Georgiana staid in her apartment the whole of the day following their return, asking for a tray to be brought up, and that she not be disturbed. When Mr. Darcy enquired after her that evening, Elizabeth again conjectured that she was not yet fully rested from their journey. The next day, Georgiana came down and met Elizabeth at breakfast. She sat silently, taking only a cup of tea whilst Elizabeth briefly acquainted her with the details surrounding the Viscount’s death and the extinction of Lady Catherine’s home and fortune, without dwelling on those details which must be doubly painful to one so immediately concerned. She had expected Georgiana to be much moved by her accounts, but she appeared strangely unaffected, and reacted not at all beyond a few bland platitudes. Elizabeth found such behaviour astonishing, especially in light of Georgiana’s own compassionate nature, but could see no opportunity for questions. As an alternative to conversation as a restorative to Georgiana’s dejection, Elizabeth proposed that they take a morning walk to Hyde Park Corner to see what changes to London their four months’ absence had brought.

“And then I suppose we must stay at home, as Colonel Fitzwilliam—or as I should now address him, Viscount Dunfield—is to have returned last night from Derbyshire, and I am in hopes of a visit from the Hallendales. I long to see them; four months is a long time to be parted from friends, especially friends who have so undeservedly suffered such misfortune.”

Georgiana was uncommonly hasty and warm in her refusal. “I beg you will not take offence, dear sister, but I would much rather be alone this morning. I find a great need to collect my thoughts. Pray, do not think me ungrateful—I am only in need of some time to reflect and compose my mind now that we are come home. So much has changed—or may have changed—or might change. I will walk now and see the new buildings as you suggest. Please be so kind as to make my excuses to the Hallendales—or whoever else should come—please say anything and nothing, except the truth that I am unable to suffer company at present. Thank you for your unexampled kindness and patience—this must seem very strange and uncivil—I am sorry, Elizabeth—thank you.”

“Georgiana, I am willing to do as you ask—and more—but are you quite sure? Will you not take Adéle? It will look peculiar if you are entirely alone, but it is early, and you would not venture imprudently. If you prefer this morning to walk alone, I will most willingly oblige you, but I would never wish to leave you, if you are in any way distressed or unwell. Should not you rest here until you feel stronger?”