Page 69 of A Question of Character

“Fitzwilliam, please.”

“I would never have approved such a match. Never. If every clergyman in England and Scotland had stood ready to perform the ceremony, I would have stopped it.”

Her tears came freely now. “You hate him so much that you will not see—”

“I see more than you do.”

“Because I am a child?”

“Because you have behaved like one,” he snapped.

She recoiled.

He hated himself then. Not enough to unsay it.

“You are not out. You are under my guardianship. And you have fraternized with a man in secret, lied to me, and placed yourself in the hands of a woman who was paid to protect you and instead delivered you to ruin. I am disappointed in you, Georgiana. More than I can say.”

The last words did what anger had not. All resistance left her. Her face crumpled.

“I am sorry,” she said, barely audibly.

Darcy’s mouth opened, but no comfort came. He wanted to take her into his arms while simultaneously shaking sense into her. He wanted to go into the street, find George Wickham, and beat him until the man’s charming face could no longer purchase trust from anyone.

None of those things could happen in the hall.

“Go to your room.”

She stood a second longer, pleading without words. When he did not move toward her, she backed away and ran up the stairs, one hand clutched to the banister and her sobs breaking before she reached the landing.

A maid began to follow.

Darcy stopped her with a lifted hand. “Let her go. Wait outside her door. She is not to leave, and no one is to enter unless I send you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He remained at the foot of the stairs until Georgiana’s door closed above.

Then he went to the study.

Mrs. Younge sat in the chair nearest the desk, her back very straight, hands folded in her lap. Barton stood near the door with all the expression of a man prepared to become furniture until instructed otherwise. At Darcy’s entrance, Mrs. Younge rose.

“Mr. Darcy, I must beg you to allow me to explain.”

“You will sit.”

She sat.

Darcy crossed to the desk and pulled open the drawer where ready money was kept for household expenses. His hand was steady enough for the task, which surprised him. He counted out her quarter’s wages, placed the coins upon the blotter, then took up paper and wrote a receipt with strokes so hard the nib tore once.

“You are dismissed,” he said, sanding the page. “Without character.”

Mrs. Younge’s face altered. “Sir, you cannot mean—”

“I mean every word.”

“I have served your sister faithfully.”

That was laughable. “You have promoted an unsuitable man to a girl not yet out, encouraged a secret correspondence, conspired to remove her from my protection, and attempted to carry her to a wedding without the knowledge or consent of either guardian. You are wholly untrustworthy and irresponsible, and if the law offered me a punishment equal to your conduct, I would employ it.”