“No, Fitzwilliam.” Georgiana’s negation vibrated delicately in the air between them. “I lacked nothing in the way of true defenses against his blandishments. Credit me at least with knowing what was right and what was due my family!” She rose and came to him, laying a hand upon his back. “What I lacked was the character to reject his appeals. He played to my sympathy and romantic dreams, yes, but he also encouraged my vanity and fed my discontent with countless pointed insinuations.”
Darcy shook his head and turned away.
“Brother, I have always been encouraged to think so well of myself. Insulated by wealth and rank from any serious demand upon my character, I had little experience of its worth. I have since learned that in those more important things I am poor, helpless, and needy. It was the most important lesson I have in this life to learn.
“So, you see, Fitzwilliam.” She laid earnest hold of his arms. “You may not take upon yourself the entire blame. But for what blame you do hold in it, dear Brother, I forgive you with all my heart.”
Darcy looked down at the young woman, anxiety for his receipt of her absolution troubling her features. He had gotten what he had hoped for in this part of his confession, but it seemed altogether too easy.
“I was unforgivably selfish, Georgiana!”
“Brother.” Georgiana tried to stem his confessional flow.
“I should have done —”
“Fitzwilliam! I know you are selfish!” she exclaimed and then laughed at his affronted expression. “You are usually the most kind and generous of brothers, but with others, and also at times with me, you do look to your own concerns first. Oh!” she cried, “please, do not frown so when I merely agree with what you have confessed! Did I not forgive you already? More and I will suspect you of taking pride in your confession!”
The blush that colored his face he would have wished due more to contrition than to the embarrassment and chagrin he truly felt. It seemed he could not even confess his faults without a display of pride. “Well, ahem, I thank you, then.” He cast about, unable to look his sister in the eye. “You are very kind.”
“No, not ‘very’ kind, for now” — she turned and, resuming her seat on the divan, indicated the place next to her — “it is your turn, and I hold you to your promise.”
His turn! How was he to begin? Ignoring her invitation, he circled behind her and across the room. The rustle of her gown informed him that his progress was being followed. His bid for time to collect himself denied, he turned back and, with a sigh, sat down beside her.
He closed his eyes and leaned back. “You will remember my letter from Hertfordshire about a certain young woman. We spoke of her at Christmas, I believe.”
“Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Darcy opened one eye to peer down at her. “You remember her name?”
“Oh, yes.” Georgiana’s gaze was wide with expectancy. “I could not easily forget the name of a woman who had caught your interest and approval so well as she had.”
“Yes, well.” Darcy sighed. Then he began, in a fashion, to acquaint his sister with all that had occurred, the memories crowding upon him too swiftly, too poignantly to offer a precise chronology.
“At Rosings, I found my attraction to her growing stronger each day. I came to the point that, despite the manifold obstacles, I decided I could not live without her. I began to court her, at once eager to conclude the matter and ashamed of what I regarded as the sure consequences of my choice. My ambivalence was so complete that my object had not the slightest suspicion she was being so singled out. When finally I could deny my desire no longer and went to her, she greeted the offer of my hand with cool dismissal, professing herself surprised that I had held her in such regard.”
“She refused you!” Georgiana looked up at him, incredulous. “No, it cannot be! There was a mistake, some misunderstanding —”
Darcy took her hand between his, quieting her. “Yes, there was a mistake and a misunderstanding.” He shook his head at the hope that began to light her eyes. “It was my mistaken conceit that intervened between Elizabeth’s sister and Charles. Elizabeth had only that morning discovered my hand in her sister’s unhappiness and justly tasked me with it. The misunderstanding…” He paused. Must he reveal to her Wickham’s reappearance? “The misunderstanding concerned a malicious rumor about me that Elizabeth had no reason not to believe given my ill behavior toward her earlier. Of course, once she knew of my interference in the former, she was disposed to believe me perfectly capable of the meanest injustice.”
“But you explained this, surely!” Georgiana protested. “I know you must have been sorry for what you had done!”
He gripped her hand more tightly. “I am sorry to say, I was not. Her rejection so pained and humiliated me that I justified myself to her at every turn.” He sighed. “We exchanged words that I will regret to the end of my life. Later, I wrote her a letter explaining my actions in regard to her sister, for which she will never, I believe, forgive me. As for the misunderstanding, I have hopes of being acquitted in that quarter, but none so strong as to support a rapprochement. Her opinion of me and my faults, she made quite clear. No, she does not, nor can she ever, love me, my dear.” His voice dropped.
“Dear Brother!” Georgiana’s pity was sweeter than he had ever suspected pity could be.
“I raged against the crushing of my heart and the advent of a joyless future. I blamed her for deceiving me, fate for toying with me, everyone and everything save myself. As you said, we have been brought up to think well of ourselves, perhaps too well. Since my return from Kent, I have meanly thrashed about in my pain without a thought for those who care for my well-being. Last night, despite good counsel, I plunged into dangerous company for no better reasons than an appeal to my pride and the flattery of my person. It took Lord Brougham’s intervention to bring me to my senses, yet I rewarded his trouble with drunkenness. In my pride and conceit I have behaved abominably, foolishly. I stand shamed.” He swallowed hard. “I am not the man I had thought to become, before the memory of our father. Further, I have given you pain, Georgiana, most selfishly,” he concluded, “and I am heartily sorry for it.” He released her hand and waited, steeling himself for whatever should come.
“Brother,” she gasped, putting fingers to her lips to force back the sob in her voice. “Such pain, Fitzwilliam! I knew your anger, your isolation came from hurt of something, but this! To love so and receive…” Emotion caught her up again, preventing her from continuing.
“My pain…” He reached into his coat pocket and brought out his handkerchief to daub at her cheeks. “My pain is not sufficient excuse for my actions even if I had not brought its cause upon myself.”
“What a sorry pair we make.” She looked up at him as he did her his gentle service. “We have, both of us, been given to see ourselves and have responded like children, unwilling to be taught and resentful of our discipline.”
“But you are reconciled, I think.” He looked at her closely. “Whereas I am only resigned.”
Gently, her head came to rest upon his shoulder, and her hand was shyly laid over his heart. “I know,” she whispered. “But it is a step away from the angry pain you have been suffering so cruelly and alone. Pray, do not continue so, Fitzwilliam!”
Slipping his arms around her, Darcy held her close and placed a kiss upon her curls. “Shall you be my Portia, pleading my case before the bar?” He laid his cheek upon the place he had kissed.
Georgiana sighed as she burrowed deeper into his shoulder. “Not I alone, dear Brother; but yes, ever your Portia.”