Darcy’s mouth tightened, not with anger at her but with all the violence of his resolve. “Georgiana will not lose her dowry if I can prevent it, and she will never be forced into Wickham’s hands. Even if I must sell Pemberley and run away with the two of you to the Americas.”
The absurdity of the image broke through the horror of the evening.
Elizabeth gave a trembling laugh. “The Americas?”
“If necessary.”
“With Georgiana?”
“Of course.”
“And me?”
“Always.”
She stared at him for one more heartbeat, then threw her arms around his neck.
She did not care that her uncle was present. She did not care that Colonel Fitzwilliam stood only a few feet away. She did not care for propriety, or fortune, or settlements, or anything except the fact that Darcy had not hesitated. Not when it was Georgiana. Not when it was Elizabeth. Not when the cost might be everything.
Darcy’s arms came around her at once.
He held her tightly, one hand firm at her back, the other cradling her shoulder as though she were both precious and necessary. Elizabeth pressed her face against his coat and let herself breathe. For a few long moments, the study, the paper, and Wickham all receded. There was only the steady strength of him and the knowledge that whatever came next, she would not face it alone.
A discreet cough interrupted them.
“I hate to intrude upon the romance,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “especially as it is vastly more uplifting than the rest of the evening, but what are we going to do?”
Elizabeth drew back, her cheeks warm.
Darcy did not immediately release her. He looked at her with a faint, rueful tenderness, then turned his head toward his cousin.
“I have no idea,” he said.
Chapter 30
Sleep did not come easily to Darcy that night; he was still awake long after Netherfield had gone quiet.
The house settled around him by degrees: footsteps fading in the passage, doors closing, servants moving below stairs, the last faint murmur of voices retreating into silence. Georgiana slept, exhausted by fear and the draught Elizabeth had coaxed her to take. Richard occupied the room across the hall, though Darcy doubted his cousin slept any more than he did. Bingley had offered every assistance possible, then looked so stricken by his own inability to do more that Darcy had been obliged to thank him twice before the poor man would stop apologizing for Wickham having entered his house.
But Darcy could not rest.
So, he sat alone by the dying fire in his chamber, one elbow upon the arm of the chair, his fingers pressed hard against his brow. His first instinct remained the same: get Georgiana beyond Wickham’s reach at any cost. Pay him, fight him, send Richard to terrify him, ride to Meryton and drag him from the inn by his collar—one wild, useless impulse after another. Each one collapsed beneath the same hard fact.
Wickham had prepared.
He would not have brought the only copy of the agreement. He would not have come without knowing precisely how much fear he might provoke. If pressed carelessly, he would run to a solicitor, or to the papers, or to every acquaintance willing to hear a tale of a promised heiress stolen from him by proud relations.
Elizabeth had seen it, too. “Is it genuine?” she had asked.
Not how much must be paid. Not how quickly Georgiana could be hidden. Not whether Wickham could be frightened into leaving. She had gone first to the root. Before yielding anything, before panicking, before sacrificing fortunes and futures, they must know whether the paper was what Wickham claimed it to be.
He went down to breakfast with less than two hours’ sleep behind him and the beginning of a plan before him. Georgiana did not appear, and no one expected her. The maid reported that Elizabeth had spent the night with his sister, and that gave him great comfort.
Not long after he had filled his plate, others began to trickle into the room.
Bingley looked unusually solemn. Richard looked as though he had slept not at all and resented every person who had prevented him from solving the problem violently. Elizabeth entered last, her face pale with fatigue but her smile alert. She came at once to Darcy’s side, not close enough to invite remark, but near enough that he felt the warmth of her presence before she spoke.
“How are you?” she asked quietly. “Did you get much sleep?”
