Page 199 of A Question of Character

“A convenient one as well. I did not want to drag old filth into daylight when I could not prove whose hands had touched it.”

Darcy said nothing.

Wickham continued after a moment. “I am sorry. If I had spoken plainly when the Ramsgate bill came, perhaps we might have reached this conclusion earlier.”

“I would not have listened.”

The admission came more easily now, though no less painfully. Darcy fought to keep his teeth from grinding once more. “You know it. I know it. Let us not spend the road pretending otherwise.”

Wickham gave a short, humorless breath. “Very well.”

They rode on until late afternoon, when the sky had begun to dull and the first lights of an inn appeared ahead. It stood at a crossroads, low-roofed, with a stable yard half full and a sign swinging in the wind. Darcy might have passed it had Wickham not pulled his horse hard to the left.

“There.”

A chaise stood near the far side of the yard.

Darcy knew it before he had any proof. The sight struck him with such force that for one second he could not move.

The door to the inn opened.

Georgiana came out first.

She wore a traveling cloak and bonnet, her face pale from cold and fatigue, but she did not appear frightened. Beside her stood a fair gentleman of fashionable dress, smiling down at her with easy assurance. An older woman followed, muffled in a dark pelisse.

Mrs. Younge.

Darcy dismounted before his horse had fully stopped.

“Georgiana.”

His sister froze.

All color left her face.

The gentleman beside her stiffened. Wickham swung down from his horse and took two steps forward.

Wickham stopped short. The last of his uncertainty vanished. “It is Wycombe.”

The man’s gaze shifted to him. Surprise flashed first; then irritation; then a practiced look of careless amusement.

“Wickham. How unfortunate.”

Georgiana looked between them. “You know one another?”

“We do,” Wickham said.

Darcy scarcely heard him. He was looking at his sister.

“Get inside.”

Georgiana’s chin rose. “No.”

The word struck him nearly as hard as the letter had done.

“Georgiana.”

“I will not be ordered like a child in the inn yard.”