Darcy drew one breath.
Then another.
He would not fail Georgiana.
He would not fail Elizabeth.
And if George Wickham thought he had come to Netherfield to claim a bride, he would soon learn he had walked into the one room in England where every person who mattered would stand against him.
∞∞∞
Georgiana was trembling so violently that Elizabeth feared she might collapse.
The girl clung to her as though the rest of the room had fallen away, one hand twisted in Elizabeth’s sleeve, the other pressed against her own bodice as if she could not draw enough air. Her breaths came too quickly, shallow and broken, and every attempt to speak ended in a frightened little sound that made Elizabeth’s heart ache.
“Hush,” Elizabeth murmured, holding her more securely. “You are safe. You are safe here.”
She did not know whether it was true.
No—she wouldmakeit true.
Darcy crossed the room toward them, his face pale beneath the rigid control he had forced upon himself. Elizabeth had seen him angry before, or thought she had. This was something else. Not mere anger, but fury leashed so tightly it seemed to strain every line of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam remained near the door with the paper in his hand while Mr. Bingley stood beside them looking as though a villain had stepped from a play and into his drawing room.
Georgiana saw Darcy approach and reached for him without releasing Elizabeth. “Brother,” she sobbed. “Please. Please, I cannot. Do not make me marry him. I know who he is. I know what he is. He is like Father. He is just like Father.”
Darcy dropped to one knee before her at once, all his fury transformed, in an instant, into tenderness. “No. Georgiana, listen to me. I will not allow it.”
“But the paper—”
“I do not care for the paper.”
“But if it is true?”
“It is not true in any way that matters.”
Georgiana shook her head, tears spilling over. “There may be no choice. If Papa signed it, if the law—”
“Then I will give him every farthing of your dowry before I allow you to fall into his hands.”
The room went very still.
Elizabeth tightened her arms around Georgiana. She had known Darcy loved his sister. She had seen it in the way he watched over her, remembered her preferences, and listened to her small anxieties as though they were worthy of his full attention. But this was different. There was no hesitation in him, no calculation, no weighing of fortune against security. Georgiana’s dowry had been meant as protection, comfort, future independence—and Darcy would surrender all of itwithout a breath of regret if that was the price of keeping her safe.
Georgiana broke into a fresh sob and reached for him. Darcy took her hand, bowing his head over it for one brief, stricken moment.
Lydia, seating herself near her mother, frowned in confusion. “La, I would not be complaining about marrying such a handsome man!”
“Lydia!” Elizabeth said sharply.
Even Caroline Bingley appeared shocked.
Lydia shrank back, startled less by the correction than by Elizabeth’s tone. Kitty looked frightened now, and Mary’s face had gone very grave. Mrs. Bennet pressed a handkerchief to her lips, her eyes moving from Darcy to Georgiana to the door through which Wickham had disappeared, as though she had not yet decided whether the scandal was more terrifying than the fortune involved.
Jane stepped forward, pale but composed. “Perhaps we should leave. You must wish to discuss this privately.”
Mrs. Bennet began, “But surely—”
Elizabeth looked across the room to her father.
