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G eorgiana Darcy peered out her bedroom window to see who had come to call and was causing the flurry of activity in the halls.

Her eyes grew wide as she saw her brother step down from his travelling coach and give some directives to a footman — likely about his trunk or possibly requesting tea.

Those were the things he most often thought of first when arriving home from a trip.

Her brows furrowed, and her lips pinched into a displeased pucker.

Her brother was not supposed to be here in town.

He was supposed to be in Hertfordshire with Mr. Bingley, learning how to be something other than unpleasant.

Honestly! It was her heart that had been broken by that cad Wickham, not his!

Hers was mending, but his? She shook her head.

If only she could do something to prove to him that, though she had been hurt — and grievously so — her heart was no longer affected.

In fact, she had recently begun to think that it had never actually been touched at all.

She had not been in love with Wickham. She was nearly convinced of that fact.

She had been in love with the idea of being loved, adored, and cherished by a handsome man.

That she had not been and feared she might never be was what still caused a pinching pain in her heart.

Her companion, Mrs. Annesley, assured her it was a foolish notion to judge every gentleman by the actions of one, but it seemed prudent to Georgiana to be cautious, just in case.

She had been too trusting. No one could tell her otherwise.

However, just because she needed to learn a lesson in prudence, did not mean her brother needed to continue to suffer.

He had done precisely as he should. Her pain was not his doing.

The fact that he still tormented himself with guilt was what made it nearly impossible for her to lay her own, well-deserved, shame aside.

She had spoken in confidence about such things to Mr. Bingley before he and her brother had departed for Netherfield, Mr. Bingley’s new estate.

He had promised he would do his best to see her brother engaged in activities that would bring him distraction if not pleasure.

She had been so hopeful that Mr. Bingley had been successful, for Fitzwilliam’s letters had been light in tone, sharing stories of the various people he had met and wishing he was free of the attentions of one particular person, Caroline Bingley.

Added to that, yesterday, Mr. Bingley had called to inform her that her brother had done the most unusual thing by dancing with a Miss Elizabeth — the same Miss Elizabeth that had featured in more than one of Fitzwilliam’s missives.

Why he was home when things had seemed so promising, she was uncertain. She grabbed a wrap for her shoulders and slipped her feet into her slippers.

“Your brother has returned,” Mrs. Annesley said as Georgiana met her in the corridor.

“I saw his carriage,” Georgiana replied. “It is very unexpected.”

“It is,” Mrs. Annesley agreed. “Do you wish for me to attend you?”

Georgiana shook her head.

Mrs. Annesley glanced down the stairs. “You will tell me how he is, will you not?” There was a note of worry in her whispered question.

As far as Georgiana was concerned, hiring Mrs. Annesley to be her companion was the best gift Fitzwilliam had ever given her.

Mrs. Annesley’s heart was far softer than her angular features and austere manner of dress suggested.

She was also aware of far more than the spectacles that perched on her nose while she read and stitched might indicate.

“Of course, I will,” Georgiana assured her.

A twinkle shone in the lady’s eye. “Then be quick.”

Georgiana giggled as she descended the stairs.

Mrs. Annesley was quiet and reserved, as was proper for one in her position, but she was also curious and lively when she and Georgiana were alone.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Georgiana stopped and waited patiently as her brother removed his outerwear and apologized to Mr. Wright, his butler, for the unexpected change in plans.

Seeing her, he greeted her first with a smile and then, open arms, which she ran into without a second’s pause.

“I have missed you,” he murmured against her hair before releasing her.

“You did not return on my account, did you?” Georgiana wrapped her arm around his.

“May I not wish to see my sister?”

His avoidance of her question was not a good sign. Such a tactic always meant he did not wish to discuss his reasons for something.

“You may wish to see her, but you should not do so at the expense of breaking your word to a friend.” She felt his arm flinch. “Mr. Bingley called on me yesterday. He seemed eager to return to Hertfordshire.” Again, his arm flinched.

“He may return anytime he wishes.”

Her brows drew together. Her brother’s tone was so flat, so uncaring — so very unlike him. “I assume Miss Bingley and the Hursts accompanied you back to town?”

“They did.”

She lifted a brow and gave him an assessing look. “You know Mr. Bingley will never persuade Caroline away from town so close to the season. It was a struggle to get her to go with him at Michaelmas.”

He shrugged? The only response she was going to receive to such a comment was a shrug?

“He will be disappointed,” Georgiana said softly.

“That cannot be helped.”

Georgiana’s heart sank at Darcy’s words.

Mr. Bingley had been so eager to return to Netherfield and a particular lady.

In fact, he had mentioned taking his mother’s fede ring with him when he returned.

Not returning would do more than disappoint Mr. Bingley; it would likely break his heart and the heart of the lady he had left behind.

“Now, as delighted as I am to see you,” her brother continued, “I am desirous of a long soak in a hot tub of water.” He gave her a tight smile. “To wash away the chatter of Miss Bingley.”

He had not remembered to ask her if she was well.

That was also odd. For the last several months, he had asked her that question at least three times a day and always upon returning from a time away.

She released his arm but only to allow her hand to slide down and grasp his.

“Fitzwilliam?” She waited until he looked up at her instead of at their joined hands before continuing. “Are you well?”

His eyes left hers and looked down the hall toward his room as he nodded. “I will be,” he said as he lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “I will be.”

Georgiana pulled her lip between her teeth as she watched him walk down the hall to his room.

His shoulders were not as square as they normally were, and he ran his hand through his hair which was something he only did when thoroughly overwhelmed by a situation.

He was not well. Something was most certainly wrong.

Georgiana gasped as a reason for her brother’s melancholy came to mind.

Unwilling to entertain the troubling thought for hours before she spoke to her brother again, she hurried down the hall and knocked firmly on his door.

Then she waited. There was some shuffling in the room, but none that sounded as if a person were approaching the door, so she knocked again.

This time she rapt so loudly that she was positive at least one knuckle would bear a bruise from the action.

However, her sore knuckles had produced the desired effect since her brother, minus his coat and cravat, opened his door.

“She has not trapped you, has she?” Georgiana demanded.

Her brother’s brows drew together in question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Caroline Bingley. She has not finally succeeded in trapping you into marriage while her brother was gone, has she?” Georgiana’s heart raced with trepidation.

Caroline Bingley was not the sort of lady she wished to have as a sister, nor did she think her brother would ever be happy married to such a person.

Caroline was not horrid, but she was not gentle or lively or particularly witty.

She was just not the sort of lady Georgiana knew her brother needed for a wife.

Thankfully, shock suffused her brother’s face as he blurted an emphatic no.

“You are not marrying her?” Georgiana asked again just to be certain of his answer.

“No, Georgie, I am not marrying anyone.” The light in his eyes faded as he said it.

In spite of her concern for the sadness in his tone and expression, Georgiana smiled at him. “One day you will,” she said hopefully.

“Perhaps one day,” he replied without so much as a hint of conviction that it was true.

Oh, he was in a deplorable state of mind, and Georgiana was quite certain she knew why.

“Was there anything else?” he asked as he turned to close his door.

Georgiana shook her head. “Not at the moment.”

“Then, I shall see you at dinner.”

Georgiana stared at his closed door. “Perhaps, nothing,” she muttered. “You will marry one day, and you will be happy,” she declared to the door, “even if I must see to it myself.”