Page 202 of A Question of Character

No one did.

At last Georgiana spoke, the words hurried, rehearsed, and defensive. “I never wished for a season. You knew that. Everyone knew that. I do not wish to be presented and stared at and taught how to speak to gentlemen who care for my dowry. George loves me. He understands. By marrying him, I may avoid all of that.”

“By eloping with him, you invite ruin.”

“We were to marry.”

“With whose consent?”

“I do not need—”

“You do.” Darcy cut across her before she could complete the childish defiance. “The terms of your fortune require the consent of both your guardians before your dowry is paid. Mine and Richard’s.”

Wycombe went utterly still.

Georgiana blinked. “What?”

“Your thirty thousand pounds cannot be released to any man without our approval. If you marry without it, the money may be withheld.”

Mrs. Younge’s face drained.

Wycombe recovered first, though not well. “That is nonsense.”

“It is my father’s will.”

“You cannot mean to deprive your sister of her fortune.”

“I mean to prevent it from becoming prey.”

Georgiana stood. “Fitzwilliam!”

Darcy looked at her, heartsore and furious. “Did he not tell you he loved you without fortune?”

“He does.”

“Then let him say so now.”

Wycombe’s pleasant mask fractured. “This is an absurd ambush.”

Wickham folded his arms. “Not an answer.”

Wycombe rounded on him. “You hold your tongue.”

“No.”

Darcy had no desire to admire George Wickham in that moment. Unfortunately, he did.

Georgiana turned toward Wycombe, confusion beginning to disturb her certainty. “George?”

Wycombe dragged a hand through his hair. “My dear, your brother is attempting to frighten you.”

“Then say it does not matter.”

He said nothing.

The silence did what Darcy’s warnings never had.

Georgiana’s lips parted.