P&P Prelude to Pemberley: Darcy and Georgiana Have a Heart-to-Heart Talk

Welcome to our Pride & Prejudice prequel! P&P: Prelude to Pemberley tells the story of the time leading up to the events of Pride & Prejudice, including what Darcy and Elizabeth were doing and thinking, Georgiana Darcy’s story, the events of Ramsgate, how Mr. Bingley came to lease Netherfield, and much more! Join us on our journey as the Austen Variations authors post the events of 1811 in real time on the date they happened – 214 years in the future.

Darcy and Georgiana Have a Heart–to–Heart Talk

July 30, 1811

“I think we should go to Pemberley,” Darcy tentatively began, settling a wary look upon his sister.

“Must we?” she asked, and said nothing further.

Darcy sighed. It had been impossible to talk to her ever since the day when she had witnessed George Wickham fly the coop without sparing her so much as a glance. White as a sheet, the dear girl had silently marched to the hackney coach Darcy had hailed to take them back to the house on Westcliffe View. He had not pressed her to talk then – who would have had the heart to press her at such a time of turmoil? They had quitted the cursed place on the following day and travelled post-haste to town, yet the time that had elapsed since then had brought no ease in communication. Monosyllables were all that Georgiana had to offer, and whenever Darcy had attempted to engage her in a proper conversation, he had met with failure each and every time. Eyes brimming with tears, she would mumble something along the lines of “Not now, for pity’s sake. I cannot bear it,” and then she would excuse herself and take refuge in her bedchamber.

His features tightened. This could not go on. They had to talk. They had to find a way of coming to terms with the dreadful business, much as he sympathised with her profound reluctance to revisit it. Goodness knows he had no wish to do so either. A superhuman effort was required in order to speak of the near-disaster in a calm and collected manner, all the while endeavouring to smother the savage need to tear Wickham limb from limb. Damn the vile beast to the fiery pits of hell where he belonged!

Darcy filled his lungs with air, exhaled slowly and replied, “Yes, I believe we must. Georgiana, wait!” he urged when, predictably, she made to rise from her seat, eager to flee. “This cannot go on!” he incautiously voiced his very thoughts, then sought to temper them as he continued, “If you are reluctant to go to Pemberley we could think of other options, but you must see that you cannot continue in this vein.”

Halfway through his measured endeavour to persuade her, Darcy came to sit beside her, drawing some small measure of encouragement from the fact that she had not scrambled to her feet as yet. But tears welled up in her eyes as he spoke, and the sight of them stoked both his anguish and his fury.

“He is not worth your tears,” Darcy rasped, forcing the words through the new tightness in his throat.

His sister’s head snapped up. Tears spilled over her flushed cheeks, but she brushed them off with a swift, angry gesture.

“I am not crying over him,” Georgiana muttered. “I know he is not worth it. I knew it from the day when—” She winced, stopped short and bit her lower lip, then resumed with patent bitterness, “’Tis just that I had hoped you would not place me into enforced seclusion quite so soon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Shocked and saddened, Darcy could only stare. Had things come to such a filthy pass between them that she imagined he would take her to Pemberley to punish her?

“Georgiana, that was not my meaning,” he protested forcefully, but before he could go any further his sister cut him off.

“You need not dress it in fine words. I have it all from Lady Catherine. She spoke to me at length about the implications of the incident that had me cast out of Mrs Dalrymple’s school. At the time, I thought she simply took pleasure in the opportunity to be overbearing and spiteful, but as it turned out, she was in the right, was she not? Only fortune hunters would seek me out now—”

“Is that what she told you?” Darcy spluttered.

Georgiana flinched.

“Yes. And more besides. She said that the offense to Miss Dalrymple was a scandal that could never be erased. That I have ceased to be a worthy prospect for gentlemen of quality, and only fortune hunters would approach me, now that I am damaged goods.”

“Of all the—” Darcy well-nigh exploded, then pressed the back of his hand to his tightened lips as he struggled for composure, knowing full well that Georgiana would not be served by a violent display of temper.

“My dear girl,” he enunciated as soon as he could trust himself to string the proper words together, “I urge you to pay no heed to Lady Catherine. She had much better keep her opinions to herself,” he added crisply, having bitten back the words he was about to say – for even in the grip of fury he could not deem it proper to tell Georgiana that Lady Catherine was a meddlesome harpy who had as much tact and feeling as an old mangle. An unmannerly rant would not serve his sister either, so he resumed darkly, “Lady Catherine had broken her own daughter’s spirit with hard-hearted pronouncements such as these. Do as I do, dearest: ignore them.”

“How can I?” Georgiana countered. “She was proven right. My conduct marked me as fair game for a fortune hunter,” she said flatly, but before Darcy could part his lips to protest, she brought her clenched fists to her temples and exclaimed with sudden, heart-rending vehemence, “How could he? He grew up with you – enjoyed Papa’s generosity and kindness. And then repaid it thus!” She shuddered. “I never would have thought him capable of such fiendish conduct.”

“Nor I,” Darcy acknowledged with a grim scowl as she dropped her hands into her lap. “For all his vicious propensities and want of principle, I never thought he would sink so low as to prey upon you.”

He reached out, gathered her hands in his, and sought to temper the murderous fury that roiled inside him. He should have thrashed the blackguard within an inch of his life!

“I never knew… never knew what he was really like,” his sister murmured, her voice so low that he could barely hear her, so Darcy struggled to subdue his bloodlust and silence his vengeful thoughts so that he might give her his full attention.

“You could not have known,” he sought to reassure her. “You were a mere child, little more than eleven years of age, when he left Derbyshire for good and took himself to town. As for the more recent acrimony between us, I saw no reason to involve you.”

“Recent acrimony? On what grounds?” Georgiana asked, a furrow in her brow. A flush crept to her cheeks as she looked away and added, “He did say that you would object to our union because you resented him on account of Papa’s decided preference for him, and even then I found it hard to credit. His duplicity strikes me all the more forcefully now. Duplicity, ingratitude and sheer impudence. Why blacken Papa’s memory? Decided preference, indeed!” she exclaimed, an almost fierce look in her guileless eyes. “As though Papa could have been so grossly unfair to you!”

Darcy pressed his lips together, startled by the sudden surge of recollections he thought he had vanquished long ago. A host of scenes sprang to mind, shockingly vivid. The old ache – a youngster’s ache – was shockingly vivid too. Yet, with no little effort, Darcy kept his mien blank. On no account would he let Georgiana guess that her dear papa had been anything other than the fairest, kindest and most affectionate parent. He had been thus to her. As for the rest… It was of no consequence now. In the final years they had made their peace, Father and he. The rest was history. Or so it ought to be.

Drawing himself from old recollections, Darcy shifted in his seat, then patiently gave his sister all the particulars of the one conflict he was prepared to reveal. He told her of the family living that was to be Wickham’s if he took orders; of the three thousand pounds Wickham had requested and received when he had resigned all claim to assistance in the church; of his change of stance three years later, once his capital had been frittered away in a life of idleness and dissipation; and lastly of his growing resentment and the vitriolic letters the rogue had penned when his impertinent request had been repeatedly rejected.

As he concluded, Georgiana’s mien grew pale and hard.

“A tool,” she whispered harshly. “That is what I was to him: a tool and a pot of gold. He meant to use me to revenge himself on you.”

“Had he succeeded, his revenge would have been complete indeed,” Darcy rasped and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her very close.

She did not withdraw. In fact, to his surprise and cautious pleasure, she nestled into his embrace, much like she used to do months, perhaps years ago. They remained thus for some time – a time of promise, and of healing. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her flaxen ringlets, fervent gratitude welling in his heart. Thank goodness that the dear girl had reached out to him and had given him the chance to protect her! Thank goodness, oh, thank goodness she was safe!

Read all the scenes in Prelude to Pemberley here!