Page 83 of A Question of Character

“Do not thank me. I am still angry with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes, with you. With Wickham more, with Mrs. Younge most, but you are available.”

Darcy nearly smiled. “How convenient.”

“Very. Someone must absorb my temper until Wickham is found.”

A knock came at the door before Darcy could answer. Barton entered with a note upon a salver.

“From Mrs. Annesley, sir.”

Darcy broke the seal and read quickly. “She will come tomorrow.”

“Good,” Richard said. “Georgiana likes her?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust her?”

“With more cause than I trusted Mrs. Younge.”

“That is a low standard.”

“It is the standard currently available.”

Richard rose and crossed to the sideboard without invitation, pouring himself a small glass of brandy though it was not yet one o’clock. “Do you want one?”

“No.”

“Liar.” He poured a second and set it near Darcy’s elbow. “Drink it or stare at it. I am indifferent.”

Darcy took the glass after a moment. The brandy burned all the way down.

Richard stood by the mantel, watching him with an expression less severe now and more brotherly than either of them would have cared to name.

“She will recover,” he said.

Darcy looked toward the ceiling, toward the rooms above where Georgiana sat alone with whatever remained of her illusions.

“I hope so.”

“She will. But you must decide whether you prefer her repentant or safe.”

Darcy’s grip tightened around the glass.

Richard continued, less sharply. “If you make your forgiveness depend upon her understanding everything at once, you will both suffer longer than necessary.”

“I know.”

“Knowing is not doing.”

“No.”

“Then do it.”

Darcy set down the glass, took up the letter, and pressed the seal into the wax before he could reconsider the wording. “I shall send this.”