“What is your sister like?”
He blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “Georgiana?”
She smiled slightly. “Unless there is another secret sister you have yet to mention.”
That coaxed a faint smile from him, but it faded quickly. He looked down at his gloved hands, laced loosely in his lap.
“She is sweet,” he said after a long pause. “Shy. Too shy, I think. She always has been. Gentle, eager to please, but…” He trailed off.
“But?”
“She finds the world overwhelming,” he said simply. “People, especially. Other girls.”
Elizabeth waited, giving him space.
“When she was younger, I thought it was only that she needed to be socialized,” he continued quietly. “Our father died when she was eight. There was no mother. Just Fitzwilliam and me. Two bachelors—one always away with the army, and one buried in estate ledgers and mourning. I… I did not know how to raise a young girl.”
There was no self-pity in his voice—only quiet resignation.
“I sent her to school. It is what my aunts advised, and it was what I knew. I thought it would teach her the rules of society, give her friends. A place to belong.”
His jaw tensed slightly.
“But it did not. She did not thrive. She withdrew further. The other girls… they were not kind. Not cruel, exactly—but they saw her shyness as weakness. Some mocked her. Others ignored her. I visited once and found her pretending to be asleep to avoid going down to breakfast.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached.
He looked over at her then, his expression bleak. “I took her home the next day. I thought—” He exhaled. “I thought perhaps a smaller setting would suit her better. My aunt Matlock recommended a companion. A Mrs. Younge.”
At the name, his features darkened.
“She was charming in society. A widow, genteel, with good references. I thought Georgiana liked her. Perhaps she did, at first.”
Elizabeth sensed the shift—heard the bitter edge creeping into his voice.
“I left them in Ramsgate while I returned to London. I thought it a harmless way for her to enjoy the sea air while I attended to business.” He looked away. “It was a mistake.”
“What happened?” Elizabeth asked softly.
He stared out the window for a long moment. “Wickham found her there.”
Her breath caught.
“Mrs. Younge was not what she seemed. She and Wickham had known each other for years. I believe they plotted it together, waiting for their opportunity. But I stopped receiving any letters from her. I thought she was, perhaps, still despondent, so I decided to surprise her… and instead found her about to elope”
Elizabeth sat up straighter. “Good God.”
“I arrived just in time.” His voice was low and hard. “He had convinced her that they were in love, that they must flee before I could stop them. I found her with her trunk already packed, planning to leave that night.”
“Did you confront him?”
“Not in that moment—he was not present. Instead, I sent my sister to her room and fired Mrs. Younge. When I checked on Georgiana, she was angrier than I had ever witnessed before. My quiet sister was fire and rage. She did not believe me until she heard it from his mouth herself.”
Elizabeth gasped and put a hand to her mouth. “The poor girl.”
Darcy pressed his lips together. “He was so cruel, denying everything, saying it was all Georgiana’s idea and that he never loved her. She wept through the entire exchange, and after I drove him from the house, she begged me not to tell anyone.” His mouth twisted. “Not because she feared disgrace—but because she blamed herself.”
Elizabeth’s fingers tightened in her lap. “She was fifteen, and he was a grown man.”
