Page 191 of A Question of Character

“I do not know.”

“Then why—” Wickham stopped. Understanding came over him slowly. “You thought it was me.”

Darcy could barely endure the words.

“Yes.”

Wickham stared at him. “In Ramsgate. Last summer. You thought I was the man.”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth’s hand gripped the back of a chair.

Mr. Bennet had risen. “Mr. Darcy, explain yourself.”

Darcy passed Georgiana’s letter to Elizabeth, not because propriety allowed it, but because he trusted her hand more than his own at that moment. “Last summer my sister was nearly persuaded into a clandestine marriage while I was away. Her companion assisted. Georgiana began the name of the man. I supplied Wickham’s. She nodded. I believed—”

“You never asked her to say it?” Elizabeth’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.”

Wickham swore under his breath, then looked toward the ladies. “Forgive me.”

Lydia did not seem to have heard.

Wickham stepped toward Darcy. “When was this letter written?”

“Yesterday, or the day before. Mrs. Annesley’s note says the maid delivered it this morning instead of waiting the week she had been ordered.”

“Then there is time.” Wickham’s manner altered with astonishing speed. The courtly caller disappeared; in his place stood a man intent upon action. “Where would she go? North? Scotland? Has she money? A carriage? Who knew her movements?”

“I do not know.”

“Then we cannot stand here.” Wickham addressed Mr. Bennet. “Sir, forgive me. I must go with him.”

Lydia caught his sleeve. “George—”

He covered her hand briefly, then released it with visible effort. “Miss Lydia, I will come back when I can. I swear it.”

Darcy looked toward Elizabeth.

She had read enough of Georgiana’s letter to understand the urgency. Her face was pale, but she folded the paper and handed it back without a tremor.

“Go,” she said.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, stepping close enough that she alone might hear. “For all of it. For not believing you.”

Her eyes shone.

“Bring her home.”

He bowed his head.

Elizabeth’s hand touched his sleeve for one brief instant. “And hurry back.”

He could not answer.

Wickham was already at the door, calling for his hat, asking Hill whether Mr. Bennet’s groom could saddle any horse fit for speed. Mr. Bennet issued orders with unexpected authority. Mrs. Bennet had begun to weep. Lydia stood very still, both hands pressed together before her.