Page 36 of What Change Entails

Darcy looked toward the road ahead. The hedges gave way to a broader sweep of country, hills rising beyond fields divided by stone walls.

“I asked her to marry me in Kent.”

Georgiana gasped. Her mare tossed its head in response to the movement, and she steadied the reins quickly. “Fitzwilliam!”

“She refused me.”

“Oh.” Georgiana’s face changed from surprise to distress. “I am sorry.”

“I deserved it.”

“You cannot mean that.”

“I can.” He adjusted his grip on the reins, though the leather needed no adjustment. “My proposal was proud, ungenerous, and insulting. I spoke of loving her as though it was a misfortune I had condescended to endure.”

Georgiana stared at him, appalled. “You did not.”

“Not in those words, perhaps. The meaning was present enough.”

She was silent for several hoofbeats.

Then, with sisterly bluntness he had rarely heard from her, she said, “That was very foolish.”

Darcy agreed. “Yes.”

“Did you apologize?”

“I wrote to her. The letter contained explanations I believed necessary. Whether it served as an apology, I do not know.” It had been written with great bitterness of spirit. He very much doubted Elizabeth saw it as a proper apology.

“Did you say you were sorry?”

The question struck harder than he expected.

Had he? He had defended himself regarding Wickham. Explained Bingley and revealed Georgiana’s history because Elizabeth needed truth and perhaps because he had needed someone to believe him. He had acknowledged the pain he caused. But sorry? Plainly?

“I do not think I did,” he admitted.

Georgiana’s brows drew together. “Then if you see her again, you must.”

Darcy studied at his sister.

Her expression held no accusation—just certainty.

“Yes,” he said. “I must.”

They rode on.

The afternoon deepened around them. At one posting stop Georgiana drank lemonade and declared herself equal to continuing. At another, Darcy sent a note ahead to Pemberley, warning Mrs. Reynolds of their arrival and the change in party. Georgiana bought a paper of sugared almonds from a shop near the inn and ate them one at a time while attempting to look dignified.

She offered him one. Darcy declined. She offered again. He took it.

“There,” Georgiana said, pleased. “Travel improves you too.”

He nearly made some dry answer, but the words failed beneath the unexpected pleasure of the moment. His sister was teasing him. Awkwardly, softly, but teasing him.

How much had he missed while believing her merely shy?

As they left the town behind, Darcy allowed his horse to fall half a length back and watched Georgiana ride ahead. Her posture had loosened. A strand of hair had escaped beneath her hat and moved in the breeze. She was young. Younger than Miss Bingley allowed her to appear. Younger than grief and shame and Ramsgate had made her seem in his memory.