Your servant, etc.,
Giles Partridge
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. The barley blight could become a serious problem, and the farrier’s lease was another tedious matter that should have been settled months ago. He made a mental note to write back with instructions—but before he could reach for the ink, Benedict entered the room.
“Mrs. Younge has requested a word, sir.”
Darcy stifled a groan. “Now?”
“She said it was regarding your sister, sir.”
That got his attention. “Very well,” he said, motioning for Benedict to send her in.
Moments later, Mrs. Younge entered, her usual placid expression giving way to the faintest trace of unease. She curtsied and clasped her hands before her. “Forgive the interruption, sir,” she began. “I would not trouble you if it were not of some concern.”LakesDarcy waved for her to continue.
“It is about Miss Darcy.”
He frowned. “Naturally. What of her?”
Mrs. Younge shifted her weight slightly, as though choosing her words carefully. “She has been… less cooperative than I had hoped. I do not mean to suggest outright defiance, but she does not always heed instruction as she should. She gives the appearance of obedience, yet she does not apply herself to her studies. Her music master finds her inattentive. The French tutor says she understands far more than she lets on but refuses to speak the language aloud. And she has become withdrawn in her dance lessons—though I know you were already displeased with her former tutor.”
Darcy’s mouth pressed into a hard line. “What are you suggesting?”
Mrs. Younge sighed, tilting her head slightly. “That she is not thriving in this arrangement. I know you have had difficulty with her schooling before. I had thought perhaps a private setting would suit her better, but it seems she resents instruction regardless of the setting.”
Darcy’s fingers curled against the desk. He knew Georgiana’s struggles. She had been sullen and difficult at school—not disruptive, but distant. And now, even under the guidance of a carefully chosen companion, she resisted in subtler ways.
“I see,” he said at last. “And do you believe there is a remedy to this?”
Mrs. Younge hesitated again, as if weighing how best to phrase her next words. “Perhaps a change of setting would do her good,” she suggested. “The summer months in London can be stifling for a girl of her temperament. What if she were to spend a season by the sea? Ramsgate, for instance, is a popular retreat. A more relaxed setting, her own household—even if modestly kept—would allow her to gain some independence while still remaining under proper supervision.”
Darcy frowned. “She has given me no reason to trust her with such freedom.”
Mrs. Younge offered a faint smile. “Or perhaps she has been given no opportunity to earn it. One does not appreciate the weight of maturity without having first tested it.”
He did not like that. He did not like the suggestion that he was at fault for Georgiana’s struggles. He had done everything to protect her—was that not what a guardian ought to do?
“I will consider it,” he said at last.
Mrs. Younge curtsied. “Thank you, sir.” She hesitated a moment longer before adding, “Miss Darcy is not a bad girl, sir. Only a troubled one.”
Darcy exhaled through his nose. “That, I already know.”
She left, and he sat in silence for a long moment, before finally pulling the last letter from his pile—the one bearing Richard’s familiar hand.
Darcy,
Ran into an old acquaintance of yours in Derby.You will not be surprised to learn that Wickham was pockets to let again and had taken to gambling at the Red Lion. Unfortunately for him, his luck did not hold, nor did his tongue. He was well into his cups when he began spouting off about how poorly you had treated him—how you denied him his ‘rightful inheritance’ and have been the ruin of his prospects.
Of course, no one in that tavern gave him the time of day. The name Darcy carries weight in those parts, and I made sure his ramblings were cut short. The innkeeper saw fit to send him packing before he could make a greater fool of himself. Still, you should be aware that his resentment is apparently still festering.
I shall be in town by the end of the week. Perhaps we can discuss this in person, but I am more curious to hear how your conversations with my father have gone.
Yours, etc.,
Richard
Darcy set the letter down, his fingers tapping the surface. Of course, Wickham had resurfaced. Of course, he had the gall to slander him yet again.
