Darcy stepped aside.
“George?” She inched nearer to the bed. Reached out a hand, then let it fall. “G-george?”
“He is gone,” Darcy said softly.
With a keening wail, his sister dropped to her knees. She buried her face in the side of the bed, sobbing.
Darcy inched forward. He settled a hand on her shoulder. “Georgie, I—”
She pushed to her feet, slapping his arm away. “How dare you keep him from me?” she gasped out. “I should have tended him. If I had been here, he would not be dead.”
“His wound was too—”
“You probably let him die. You hate him.” Her hands balled into fists. “How could you?”
Richard stepped forward. “We were trying to—”
“No,” Georgiana shouted. Her arm came up, pointing. “Get out. Both of you, get out.” She swung back to the bed with another keen.
Darcy exchanged a look with Richard. Together, they left the room and closed the door over Georgiana’s sobs.
Richard crossed to slump down into one of the rickety armchairs that populated the little cottage. Elbows on his knees,he scrubbed at his face. “She followed me. I was not careful enough. I am sorry. I did not realize we had roused any suspicions in her.”
Darcy rubbed at the crook in his neck. “We would have told her eventually.”
“Yes, well, informing her of his death and her coming here to witness it firsthand are not the same.”
“No,” Darcy agreed, dropping into a chair with a sigh. “At least it is over now.”
“Over?”
Darcy permitted both annoyance and command into his voice. “It must be over now, Richard. Wickham is dead. Your militia will arrive any day now to—”
“They arrived this afternoon. Probably why I was distracted enough to be followed.”
“Very well, then, assistance has arrived to take the men you have already captured to London. Wickham will go with you. Publish his death in the papers. Make a production of the funeral.” Darcy grimaced. “That would please him.”
“Yes. He was never so happy as when he was the center of attention.”
“So you agree?” Darcy pressed. “We are ending this charade?”
Richard nodded. “I agree. You will take Georgiana back to Pemberley?”
Not with Wickham’s confession and the small key they’d found in his coat weighing in Darcy’s pocket. “Mrs. Annesley will escort Georgiana to London, as planned. I am away to Edinburgh. Wickham left a copy of the document he had drawn up to prove their union there. I will see it, and the one we found on him, burned.”
“Is there cause for haste? Georgiana may need you.”
“I suspect I am the last person she will wish to see.”
Richard offered a sympathetic grimace. “She will come around.”
Darcy shrugged, uncertain she would, or that they truly had been right to keep Wickham’s presence from her. The sound of her sobs easily penetrated the thin wood of the bedroom door.
“You should know, Miss Bingley had it from Miss Lydia that Miss Elizabeth is under some sort of punishment. She has been forbidden from walking out alone, and from calls or callers. Miss Lydia does not know why, though she had many theories. Only that Mr. Bennet placed the restriction and would not tell even Mrs. Bennet why, and that Miss Mary and Mr. Collins seem smug about it. That last, of course, is merely Miss Lydia’s speculation, but she does know at least one of the two well.”
Had Elizabeth been caught sneaking back home? She must have been, but why would only one of her sisters and Mr. Collins know? Why Mr. Bennet and not Mrs. Bennet? Darcy scrubbed icy fingers across his forehead. Undoubtedly, he was the cause of Elizabeth’s torment as well.
That, however, he could set right, and he knew precisely how. It would begin with telling her the truth about everything. Something he imagined he could not do were she forbidden callers.
