“This is not a punishment, Georgiana. It is an opportunity for you to enjoy the seaside and—”
“An opportunity?” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You mean to say you are sending me away because I embarrassed you in front of Aunt and Uncle.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. She was not entirely wrong, but it was more than that—more than a single embarrassing afternoon.
“I am sending you to Ramsgate because I believe it will do you good,” he replied, forcing calm into his tone. “A change of scenery. Time away from London. It will give you a chance to… collect yourself.”
Georgiana’s eyes narrowed. “I do not need to collect myself. What I need is for you to stop treating me like a child.”
Darcy leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. The irony of her words was not lost on him. This was precisely the behavior that concerned him—this sharp edge to her temper, the unwillingness to engage with the world in any meaningful way.
“I am not treating you like a child, Georgiana,” he said quietly. “But you have made it clear that you are unhappy here, and—”
“I am unhappy because you never listen to me!” she snapped, stepping further into the room. “You parade me in front of people I do not know, expect me to smile and nod, and when I struggle, you send me away like an inconvenience.”
Her words struck deeper than he cared to admit. “I am trying toprotectyou.”
Georgiana laughed bitterly, a sound that clashed harshly against the refined air of the study. “Protect me from what? From yourself?”
Before Darcy could respond, the door opened again, and Mrs. Younge slipped inside. “I apologize, Mr. Darcy,” she said, glancing between him and Georgiana. “I thought you might be ready to finalize the arrangements for Ramsgate.”
Georgiana stiffened, her glare shifting from Darcy to Mrs. Younge. “I have not agreed to go,” she said coldly.
Mrs. Younge’s smile never wavered. “I believe you will find the sea air refreshing, Miss Darcy. Many young ladies find Ramsgate… liberating.”
Georgiana scoffed and turned on her heel, storming out of the room without another word. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound reverberating through the room like a gunshot.
Darcy exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair before glancing at Mrs. Younge.
“She is… spirited,” Mrs. Younge observed, moving to stand beside the desk. “But Ramsgate will do her good, I am certain of it.”
“She is angry,” he muttered. “And I am not convinced that sending her away will fix anything.”
Mrs. Younge tilted her head, her expression softening. “Sometimes, distance provides perspective. For both of you.”
Darcy studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps time away would allow Georgiana to find some equilibrium—and give him the space to focus on the increasing demands in London.
He reached for the pen again, signing his name at the bottom of the letter to confirm the arrangements. The wax seal felt heavier than usual as he pressed it into place. Rising from his desk, he folded the letter neatly and turned to Mrs. Younge, who stood waiting by the door with a practiced air of patience.
“These are the final instructions,” he said, handing her the sealed documents. “Everything should be arranged for your departure tomorrow morning.”
Mrs. Younge accepted the papers with a slight nod. “Very good, sir. I shall ensure all preparations are seen to.”
Darcy gave a curt nod in return, though the unease in his chest remained. As Mrs. Younge left the room, the door closing softly behind her, he found himself staring at the empty space she had occupied, wondering if this was truly the right course.
As he was resuming his seat at his desk, the sound of the front door knocker echoed faintly through the townhouse. Darcy frowned. He was not expecting visitors.
He was not kept wondering long, for Benedict, his butler, appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Darcy, Miss Bennet is here to see you.”
Darcy blinked, certain he had misheard.
“Miss…Bennet?“ he repeated, incredulous. That was rather… forward of her. He swallowed and posed another question… though he feared he already knew the answer. “She is with… Mr. Gardier, yes?”
“No, sir. Miss Bennet arrived alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes, sir.”
