yes.”

Something in the simplicity of the answer seemed to affect her unexpectedly.

Chapter XVIII

Later that evening, after the household had retired, Darcy returned once more to the study.

Several reports awaited him, though none contained anything of consequence. One address had proved false; another lodging-housekeeper remembered Wickham but had not seen him for weeks. Beyond that, there was little.

Darcy laid the papers aside.

There remained one person with whom he had not yet spoken.

Mr. Gardiner.

Darcy knew little of what had passed after they left Lambton – only that weeks had elapsed without success and that Lydia Bennet had remained undiscovered until chance – or Providence – had placed her in his path.

The thought still troubled him.

Wickham was neither careful nor particularly clever. He relied upon charm, audacity, and the remarkable willingness of other people to postpone unpleasant conclusions. Given sufficient time, he invariably left traces behind him.

Yet weeks had passed.