Page 124 of A Question of Character

No. Not the worst. The worst had occurred in Ramsgate, in his own absence, under his own arrangements, while Georgiana had believed herself beloved and protected by people who had meant to use her.

Darcy pressed the nib too hard, blotting the next word. He set down the pen, took up a fresh sheet, and copied the lines again with greater control.

It is best, he wrote, that you do not encounter him. I would not have unfortunate memories awakened, nor would I place you in a position where you must suffer any embarrassment or distress. You are safe in London with Mrs. Annesley, and Richard will continue to call as often as his duties permit. I know this news may pain you. I would spare you every pain if I could, but concealment has served us badly enough already.

That was true, though he disliked how much it condemned him as well.

He added a few lines asking after her health, her music, and Mrs. Annesley’s comfort, then signed with more tenderness than the first half of the letter deserved.

Your affectionate brother,

F. Darcy

He sanded it, waited, folded, sealed, and wrote the direction. Express. It must go express. Georgiana ought not to hear of Wickham through some careless line in Richard’s next note or, worse, through Miss Bingley, should that lady ever discover enough to sharpen into conversation.

His Elizabeth had questioned him.

The memory took hold with no courtesy whatsoever.

Not when your accounts differ so spectacularly.

She had been right to say it. He could admit that now in the privacy of a library where no one demanded that he be more reasonable than he wished to be. He had not told her the whole truth. He had given her facts stripped of their most painful shape and expected her to accept conclusions without evidence. Elizabeth Bennet, who possessed too much intelligence to be managed and too much spirit to be commanded, had refused him.

It wounded him.

It also, inconveniently, increased his admiration.

Darcy rose and crossed to the bell. When a servant came, he ordered the letter sent express to London, then stood motionless after the door closed. He trusted Elizabeth. That was the fact beneath all his frustration. He trusted her compassion, her discretion, and her justice, though her justice had lately been focused in a direction he found intolerable.

Then trust her with the truth.

His hand clenched the back of a chair.

Very well. He would.

First, Mr. Bennet.

He had postponed that conversation one day too long. If he meant to court Elizabeth openly, he would do so with her father’s permission. If there was to be unpleasantness concerning Wickham, he would not use that unpleasantness as an excuse to delay honorable conduct.

By the time he entered the hall, Bingley was already there, hat in hand and spirits in open rebellion against the mood at Netherfield.

“Darcy! I was just coming to find you. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I have decided I shall call at Longbourn with you today.”

Darcy paused. “Yesterday you thought that too eager.”

“Yesterday I had known Miss Bennet for one evening. Today I have known her for one evening and part of my own imagination. That is a considerable expansion of acquaintance.”

“You are absurd.”

“I am also sincere. Besides, if you mean to ask for Miss Elizabeth, someone must distract the ladies.”

“I had not intended to tell you that.”

“You wore the expression of a man going to be judged by a father. I recognized it from every young gentleman I have ever pitied.”