The dowager stirred in her chair. “And rightly so. If more men had the sense to protect a lady without parading their virtue—”
Darcy shot her a look. Sharp. Silencing. Her mouth thinned, but she said no more.
Lady Catherine folded her arms. “You admit there is a connection.”
“Therewasconcern. There was… friendship. There was a moment when I believed—” He pressed his lips together. No. Not here. Not in front of them.
“A moment?” Lady Catherine cried. “You were the only one who thought it a moment. The rest of us saw something farmore deliberate. The girl has been watching you for months—presumptuous, indiscreet—always speaking out of turn. I thank Heaven I had the presence of mind to keep Mr. Collins from making his visit to Longbourn when he first wished it. I warned him that sort of family could not be trusted.”
“Enough,” Darcy said, standing. “She is betrothed. To another. That is all that matters.”
But even as he said it, his stomach turned. Because it was not all that mattered. Not to him. Not anymore.
“For now,” Matlock said. “Until the next pamphlet.”
Dyer lifted a page from the ledger. “The current concern is Miss Georgiana. A petition has been submitted to the court to review her guardianship.”
Darcy stiffened.
“On what grounds?”
“On the presumption,” Dyer said, “that her current guardian has failed to preserve her dignity.”
“And who precisely raised that petition?”
Silence.
The dowager reached for another sugar lump. “Ah, so it is war now, is it?”
“It is not war,” Matlock said flatly. “It is consequence.”
The dowager sighed. “No, no. It is war. That is why your nose looks like that.”
Matlock scowled. “There is nothing amusing about this, Mother.”
“Everything is amusing,” she said, sipping. “Or at least it should be.”
Lady Catherine ignored them both. “If you will not fix it, Darcy, then we must. I can make inquiries. There are families of quality who would take Georgiana—quietly. With supervision.”
The dowager set down her cup with a clink. “Well then. War it is.”
Darcy turned on his aunt. “You mean to remove her from me?”
“If you cannot fulfill your obligations, then yes.”
“I have fulfilled every one of them,” he said. “I have protected her. I have raised her. I have—”
“You have delayed,” Matlock said. “You have dithered with feelings and fancies and waited too long. And now you may lose everything.”
Dyer cleared his throat. “The trustees have not yet ruled on the petition, but they will require assurances—public, concrete, and binding.”
Darcy did not answer.
“You want a solution?” Lady Catherine snapped. “Then marry. Take Anne, as you were meant to. Secure the estate, restore your name, and cease this indulgent dithering. Anything less is a disgrace to your father’s memory—and a betrayal of mine.”
“I will not be dictated to.”
“Youarebeing dictated to,” Matlock said. “By your own father. By the trust. By the terms of his will. And now, it seems, by Wickham.”
