The impact of her words hit like a slap. Lady Matlock’s teacup paused mid-air, her lips parting in silent shock. Richard’s playful grin vanished, replaced by a stunned silence.
Darcy felt the heat rise behind his eyes, his composure threatening to shatter. “Georgiana,” he said sharply, his patience fraying, “that isenough.”
But Georgiana merely lifted her chin, her defiance burning bright and unapologetic. She stood abruptly, her chair scraping harshly against the polished floor. “I would rather talk to someone else.” Before Darcy could respond, she turned on her heel and strode out.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
It was Lady Matlock who recovered first, her hand poised mid-pour, the teapot hovering over an untouched cup. She exchanged a glance with her husband, her eyebrows arched nearly to her hairline.
Richard let out a low whistle, his eyes still on the door. “Well. That was… novel.”
Lord Matlock set his cards down with deliberate precision. “Where has she gone?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I imagine she will find Charlotte.”
Lady Matlock glanced over her shoulder at the still-open. “Charlotte is in the schoolroom. Georgiana knows she is not to disturb her lessons.”
Richard leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from amusement to something more serious. “It is not like her to forget herself in someone else’s house.”
Darcy exhaled slowly. “She has been… restless since leaving school.”
“Restless!” Lady Matlock snorted. “Darcy, she is positively rude. A mercy it was only family here, where no one is like to carry tales, or her chances at court would be ruined already.”
“She is fifteen, Aunt. Many girls are sensitive at such an age.”
Lady Matlock set the teapot down gently. “She has always been ‘sensitive,’ but this… this is something more.”
Richard folded his arms, his usual levity gone. “She is angry, Fitz. And not just in the way young girls get when they do not have their way. This runs deeper.”
Darcy stared at the closed door. “Her companion, Mrs. Younge, has been making suggestions. She believes a change of scenery might help—perhaps Ramsgate.”
“Ramsgate?” Lady Matlock asked, her brow furrowing.
Darcy nodded, though the idea sat uneasily with him. “She suggested it would give Georgiana some independence, a chance to free herself of London’s pressures.”
Richard snorted. “And leaving her alone by the sea is supposed to help how?”
“She would not be alone,” Darcy replied tightly. “Mrs. Younge would accompany her.”
Lord Matlock tapped his fingers against the armrest of his chair. “Perhaps some distance would do her good. London society can be… stifling. Particularly now, when you can ill afford any such public outbursts.” The look he leveled at Darcy spoke more than his words possibly could.Control her—or risk further embarrassment.
Richard watched him carefully. “You are not convinced.”
“I do not know what to think,” Darcy admitted. “She is not the same girl she was a year ago.”
Lady Matlock’s voice was soft but firm. “You cannot protect her from everything, Fitzwilliam. Sometimes, letting go is the only way to help.”
Darcy stared at the flickering fire, the ache of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders. He had spent years shielding Georgiana from the world, but perhaps in doing so, he had kept her from finding her own footing.
“Ramsgateislovely this time of year,“ the countness added.
Darcy inhaled deeply, the idea settling heavily in his mind.Ramsgate.
He had dismissed it before, unwilling to send Georgiana away, but now… the prospect of removing her from the suffocating gaze of London society felt less like an escape and more like a necessity.
“You cannot possibly believethis is necessary.”
Darcy’s pen paused mid-sentence, the ink pooling against the page as Georgiana’s petulant words echoed through his study. He set the pen down carefully, wiping his fingers on the blotter before looking up. Georgiana stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, her normally gentle features hardened by defiance.
