The feeling of being invaded by strangers had never been a comfortable one, even when Georgiana was in the nursery. But now, especially after Ramsgate, it was nigh intolerable. So why did Eizabeth and Fitzwilliam have to plan a house party?

Part 1

Georgiana sat at the piano in the music room, hands floating over the keyboard. Most days this was her favorite room in the house. On the east side of the house, it caught the morning sun, just so—enough to be bright and cheerful, but not so much as to grow uncomfortably hot. On the corner of the house, it seemed one set of windows or the other always caught a breeze, gauzy pale curtains ever dancing on the soft air. It was just large enough not to feel crowded, but not so much that the fireplace could not produce ample warmth to make it comfortable in the cold months. It was everything one might want from a room devoted to amusement and recreation.

Her fingertips grazed the piano keys. She could not hold back the sigh that escaped onto the breeze. Fitzwilliam had bought   this piano as a birthday gift for her the year after … after everything had happened.  She squeezed her eyes shut as a little shudder ran down her neck and her stomach flipped over sideways.

 What an awful, terrible time that had been, as though the world were rewriting itself to fit some evil plot twist conceived by a nefarious novelist. To think she had once believed Mrs. Younge such a good friend and George …

She sniffled and pressed her sleeve to her eyes, her handkerchief left behind in her chambers.  Elizabeth was right, it did not do her any good to dwell on such things. But still, it was hard. So very difficult. And really, neither Fitzwilliam nor Elizabeth understood. It seemed like they wanted to—they were the best brother and sister—but really they could not.

No matter what they said to convince her otherwise, she had been in love with George. Yes, it might have been a childish infatuation that would ultimately have led to her ruin, but that did not change its underlying nature. It was love.

She pressed her hands over her ears against the echoes of Elizabeth’s voice assuring her it was something less than that, something from which she would recover. Georgiana had heard it so many times, she could repeat the litany verbatim.  And yes it was true—at least it should be, as Elizabeth was nearly always right.

But still, those feeling were real and painful. A pain Elizabeth just would not, or maybe could not understand.

Just like the pain of knowing that Elizabeth’s poor sister Lydia was now married to George and her life was one of constant misery, with never enough money and no certainty in her future. Exactly the opposite of what Georgiana enjoyed at Pemberley.

She wrapped her arms around her waist. No, she should not envy Lydia who was now taking in sewing and washing to ensure the tradesmen were paid. They lived in a third rate town home, shared with two other couples, all three with young infants wailing at all hours of the day and night and none but each other to turn to for help.

She pressed her hands to her belly. Had Fitzwilliam known the full truth of what had transpired at Ramsgate would she now be married to George herself? Would she be a militia officer’s wife, or would Fitzwilliam have set them up some other way? George had talked of being a clergyman once. No doubt Fitzwilliam could have set him up in a living somewhere. She might have been a vicar’s wife.

What would it have been like living with George? Perhaps, under her influence, he would be under better regulation. Surely Lydia could not be inspiring him—

She brought her hands down hard on the keyboard. It screamed a discordant note. No! No! No! Elizabeth was right—she always was—a girl like herself could not curb the proclivities of a man like him. Life with him would have been as miserable for her as it was for Lydia.

But if she had been so sorely mistaken about George, how could she ever trust herself, her judgments, her affections about any other man? No, she could not, she would not chance making such a mistake again. She was one of the lucky ones, not like Elizabeth whose future depended upon marrying well. Georgiana’s dowry would be sufficient for her needs. She had the luxury of remaining unmarried, and she would. She played several loud, definitive chords that rang through the room with an authority she did not quite feel.

“It sounds like you just finished a concerto,” Elizabeth walked into the music room, laughing lightly. She always moved with purpose and elegance, so assured of herself. “But I did not hear you playing anything.” Her eyebrow rose in that not quite asking a question expression she had.

The one that always made Georgiana vaguely uncomfortable, like she had to confess her thoughts even without being asked. “It was nothing. Sometimes I play the music in my mind and my fingers only catch up at the end.”

Elizabeth cocked her head. Clearly she did not believe the story. She sat beside Georgiana. “Do you want to work on our duet?”

Georgiana sighed.

“I gather that means you do not.” Elizabeth leaned her elbow on the edge of the pianoforte, an unruly brown curl drooped over her forehead.

“It is not so much that. I do enjoy playing with you.”

“You are kind, but I can hardly believe that. We both know I am not, nor will I ever be, the caliber of pianist you are. I plod along barely keeping up whilst you carry the weight of our performance, which can hardly be enjoyable for you. The only thing I add is the rather questionable ability to sing whilst we both play so that you do not have to.”

“Do not underestimate the importance of that contribution. I have steeled myself to play in front of a—a few—others, but singing, no I do not think I shall ever conquer that.” She shuddered a little to make the point, but the feeling was genuine. “Besides we both know that Fitzwilliam has a very strong preference for your voice.”

“We also both know he is a very biased judge on that point. If he heard more of yours, I know he would come to his senses and change his mind.”

“And yet I am unmoved.” Georgiana tried to force a smile, but there was no doubt it was a thin one. Singing in company was entirely too personal.

Would Elizabeth, who was everything polished, assured, bright, and bubbly ever really understand what it required for her to sit at the pianoforte and perform for any but her closest family? No, surely Elizabeth did not understand the dread, even terror that she battled at times, knowing she was to come under the scrutiny of others who might not be favorably disposed. What would they say about her behind her back? Or even to her face for that matter. Aunt Catherine could be awful at times, how much worse would someone who was not related be? No, simply no. Singing was entirely and permanently out of the question.

“I suppose then it is very fortunate that you play as well as you do. You can entrance a room with just the sound of the pianoforte. You are very capable of playing the sort of music that one does not sing to. It seems a very fortunate thing indeed.” Elizabeth ran a finger lightly over the keys, as though she might be just a little envious.

Georgiana gulped back a little sniffle. Elizabeth really was very understanding and very good to her. She helped Fitzwilliam understand so much. He really was ever so much more sympathetic now that she had come.

“But I suppose it would be best for my sake, that we do practice our duet a little more. The house party is due to arrive in just a few days and it would be nice if I could manage a credible performance by then.” Elizabeth played a few notes.

“Your voice is beautiful—” perhaps it was an exaggeration, but it was the polite thing to say. “Besides, there will be other young ladies who wish to display. I am certain—”

“We have talked about this before. No, you cannot relinquish your duty to entertain our guests in the interests of giving them ample opportunities to do the same. There will be plenty of time for everyone to play. While Pemberley boasts far more entertainments than Longbourn ever did, trust me, after a month, a house party is desperately in want of diversion.”

Georgiana played a sad chord. She had not really intended to, but it just came out.

“I know you do not like a house party. I am sorry for that.” Elizabeth’s eyes suggested the sentiment was genuine.

The feeling of being invaded by strangers had never been a comfortable one, even when Georgiana was in the nursery. But now, especially after Ramsgate, it was nigh intolerable. Always wondering about who knew what, who suspected what? Why might they be looking at her that particular way? What were they saying about her behind closed doors? It was enough to drive one to distraction.

Cousin Richard assured her that he and Fitzwilliam had prevented any word of her “mishap” at Ramsgate getting out and there was no gossip to spread. Moreover, Lydia’s imprudent marriage would surely upstage any speculation about herself. While it all made sense, at least in her head, her insides still knotted at the thought.

“You can take some comfort in that the house party will be almost entirely familiar faces.”

Georgiana sighed. No, it was not the proper thing to do, but it could not be helped. Familiar faces like Jane and Bingley. They were intimately familiar with not only Lydia and George’s affairs, and knew there was some difficulty during the time Georgiana was at Ramsgate. They were smart enough to suspect the truth. Then there was Cousin Richard who knew everything about everything and he was bringing Cousin Anne who thought she knew everything about everything, and thereby was even worse. And the Dowdings, Sir Paul, Lady Dowding—did anyone even know her Christian name?—and the twin brothers, Pierce and Gregory, the latter who was newly married to the former Esther Reed. Whilst she had never met either of the brothers, she had met, and seriously disliked, Esther.

Mrs. Younge had introduced them.

At Ramsgate.

It would be a lovely house party indeed.

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