Page 168 of What Change Entails

That was too much perhaps.

Or perhaps exactly enough.

Georgiana’s fingers curled against her skirt.

Fitzwilliam crossed the remaining space between them. He did not touch her; he would not embarrass her before guests. But he came near enough that she knew he stood with her.

“I believe my sister has expressed herself clearly.”

Miss Bingley’s complexion altered.

Lydia rose from the stool so quickly Horace’s head dropped to the rug. He lifted it with offended dignity.

“Excellent decision, Miss Darcy,” Lydia announced. “Performances after tea are oppressive. Everyone sits and pretends not to wonder whether cake remains.”

“Lydia,” Miss Elizabeth said, though the rebuke lacked force.

Mr. Bingley laughed once and then converted it into a cough. “I confess I have wondered that very thing.”

Mr. Hurst lowered the tongs. “Cake remains.”

“Then the afternoon is saved,” Lydia declared.

The release of tension arrived unevenly. Mrs. Gardiner moved to Elizabeth’s side. Mr. Gardiner changed the subject as though mitigating conflict was a habit. He accepted a fresh cup of tea, and began speaking to Mr. Darcy of Lambton roads.

Miss Bingley sat through it all with a smile that had become an effort.

Georgiana remained standing beside her chair, unsure whether to sit again or flee.

Lydia solved the problem in her usual fashion.

“Miss Darcy, come help me rescue Horace from despair. He has been denied cake and may never recover.”

Horace thumped his tail.

Miss Bingley drew herself up. “Surely Miss Darcy need not concern herself with the dog.”

Georgiana crossed to Lydia. “I shall come.”

The simple choice steadied her more than the chair had.

Lydia’s grin flashed bright and triumphant, though she somehow worked not to fling herself across the room in celebration. Georgiana appreciated the restraint more than she could say.

They crossed toward the window seat where Horace had flopped against the carpet with theatrical suffering. Georgiana knelt beside him, accepting the excuse to lower her face and gather herself. Lydia crouched nearby and pretended to inspect the dog’s ears.

“That,” Lydia whispered, “was magnificent.”

Georgiana touched Horace’s head. “I thought I might be ill.”

“All the best victories produce that sensation.”

“I do not think that is true.”

“It ought to be. Makes them more memorable.”

Georgiana stole a brief look across the room. Fitzwilliam stood near Mr. Gardiner, but his attention rested upon her for a moment before returning to the conversation. His expression undid her more than Miss Bingley’s displeasure had. Pride, yes, but also regret. Tenderness. Apology. He had heard her. He had seen.

Georgiana bent over Horace again and rubbed behind his ears.