Elizabeth could well guess that Mr. Darcy had, in reading between the lines of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s letter, a good idea of the circumstances surrounding the death of the Viscount, if not the actual perpetrators. Elizabeth had not the information of her husband, but did understand, from Lady Sarah—and others—that the Viscount had been lately living in what could only be called a stile of dissipation and, quite probably, depravity. However, judging as her husband must have done, it was useless to conjecture and possibly add further insult to the enormity of an already unthinkable injury. She, therefore, replied after the few moments these thoughts required, saying quietly,

“Georgiana, we must not worry ourselves in what can only be most painful speculations and useless alarm. We must keep our own spirits up and comfort ourselves in a manner so as to occasion Mr. Darcy the least apprehension in leaving us, as he must, and get ourselves, our servants, horses, and belongings to London—alone—safely—in the most rational and capable manner.”

“Oh! Elizabeth, I know you are right—my greatest fear is for Colonel Fitzwilliam: he not only has to bear the loss of his brother—his only brother; support the spirits of his father, who is in uncertain health; manage the affairs of the law; and such other burthens as I cannot even imagine—but must do so without either my brother or myself there to support his spirits and ease his suffering under such a blow!”

Elizabeth could not quite see the matter as did Georgiana, but imputed Georgiana’s disproportionate concern for her cousin as the result of the shock of the news, and her own great confidence in Lady Sarah’s management of her husband.

“Georgiana, you must not forget that the Colonel is a grown man who has seen worse than this. Remember that he has been in battle, commanding dozens—nay, hundreds of men—fearlessly and honourably. It does him no service to give way to this borrowing of trouble, which must only serve to further aggrieve those already afflicted; were he to know of your distress, it would only add further to his cares, not sustain him in these dreadful hours.”

Georgiana looked stricken by Elizabeth’s last words, and heartily did the latter wish them unsaid, as Georgiana sank into the chair and began sobbing with all her heart.

“Oh, dearest Georgiana, whatever can be the cause of such wretchedness?” said Elizabeth kneeling next to her chair and taking Georgiana’s hands into her own. “Pray, dearest, do not believe that my words are from an unfeeling heart. I am grieved—more—I am suffering, as is Mr. Darcy and anyone who knows the Hallendales must be at this time. Dearest, dearest, please tell me what is the matter.”