“Then he will find another way.”
Georgiana looked at her with desperate trust. “You truly believe that?”
Elizabeth thought of Darcy’s face when he had said he would give away Georgiana’s dowry before he allowed Wickham to have her. She thought of him declaring that Wickham would not succeed, that he would marry Elizabeth and save Georgiana both, even if it required Pemberley, flight, and the Americas. She thought of his honor, his stubbornness, his tenderness, and the way he had looked at her as though her willingness to help had given him strength rather than injured his pride.
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “I believe it.”
Georgiana leaned against her then, and Elizabeth held her until, at long last, the sound of hooves in the driveway were heard.
Georgiana turned sharply toward the window, fear and hope mingled in her face. For one awful instant neither of them moved. Then Elizabeth rose and crossed to the glass.
Two riders.
Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam.
Relief swept through her so swiftly that she had to grip the curtain to steady herself. Darcy dismounted below with the weary stiffness of a man who had spent too many hours in the saddle, but he was whole. He was safe. He turned toward the house before speaking to the groom, and though he could not see her through the upper window, Elizabeth felt, absurdly and wonderfully, that he had come back to her.
“Your brother is returned,” she said.
Georgiana closed her eyes and began to cry—not as she had before, not with panic, but with release.
Elizabeth went to her at once, took her hands, and held them until the first storm passed. Then she kissed Georgiana’s forehead with more affection than ceremony.
“I shall go down and learn what they discovered. You need not come unless you wish.”
Georgiana shook her head. “Tell him I am glad he is safe.”
“I will.”
“And tell him…” She faltered. “Tell him I am trying to be brave.”
Elizabeth smiled through the ache in her throat. “I think he already knows.”
Then she left Georgiana with her maid and went quickly down the stairs, her heart beating faster with each step. Whatever news Darcy had brought, good or ill, they would face it now.
Together.
Chapter 31
By the next morning, Elizabeth was too restless to remain with Georgiana while the gentlemen bent over the papers below.
Georgiana was better. Not well, not at peace, but better. She had slept through most of the night, and though she woke pale and quiet, she did not tremble when Mr. Wickham’s name was mentioned. Mrs. Hurst had come to sit with her after breakfast, bringing both her workbag and a surprisingly firm assurance that no gentleman, villain, or solicitor would be permitted to drag Miss Darcy anywhere while she had breath in her body. Georgiana had smiled faintly at that, and Elizabeth had taken it as permission to leave her for a little while.
She found the gentlemen in Bingley’s study, where papers covered nearly every available surface.
Darcy stood at the desk with his coat off and his sleeves turned back, comparing one signature to another with a concentration so severe it might have been carved upon him. Colonel Fitzwilliam occupied the other side of the desk, his own pile of documents before him and a scowl dark enough to alarm any innocent sheet of paper. Mr. Philips sat near the window, reading through the language of the supposed agreement line by line, making small notes in the margin of a separate page.Bingley stood by the hearth, looking as though he would be very useful the moment anyone discovered how.
All four men looked up when she entered.
Darcy’s expression changed at once. Fatigue still marked him, and worry had not left his eyes, but the sight of her softened something in him that made Elizabeth’s chest ache.
“Elizabeth,” he said. “Is Georgiana—”
“With Mrs. Hurst. Calm enough for the moment, and determined enough to drink half a cup of chocolate, which I consider a triumph.”
“It is.” Relief passed briefly over his face. “Thank you.”
“I have come to be troublesome.”
