His entire body went still. He had not spoken of Georgiana. Not to her. Not to anyone outside his own family.
“Yes,” he said carefully. “How do you know that?”
Elizabeth lifted a shoulder. “I am acquainted with Lady Julia, Lord Matlock’s daughter.”
Darcy sat forward slightly. That, at least, was not surprising. Lady Matlock certainly knew who Lady Elizabeth Montclair was—had she not told him so… too many times? She had even invited her to a ball, and… Well, it stood to reason that her daughter would know Lady Elizabeth, as well.
“Are you a relation of theirs?”
Darcy hesitated before giving a short nod. “Yes. Lady Matlock is my aunt. Her daughter, Julia, is my cousin. Naturally.” He paused. “As is Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom you have already met.”
“Ah,” she hummed in acknowledgment, then said flippantly, “I see the resemblance now. I like him better than his sister.”
Darcy let out a short, startled laugh.
He did not mean to. But it had been so long since someone had spoken plainly of his relations, without expectation or pretense, that the sheer unexpectedness of it disarmed him.
He quickly schooled his expression. “You are not alone in that opinion.”
Elizabeth’s lips curved slightly, but the moment passed too quickly to examine.
Instead, she looked out the window again. “Lady Julia invited me for tea a handful of times last autumn. She had a cousin living with her,” she said after a moment. “She took a rather perverse pleasure in trotting her out like some kind of pet.”
Darcy’s jaw slackened.
“She would make a great show of it,” Elizabeth continued, still speaking as though recounting some trivial social offense. “Making her play the piano for us and so on. A prodigious talent, I must say—that is why it caught in my mind. The girl did not seem to enjoy the attention, but Lady Julia found it amusing. I thought it was not quite the thing—I said as much to her face.”
Darcy’s stomach turned.
“She has not invited me back for tea since,” Elizabeth mused. “I am not sorry.”
Darcy’s jaw clenched, and his fists balled. Blast Julia! Parading Georgiana about like a spectacle.
He had left his sister in his aunt’s care because he had no other choice—but he had never imagined spoiled Julia would treat his own flesh and blood as some curiosity for her amusement.
Elizabeth glanced at him then, her expression softer. “She had a sweet countenance, your sister.”
He blinked, forcing his shoulders to relax. “She does,” he agreed softly.
He had heard from Georgiana just that morning. It was Richard who had gone to Matlock House to retrieve the clothes from Mrs. Annesley, and he had brought back word that Georgiana was well enough for now. And Lady Matlock was hardly cruel—her daughter might be spoiled, but she would not let matters carry too far, surely. Besides, now that he knew, he would say something to Richard, who would speak to his father on the matter.
And hopefully, if he resolved this affair to the prince’s liking, he could finally offer her something better. A home of her own again. As she should have had all along.
That had become his sole purpose, and perhaps, the possibility had fallen into his hands, in the form of a stubborn heiress with a penchant for trying to get herself killed.
Elizabeth had fallen silent again. Just as well, for he had a number of thoughts to mull over, things to consider, and somehow, whenever she spoke, any form of logic or reasoning went clean out of his head.
The road stretched ahead of them, fields rolling past, trees arching overhead as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon. At length, she asked, “Where are we going?”
Darcy straightened and adjusted his cuffs. “To a house in Hertfordshire.”
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed.
“To inquire about gaining some sisters for you,” he added.
She gave him a long, puzzled look.
He only smiled.
