Page 209 of A Question of Character

Darcy rested his forehead briefly against the door.

“No.”

“I was very foolish.”

He remained silent. It was not because he agreed; rather because contradiction would serve no purpose while the wound remained fresh.

“I thought...” She struggled for breath between the words. “I thought someone could love me for myself.”

“They shall.”

“I no longer know how to tell the difference.”

Those words lingered long after the conversation ended.

Darcy remained outside until the innkeeper’s wife gently persuaded Georgiana to admit her and assist with dressing.

Only then did he descend to the private parlor.

Wickham had already ordered breakfast, though little of it appeared likely to be eaten. A servant waited beside the table with writing materials arranged before the cold hearth.

“I took the liberty,” Wickham said, indicating the desk. “You mentioned Colonel Fitzwilliam’s guardianship yesterday. He ought to know before rumor reaches him.”

Darcy looked at the blank sheet for several moments before sitting.

“Yes.”

“And Lady Matlock.”

“She will wish to be with Georgiana.”

“Precisely.”

He dipped the pen into the ink.

Here, at the end of his journey, the task required something more difficult than riding. He had to explain failure.

twenty-four

Truths Long Concealed

Darcy wrote first to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

He began twice before laying aside each sheet. The first attempted to soften the truth until it scarcely resembled truth at all. The second descended into particulars too painful to commit to paper where postboys and servants might chance to glimpse them. At last, he decided upon plainness, stating that Georgiana had been recovered safely before any marriage had taken place, that Mr. George Wycombe had escaped during the night, and that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s presence in London was earnestly desired upon a matter affecting both his ward and the honor of their family. Nothing more could prudently be entrusted to an express.

The letter to Lady Matlock proved no easier.

He knew his aunt well enough to anticipate every question before she asked it. How had Georgiana been persuaded? Why had Mrs. Younge remained at liberty? How had Darcy failed to perceive the danger sooner? The last question echoed most insistently because he had already asked it of himself a hundred times.

He folded the letter before doubt tempted him to alter another line.

“I have not said enough.”

Wickham accepted the sealed packet and examined the direction. “You have said exactly what cannot wait.”

“She will imagine the worst.”

“She would imagine the worst if you wrote that you wished to see her.”