Page 204 of A Question of Character

She whirled to face him, furious. “You did think it. You sent me away with companions and tutors and plans. Everyone deciding what would make me less troublesome.”

“No.”

“You never asked what I wanted.”

“I asked too little,” he admitted. “That is true. But I never wished you gone from me.”

Her face worked, pride and pain battling in silence.

Wickham spoke from the door, low and firm. “Miss Darcy.”

She looked at him as if remembering his presence.

“You are wrong about one thing,” he said.

“What?”

“You said just now that if your brother prevented this marriage, I would want you and your thirty thousand pounds instead of Miss Lydia.”

Darcy sucked in a breath, shocked that his sister could speak in such a manner.

Georgiana flushed.

Wickham’s expression hardened in a way Darcy had never seen. “No. I would rather have Miss Lydia Bennet and her meager dowry than a woman who would deceive those who love her best and then offer her fortune as compensation for the injury.”

Georgiana recoiled.

Wickham bowed, the movement brief and severe. “Forgive the plainness. I have spent enough of my life valuing money over honor. I am not returning to it.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Georgiana broke.

She covered her face with both hands and sobbed like the child she had insisted she was not.

Darcy went to her then, and this time she did not step away. She collapsed against him with such force that he staggered. He held her while she shook, one hand against the back of her bonnet, the other around her shoulders.

“I thought he loved me,” she cried.

“I know.” Darcy longed to offer her some greater comfort than words.

“I thought you would send me away.”

“Never.” How could she believe it of him?

“You were so angry.”

“I was frightened,” he protested.

She glared at him. “I hated you for it.”

“I know.”

“I am sorry.” The words dissolved into sobbing. “I am sorry, I am sorry.”

Across the room, Wycombe reached for his hat.

Darcy looked up.