“And you’re a cynic, but we’ve always known that.”
Darcy shook his head, already regretting the decision, but there was something about the challenge he couldn’t resist. “Very well. I accept your wager.”
Two
Darcy unfolded the lettercarefully, the firelight illuminating his sister’s neat handwriting. Georgiana’s letters were always the same—polite, self-effacing, and filled with concerns she wouldn’t voice aloud in person. He could see her hesitance in every measured line, the way she danced around her true feelings.
My dearest brother,
I hope this letter finds you well. I must apologize for troubling you, but I have received another invitation from Mrs. Pomeroy to join her family at their estate this winter. While I am certain her intentions are well-meaning, I fear she may try to forward a match with her nephew. I cannot help but feel uneasy...
Darcy set the page down, his fingers tightening against the edges. Mrs. Pomeroy was a perfectly respectable woman. And Darcy had it on good authority that this nephew Georgiana spoke of, a Mr. Eli Fitzsimmons, was already betrothed to a girl from Lincolnshire, of whom it was said he was excessively fond. There could be no reason for Georgiana to fear anything from that quarter. Darcy had made it clear after Ramsgate that such manipulations would not be tolerated, but this was not such a case. However, Georgiana’s reluctance to confront even the mildest impropriety made her seem to jump at shadows these days.
She continued:
I hope you do not think me ungrateful. Mrs. Pomeroy has been very kind, and I am certain her intentions are respectable. But I feel my presence may only encourage... assumptions. If you believe it is best for me to go, I will, of course, defer to your judgment.
Assumptions. Georgiana’s polite euphemism for the relentless matchmaking she endured whenever Darcy was not present to shield her. At least she was aware of her vunlerability now—a young, unguarded heiress was a prize to be won, to be sure. If any good thing had come from her near brush with disaster this summer, it could be this—that Georgiana was now sensible of her own value to others. But that “value” was not why Mrs. Pomeroy sought Georgiana’s company for her daughters. At least… not precisely in the way she feared.
He folded the letter carefully. It was not only Georgiana’s dowry and noble connections that made her a target, but alsoher connection tohim—a bachelor of seven and twenty, in full possession of a rather large inheritance. And his young sister was old enough now to be in company with some of the same ladies who had set their caps for him.
If he thought Bingley could be made to understand, he would point to this—to Georgiana’s “usefulness” to the schemes of anyone interested in cornering a Darcy for themselves. This,thiswas why he was always on his guard! Every encounter, every polite conversation, was another opportunity for someone to misread intentions, to plot, to manipulate. His “ungentlemanly” behavior wasn’t just a matter of practicality—it was a shield. Necessary. Effective. He could not afford to let sentiment or civility weaken his resolve.
A tap at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Bingley entered, his face alight with the same easy cheer he’d worn at the assembly. “Darcy, I was looking for you. You slipped away so quickly after dinner.”
Darcy placed the letter on the side table. “I did not realize I needed to announce my every movement.”
“Well, no, but it might have saved you from Caroline’s latest critique of the evening.” Bingley grinned, flopping into the chair opposite him. “Apparently, the company was not up to her standards. Again.”
Darcy leaned back, his gaze drifting to the fire. “She is not entirely wrong.”
“Oh, come on,” Bingley said, leaning forward. “It was not so bad. The people were friendly enough. And the dancing—”
“I did not dance,” Darcy interrupted flatly.
“Exactly my point,” Bingley said. “You stood there like a marble statue while I mingled and enjoyed myself. Tell me, was it really so unbearable to engage with the locals?”
Darcy glanced at the letter again, Georgiana’s words flickering in his mind. He exhaled sharply. “Engagement often leads toexpectation. I’ve no desire to give anyone reason to believe I am interested.”
Bingley tilted his head, his grin softening. “Not everyone is out to trap you, Darcy. You cannot assume every dance leads to a proposal.”
“Perhaps not, but a single dance can lead to speculation. I have seen it often enough.”
“Speculation.” Bingley shook his head. “You sound as though you are bracing for battle. It is one thing to be cautious, Darcy, but you are taking this to an entirely new level.”
Darcy’s lips thinned. “You call it caution. I call it experience.”
Bingley drummed his fingers on the armrest, studying him with that insufferable air of earnestness. “You know,” Bingley began, his voice lighter now, “for a man so quick to judge others, you are not always great at holding up a mirror.”
Darcy arched a brow. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean that you are quick to assume the worst in people, but you do not stop to consider howyouare perceived.”
“I do not concern myself with such frivolities.”
Bingley leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And that, my friend, is exactly the problem. You act as though being cautious is the same as being impenetrable. Do you really think that is what makes you respectable? Walking around like an iceberg, avoiding anyone who might take the slightest interest in you?”
Darcy’s fingers tightened on the chair’s arm. “Being respected is not about indulgence or frivolous engagement. It is about maintaining one’s dignity.”
