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She had written those same words three weeks ago, on the back of her journal page, beside a list of words she had been trying to rhyme with “arrogance.”
No one had seen that entry.
No oneshouldhave.
She turned the page. Another phrase leapt out, buried mid-paragraph. A lady who“catalogues introductions like stamps.”
Thathadbeen hers. Not her best—barely amusing—but decidedly hers.
Now printed.
Anonymous.
Decorated with illustrations.
She stared at the page until the words blurred. Caroline Bingley had certainly stolen her journal. And now some anonymous print shop had stolenher.
And everyone else had laughed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
13 December
Darcy leaned against themantel, watching the flames with no real interest.
The fire had begun its daily conquest of the hearth—a quiet, orderly progression he could not replicate in his own affairs. Wickham remained a shadow at the edge of his reach, untouchable for now, and the letters Georgiana had written—had trusted him to retrieve—were still lost. Probably burned. Possibly weaponized.
And still, he had done nothing.
Behind him, Georgiana sat with her hands folded too neatly in her lap, her posture textbook-perfect, her chin high. A sign she was nervous. Trying not to show it.
He crossed to the desk, lifted a half-sorted stack of invitations, and set it down again without looking. “You understand,” hesaid, without rancor now, “that if they are used—if he sells them, quotes them, hints at their existence—you will not be the only one ruined.”
“I know,” she said quietly.
“I cannot make him vanish,” he added. “And no one will prosecute on your behalf without a scandal ten times worse than the crime.”
“I know.”
“And you are sure…absolutelysure, you have already told me everything?”
“Yes.” The answer came too fast, too practiced.
Darcy sighed. “And yet I ask again.”
Georgiana did not look up. “Because you want a different answer. Because you still think there must be some way for you to mend this.”
He blinked, his mouth rounding in a failed effort to reply. It was not accusation. Only truth.
And the worst part was that shehadtold him everything. He had just never liked the story.
“You said Wickham remained behind in Meryton. That he is enlisted in the regiment there.”
Her voice drew his gaze back up. “Indeed, he is. For now.”
Georgiana’s eyes dropped to the carpet. “Then perhaps the letters are with him there.”
