Time to smile, to charm, to bind him fast with whatever combination of wit and desperation she could summon.
He had not yetsealed the note.
It lay on the desk before him—folded, addressed, unsigned. A polite refusal to the Ashfords' invitation to dinner next week. The fifth such note he had composed in as many days. Not because the wording was difficult, but because the lady whose father sent the invitation gave him pause every time he looked at her: Miss Ashford.
There was nothing objectionable about her. That was the problem.
She was mild, proper, well-bred, and unfailingly polite. She answered every question with the poise of someone who had been raised to answer correctly and sent to the very best finishing school. And when she smiled—when she tried—he felt absolutely nothing at all.
He had tried to want her. Truly, he had. She was agreeable. She was serene. She made an effort. She had never once spoken with exasperated affection, never rolled her eyes and called him “insufferable,” never looked at him like she saw the parts of him he wished no one would ever discover.
And yet, all he could think was that he could not imagine spending a lifetime with a woman he dreaded trying to converse with.
Miss Ashford was not Elizabeth Bennet. Which ought to have been a point in her favor.
He stood abruptly, pushing back from the desk. He would cry off before reputations were damaged. He would—he must.
The door opened behind him.
“Your uncle has chosen a suitor.”
His grandmother stood just inside the threshold, her expression drawn tight and clipped as her words. She removed her gloves with a brisk snap.
Darcy froze. “What? You cannot mean for Georgiana.”
“Who else?” She crossed the carpet without waiting to be invited, unpinning her cloak and tossing it onto a chair. “I have just come from Matlock House. Your uncle means to announce the arrangement before Christmas. He says her name is already circling through parlors and drawing rooms—and not in ways he considers defensible.”
Darcy stared at her. “That is not possible.”
“He claims to have it from a reliable source.”
“I have done everything to contain this. Everything!” The words felt scraped from his throat. “It was nothing more than a whisper. A moment’s foolishness. There are no letters—I am convinced Wickham has lost them. Thereisno scandal.”
“Well, someone thinks there is.” She crossed the room and poured herself a glass of claret with the unsteady grace of a mother who had swallowed too much of her son’s judgment and was still tasting the bitterness. “He would not name his informant. Only that he trusts them beyond question. That something must be done.”
Darcy’s jaw locked.
The dowager took a drink. “I tried to dissuade him,” she said, setting the glass down. “But once your uncle makes up his mind, it is like trying to argue with a church bell. You only look foolishfor shouting. You must know, he assumes your own delays are a tacit surrender of your responsibilities.”
Darcy’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “He has no authority yet! I have not yet passed my birthday.”
“Well, whether you arrive at that blessed anniversary married or single seems to matter very little at present. Rumor will have its way by the end of the week and she will be ruined if she tries to cry off.”
Darcy swore.
“Good heavens, boy mind your tongue!” the dowager retorted. “I am sure your uncle means to act before your aunt Catherine arrives and makes a spectacle of the situation. I daresay she will find her own means of managing the affair, and the end of it will be you standing at the altar with Anne.”
“Over my dead body!” he cried.
“Then, my dear boy, I suggest you act. You have less than six weeks before your thirtieth birthday. That leaves you very little time to decide what alternative, if any, you mean to present.”
He crossed the room in three long strides, pressing one hand to the edge of the desk. “And you said nothing to dissuade him?”
“Do not be absurd,” she snapped. “I said everything that could be said. But he believes action will end the matter swiftly and decently. If she is married, there will be no more talk.”
Darcy stared at the empty fireplace. “He means to force her into a marriage to save face.”
“He calls it protecting the family name.” Her voice softened just slightly. “And he is not wrong about the timing. These sorts of things spread quickly. Especially with Lady Catherine and Anne arriving tomorrow. If I were you, my dear grandson, I would check every room before entering it and lock the door behind myself.”
