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Chapter Four

I n all his eight and twenty years, Fitzwilliam Darcy had never experienced a defeat so abject as Elizabeth Bennet’s rejection of his hand. The carriage bearing him and Colonel Fitzwilliam back to London rumbled steadily over the familiar roads, his cousin’s occasional attempts at conversation falling upon ears that heard little beyond the echo of her words. Her accusations had struck with surgical precision at the foundations of his character, leaving him to flounder in the rubble of his shattered pride.

“We shall be in London within the hour,” Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, peering out at the increasing density of buildings. “I confess I am glad to return. Aunt Catherine’s hospitality, while generous, grows somewhat oppressive after a fortnight.”

Darcy managed a noncommittal sound in response. Three days had passed since that fateful afternoon at the Hunsford parsonage, three days of careful civility and hidden torment.

“Georgiana will be pleased to see you,” the colonel added, with a sideways glance that suggested he remained concerned about Darcy’s uncharacteristic quietude. “Your last letter mentioned she was making excellent progress with her musical studies.”

“Indeed.” This, at least, could rouse Darcy from his contemplation. “She practices with remarkable diligence. I am anxious to hear her improvement.”

The thought of Georgiana brought both comfort and fresh pain. How different might matters have been had Elizabeth known his sister, had she understood his protective nature originated in love rather than pride? But even that thought rang hollow in light of her other accusations. His behaviour toward her family, particularly Jane Bennet, could not be excused by brotherly devotion.

London’s familiar skyline grew more defined as their carriage joined the stream of vehicles entering the city. Darcy straightened his posture, squaring his shoulders against the weight of regret. Whatever his private sufferings, they must not be allowed to cast a shadow over his reunion with Georgiana.

Upon their arrival at Darcy House, the household staff lined up with the proper formality, but it was Georgiana who captured his full attention. She stood at the foot of the grand staircase, her slender figure poised between girlhood and womanhood, her fair features illuminated by a smile of genuine delight.

“Brother,” she said simply, stepping forward to accept his embrace.

For one brief moment, Darcy allowed himself to relax into her uncomplicated affection. “I trust you have been well in my absence?”

“Quite well, Mrs. Annesley takes excellent care of me,” she assured him, then turned to greet their cousin with similar warmth. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, I hope Aunt Catherine was not too demanding of your patience.”

“No more than usual,” the colonel replied with a laugh, giving her a great bear hug that made her squeal with girlish delight. “Though I daresay your brother bore the brunt of her attention.”

Georgiana’s gaze returned to Darcy, and he observed a flicker of concern in her eyes. “You look tired, brother. Was your journey so very taxing?”

“Not at all,” Darcy replied with practiced ease. “Merely the usual tedium of travel.”

He allowed himself to be led into the drawing room, where tea had been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. As they settled into the familiar routines of homecoming, Darcy found himself studying his sister’s face, searching for any sign that his absence had caused her distress. Instead, he found her studying him with similar intent.

“You seem preoccupied,” she ventured later, when Colonel Fitzwilliam had momentarily excused himself. “Did something happen at Rosings?”

The question, innocent though it was, threatened to breach the carefully constructed dam holding back his emotions. “Nothing of significance,” he replied, then, seeing her unconvinced expression, added, “I met Miss Elizabeth Bennet again.”

“The lady you spoke of from Hertfordshire?” Georgiana’s expression brightened with interest. “The one with the fine eyes and clever conversation?”

Darcy felt heat rise to his face. He had indeed mentioned Elizabeth to Georgiana, though in terms far more measured than his heart had felt. “The same. She was visiting her friend, the parson’s wife.”

“And?” Georgiana prompted, leaning forward slightly.

“And nothing,” Darcy replied with more finality than he intended. Seeing her expression fall, he softened his tone. “We conversed as acquaintances do. That is all.”

The lie sat heavily upon him. Georgiana, ever sensitive to his moods, did not press further, but the slight furrow between her brows told him she remained unconvinced.

That evening, after Georgiana had retired and Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone out to see friends, Darcy retreated to his study. The familiar room with its rows of leather-bound books offered little solace. He found himself standing before the window, looking out at the darkened gardens, seeing not the carefully tended shrubbery but Elizabeth’s flashing eyes as she excoriated his character.

“From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you, your manners impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain for the feelings of others, were such as to form that ground-work of disapprobation, on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”

The words had lost none of their sting in the intervening days. He had composed a letter and pressed it upon her, attempting to address her accusations regarding Wickham and his interference between Bingley and Jane Bennet, because for those items at least he had some small excuse for his actions. Whether she had believed him, he could not know. Whether it mattered, he was even less certain; because it was very clear to him now that the faults in his own character had ruined his hopes long before he had summoned the courage to make his doomed proposal.

“You could not have made me the offer of your hand in an possible way that would have tempted me to accept it.”

Darcy winced and closed his eyes against the stinging sensation behind them.

All that was left to him now was self-honesty, and the opportunity to try and make himself into the kind of man he wished to be.

Three days after his return, Darcy ventured to his club, partly from habit and partly from a desire to escape the concerned glances Georgiana continued to cast his way. The familiar atmosphere of polished wood and hushed male conversation provided a welcome distraction from his thoughts.

“Darcy! By Jove, I had no idea you were back in town.”

The voice belonged to Charles Bingley, whose cheerful countenance appeared genuinely pleased at the encounter. Darcy felt a twinge of guilt as he greeted his friend, the memory of Elizabeth’s claims of Jane Bennet’s broken heart fresh in his mind.

“I returned but a few days ago,” Darcy replied, forcing a smile as Bingley joined him at his table.

“And how was Kent? Your aunt was in good health, I trust?”

“Quite robust, as always.”

Bingley signalled for refreshments, then leaned forward with his characteristic eagerness. “And did you see much company while there? I understand Rosings can be rather isolated.”

“Some,” Darcy acknowledged, wondering if he should mention Elizabeth. Before he could decide, Bingley continued.

“I’ve been frightfully bored myself. Caroline speaks of nothing but fashion and gossip, and Louisa and Hurst are tedious as ever.” He paused, then added with forced casualness, “I sometimes wonder if we might have been better off remaining in Hertfordshire for the winter, rather than returning to London.”

Darcy studied his friend’s expression, noting the wistfulness that briefly clouded his features. Had he been wrong about Jane Bennet’s feelings? Elizabeth had certainly thought so. The possibility that he had caused unnecessary pain to both Bingley and Miss Bennet weighed heavily upon him.

“Do you miss Netherfield, then?” Darcy inquired carefully.

“Oh, the hunting was decent enough,” Bingley replied vaguely. “And the society, while limited, had its charms.”

An image of Jane Bennet’s serene smile flashed in Darcy’s mind. According to Elizabeth, that placid exterior had concealed genuine attachment. Had he been so blinded by his own prejudices that he had misread her entirely?

“Perhaps,” Darcy began, then hesitated. To confess his interference would risk Bingley’s friendship, yet to remain silent perpetuated the injustice Elizabeth had identified. He chose a middle path. “Perhaps Netherfield might be worth revisiting. The autumn shooting really was rather excellent.”

Bingley looked up sharply, surprise evident in his expression. “You think so? I had rather thought you found the neighbourhood lacking in suitable society.”

“One’s perspective can change,” Darcy replied, thinking how profoundly his own had been altered. “The countryside has its own merits.”

“Well,” Bingley said slowly, “I suppose I could inquire whether the property remains available.”

“Indeed.”

They spoke of other matters then, the politics of the day and mutual acquaintances, but Darcy noted the thoughtful expression that occasionally crossed Bingley’s features. A seed had been planted; whether it would grow remained to be seen.

Later, as Darcy made his way home through the busy London streets, he reflected on the small step he had taken toward righting one wrong. It was insufficient, he knew, merely a gesture where substantive action was required. Yet he could not bring himself to tell Bingley the whole truth, that he had deliberately separated him from a woman who might have made him happy.

“Progress, however slight, is still progress,” he murmured to himself as he ascended the steps to Darcy House. If he could not win Elizabeth’s good opinion, he could at least strive to become the kind of man who might be worthy of it.

A week later, Darcy escorted Georgiana to the Bingley townhouse for dinner. The evening promised to be pleasantly unremarkable, a respite from the tumult of his thoughts that continued to circle relentlessly around Elizabeth Bennet. Georgiana had expressed eagerness for the diversion, though Darcy suspected her enthusiasm stemmed more from concern for his melancholy than any particular desire for Miss Bingley’s company.

“I believe I detect new wallpaper in the hall,” Georgiana observed as they were admitted. “Miss Bingley mentioned in her last visit that she was considering a change.”

Darcy nodded absently, surrendering his hat and gloves to the waiting footman. Georgiana’s attempts to engage him in conversation had grown increasingly determined over the past week, a gentle but persistent effort to draw him from his introspection. His sister had become far more adept at reading his moods than he liked, and he did not want to worry her. He made a more concerted effort to respond.

“Indeed. Miss Bingley’s taste in furnishings is always impeccable, if somewhat governed by the latest fashions.”

The butler announced them with proper formality, and they entered the drawing room to find Charles Bingley advancing with his usual warmth, his sisters following at a more measured pace. Miss Bingley, Darcy noted immediately, wore an expression of barely contained excitement, her eyes gleaming with an almost predatory satisfaction that instantly put him on guard.

“Darcy, Miss Darcy, how delightful,” Bingley greeted them, bowing over Georgiana’s hand with brotherly affection. “We were just discussing the unusual warmth of the season.”

“Were we?” Miss Bingley interjected with a small, knowing smile. “I rather thought we were discussing my correspondence from Hertfordshire. But the weather is, of course, always worthy of remark.”

Something in her tone caused Darcy’s chest to tighten. “You maintain connections in Hertfordshire, Miss Bingley?” he inquired, his voice carefully neutral.

“Oh yes,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his face. “Mrs. Long is always most diligent in keeping me apprised of all the local... entertainments.”

“Caroline has received quite the scandalous report,” Mrs. Hurst added, exchanging a significant look with her sister. “Though perhaps it is not suitable for Miss Darcy’s ears.”

Georgiana looked down immediately, discomfort evident in her posture. Darcy placed a protective hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps we might speak of more pleasant topics,” he suggested firmly.

“But this is most entertaining,” Miss Bingley protested, gesturing for them to be seated. “And it concerns acquaintances we made during our stay at Netherfield. Surely that makes it relevant to our circle’s interests.”

Bingley looked uncomfortable. “Caroline, I’m not certain that local gossip…”

“It is hardly mere gossip when a betrothal is to be announced,” Miss Bingley interrupted triumphantly. Her gaze fixed on Darcy with malicious precision. “Particularly when the circumstances are so... unexpected.”

Darcy felt the first chill of foreboding. “Indeed? And which of our Hertfordshire acquaintances is to be congratulated?” He kept his tone deliberately light, though his fingers pressed more firmly against Georgiana’s arm as he escorted her toward a chair, and she looked up at him with a little frown of puzzlement.

Miss Bingley paused, clearly savouring the moment. “Why, none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The name struck Darcy like a physical blow. Somehow he remained outwardly impassive, years of rigid self-control preventing any visible reaction, but internally he reeled. Elizabeth, engaged? To whom? And why would Miss Bingley regard this as scandalous news to be delivered with such evident delight?

“Oh?” he managed to say. “And the gentleman in question?”

Miss Bingley’s smile widened. “That is the most delicious part of the tale. It appears Miss Eliza has secured the affections of none other than Mr. Wickham.”

The room seemed to tilt momentarily. Beside him, Georgiana made a small, distressed sound. Darcy moved instinctively to steady her, even as his own mind struggled to process the unthinkable conjunction of names. Elizabeth and Wickham? Impossible . She had his letter; she knew Wickham’s true character. Unless... unless she had not believed him. Or had not read the letter! He had not witnessed her reading it… perhaps she had thrown it in the fire unread…

“Are you quite certain of your information?” he asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

“Oh, most certain,” Miss Bingley replied, her eyes gleaming with triumph at his evident discomposure. “Mrs. Long writes that they were discovered in a most compromising situation, with any number of witnesses. There was no choice but for Mr. Bennet to insist upon marriage. The entire neighbourhood is in an uproar.”

Georgiana swayed visibly, her face draining of colour. “I feel rather faint,” she whispered, so softly that only Darcy could hear.

“Some tea for my sister,” Darcy requested sharply, hastily guiding Georgiana to the nearest chair. His mind worked furiously, attempting to reconcile this horrific news with everything he knew of Elizabeth’s character. That she might accept Wickham after reading his letter seemed inconceivable. That she might be compromised by him in the manner Miss Bingley implied was even more so.

“I had not realised Miss Darcy was so deeply affected by the romantic entanglements of persons she has never met,” Miss Bingley remarked, watching Georgiana with curiosity.

“My sister is simply overtired,” Darcy replied curtly. “It has been rather warm today for the time of year.”

Bingley, ever sensitive to the comfort of his guests, rang for tea and moved to open a window. “Perhaps some fresh air would help. Caroline, you might have mentioned this news with more delicacy.”

“How could I have known it would prove so affecting?” Miss Bingley protested, though her satisfied expression suggested otherwise. “Though I confess I was surprised myself. Miss Eliza always gave herself such airs about her discernment and intelligence. To be taken in by a mere militia officer with no fortune to speak of... well, it confirms what I always suspected about her judgment.”

Darcy turned away, ostensibly to attend to Georgiana, but in truth to conceal the raw emotion he knew must be visible on his features from the Bingleys. Elizabeth, compromised by Wickham. Elizabeth , forced into marriage with a man he knew to be without principle or honour. The thought was unbearable.

“And when is this... wedding to take place?” he asked, once he had mastered his voice sufficiently to speak.

“With unseemly haste, one should expect,” Mrs. Hurst supplied with evident relish. “Mrs. Long did not give a date, but I expect they might even be married by now.”

The finality of it struck Darcy with crushing force. If this were true, Elizabeth was lost to him forever, bound to a man who would bring her nothing but misery and shame.

Georgiana was staring up at him, obviously able to see the distress on his face, but Darcy noted with concern that she had yet to regain her colour. “I am sorry,” she whispered to him. “I did not mean to cause a scene.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he assured her, his voice low and fierce. He straightened, addressing Bingley with carefully controlled civility. “I fear I must ask you to excuse us. My sister is clearly unwell, and I should see her home.”

“Of course, of course,” Bingley agreed immediately, his honest face reflecting genuine concern. “I hope it is nothing serious.”

“Merely a momentary indisposition, I am sure,” Darcy replied, helping Georgiana to her feet with careful attention to her stability.

Miss Bingley rose as well, disappointment evident in her bearing. “But you have only just arrived. Surely Miss Darcy might rest here for a while before attempting the journey home?”

“I thank you, but no,” Darcy said firmly. “My sister will be more comfortable in her own chambers.”

“At least stay until the carriage is brought round again,” Bingley insisted. “It will take but a moment.”

While Bingley went to give the necessary orders, Darcy stood in tense silence beside Georgiana. Miss Bingley, apparently unable to resist twisting the knife further, approached with a sympathetic expression that failed to reach her eyes.

“I hope I have not distressed you with my news, Mr. Darcy. I had no idea you maintained any particular interest in Miss Eliza Bennet’s affairs.”

Darcy met her gaze with frigid composure. “My concern is solely for my sister’s wellbeing, Miss Bingley. The personal entanglements of Hertfordshire families are of no consequence to me.”

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he would not give Caroline Bingley the satisfaction of knowing how deeply her words had wounded him. She had ever been jealous of his admiration of Elizabeth, though he hoped she did not suspect just how deeply his affections had been engaged.

“The carriage is ready,” Bingley announced, returning to the drawing room.

“Thank you,” Darcy replied, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “Please accept our apologies.”

“Think nothing of it,” Bingley assured him, escorting them to the door himself. “I hope Miss Darcy feels better soon.”

The journey home passed in weighted silence. Darcy sat stiffly frozen, in too much shock and distress to even attempt offering further comfort to his sister. Georgiana, for her part, sat with her face turned toward the window, though he doubted she registered any of the passing scenery.

Only when they had nearly reached Darcy House did she speak, her voice barely audible above the rattle of the carriage wheels. “Is it true? About Miss Elizabeth and... and him?”

“I do not know,” he admitted. “But I intend to find out.”

Whether that truth would bring relief or confirmation of his worst fears, he could not predict. But the thought of Elizabeth ensnared by Wickham, subjected to the same manipulations his sister had narrowly escaped, filled him with cold dread and a determination that overrode even his own wounded heart.

The butler opened the door before their carriage had fully stopped, a testament to the unusual haste of their return. Darcy assisted Georgiana inside with careful attention, noting that while her composure had somewhat returned, her eyes remained haunted in a manner that recalled the aftermath of Ramsgate. He felt the dual burden of his own despair and his sister’s renewed trauma pressing upon him with nearly unbearable weight. They had barely crossed the threshold when Colonel Fitzwilliam emerged from the library, a glass of brandy in hand and concern immediately darkening his features as he took in their grim countenances.

“What has happened?” the colonel asked, setting aside his drink and moving swiftly toward them. “Georgiana, are you unwell?”

Georgiana looked to Darcy, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. He placed a protective hand on her shoulder, not wishing to reveal any secrets in the entrance hall where servants might overhear.

“We have received some... disturbing news,” Darcy replied carefully. “Perhaps we might discuss it in the library.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded, casting a swift, assessing glance over them both. “Of course.”

The butler stepped forward. “Shall I send for refreshments, sir?”

“Yes,” Darcy decided, noting Georgiana’s continuing pallor. “Tea for my sister, and perhaps something stronger for the colonel and myself.” He hesitated. “Do not tell Mrs. Annesley that we are returned, just yet. Allow her to enjoy her evening off a while longer. I will see to Miss Darcy.”

Once the library door closed behind them, Georgiana turned to Darcy, her carefully maintained composure finally crumbling. “How could you not tell me he was there?” she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion. “All this time, you knew Mr. Wickham was in Meryton and you said nothing!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked between them sharply. “Wickham? In Meryton? What is this about, Darcy?”

Darcy closed his eyes briefly, feeling the walls of his careful discretion collapsing around him. “Wickham had a commission in the militia regiment stationed in Meryton last autumn,” he admitted. “I encountered him briefly during my stay at Netherfield.”

“And you did not think this information worth sharing?” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice had taken on a hard edge. “After what he attempted with Georgiana?”

“I saw no purpose in reviving painful memories,” Darcy replied, though the justification sounded hollow even to his own ears. “The militia would eventually move on, and Wickham with them. He had the good sense to avoid being in my presence, though I knew he was speaking ill of me to the locals. I did not think it would matter, as I too did not plan to be there for long, nor were any of the families people who move in our circles.”

“But he did not simply move on, did he?” Georgiana challenged, uncharacteristic fire in her normally gentle eyes. “Not before... not before compromising Miss Elizabeth.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s expression hardened further. “Miss Elizabeth… Bennet? Someone had better explain precisely what has occurred, and without delay.”

Darcy gestured for them both to sit, though he remained standing, the tension in his body too acute for repose. Briefly, he recounted Caroline’s malicious revelation about Elizabeth and Wickham.

“And you believe this report?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, studying Darcy intently.

“I do not know what to believe,” Darcy admitted, pacing the length of the library. “Miss Bingley has never held Miss Elizabeth in high regard, and might well exaggerate any hint of scandal. Yet for her to fabricate such a story entirely seems unlikely.”

The knock at the door heralding the arrival of refreshments provided a momentary reprieve. Darcy used the interruption to gather his thoughts, acutely aware of his cousin’s increasingly thunderous expression and his sister’s wounded bewilderment.

Once they were alone again, Darcy took a fortifying swallow of brandy and forced himself to meet Colonel Fitzwilliam’s gaze directly. It was time he admitted the truth; his sister deserved to hear it, and he might need his cousin’s help if he were somehow to salvage anything from the present situation. “During our stay at Rosings, I proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

The colonel’s exclamation of surprise was cut short by Georgiana’s small gasp.

“She refused me,” Darcy continued, the admission still painful to voice aloud. “Quite forcefully. Among her objections was my character, which she found wanting in many respects.”

“And Wickham?” Colonel Fitzwilliam prompted, his expression grave. “She was acquainted with him?”

“She believed I had treated him unjustly, denied him the living my father had promised.” Darcy’s jaw tightened at the memory. “It seems he had been poisoning her opinion of me for months with his false tales of grievance. Afterwards… I could not allow her to go on thinking him to be the man she believed. So I wrote her a letter.”

“To explain the truth about him,” Georgiana said softly.

“Yes.” Darcy turned to look out the window at the garden, seeing only Elizabeth’s face as he had last seen it, flushed with anger and contempt. “I gave her the full account of his character, including the events at Ramsgate, though I asked her to respect your confidence, Georgiana.”

“But why did you not tell me he was in Hertfordshire?” Georgiana asked, the hurt evident in her voice. “Did you think me too fragile to bear the knowledge?”

Darcy turned back to face her, regret weighing heavily upon him. “Perhaps I did. It was wrong of me to keep it from you, to keep it from both of you.” He included Colonel Fitzwilliam in his glance. “I convinced myself it was a kindness, but in truth, it was perhaps my own discomfort I sought to avoid.”

“And now this scoundrel has apparently compromised Miss Elizabeth,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said grimly. “If your letter did not persuade her of his true character, she may have remained vulnerable to his manipulations.”

“Or perhaps she did not believe me,” Darcy replied, the possibility a fresh wound to his pride. “I was hardly in her good graces when I wrote it. She might not even have read it; it was scandalous for me to give it to her. Perhaps she burned it. I did not see her again, I cannot know.”

“Regardless of what she believed, if this report is true, she now faces marriage to a man without principle or honour,” Colonel Fitzwilliam stated bluntly. “A fate I would not wish on any woman, let alone an intelligent, spirited one such as Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Georgiana rose from her seat, agitation evident in her movements. “How can you both speak so calmly? This is all because of me, because of what happened at Ramsgate. If I had not been so foolish, if I had seen through him then, perhaps Miss Elizabeth would have been warned before it was too late.”

“This is not your fault, Georgiana,” Darcy said firmly, crossing the room to take her trembling hands in his. “The blame lies with Wickham, and perhaps with me for not being more open about the danger he presents.”

“I should have hunted him down and called him out,” Colonel Fitzwilliam declared fiercely. “After Ramsgate, I swore if I ever encountered him again, I would demand satisfaction.”

“And risk your life against such a man?” Darcy asked sharply. “What purpose would that serve?”

“It would remove a predator from society before he could harm another innocent,” the colonel replied without hesitation. “Had I known he was in Meryton, in proximity to a genteel family with five unmarried daughters, including a lady for whom you had developed an attachment, I would have gone there immediately.”

The simplicity of this statement struck Darcy with unexpected force. How different might events have been had he been more forthcoming? If he had set aside his pride and distaste for confrontation to address the threat Wickham posed?

“And now?” Georgiana asked, looking between them. “Is it too late? Must Miss Elizabeth marry him?”

There was a silence as both men considered the question. Darcy felt the full weight of his failure pressing upon him. Elizabeth , bound to Wickham . The thought was unbearable.

“They might already be married,” Darcy said hollowly, agony striking through his heart as he said the words aloud.

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Miss Bingley only received the letter today? If it was posted yesterday… that is gossip most women would not wait to share. The compromise might only have occurred a day or two ago. Even common licenses take time to prepare.”

It was a tiny glimmer of hope, but Darcy grasped at it with both hands. He might still have time. But if Elizabeth was compromised… how could he stop the wedding without further damaging her character, or her family’s reputation?

The colonel paced the room, his military mind clearly strategizing. “If she did not read your letter, or did not believe it, she remains ignorant of Wickham’s true character. But either way, I think it very possible this compromising situation Miss Bingley described may have been a deliberate trap on his part.”

Darcy snapped out of his own musings at this suggestion, his head whipping around to stare at his cousin. “You suggest he deliberately set out to compromise her? Why would he do that?”

“It would be entirely in keeping with what we know of him,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied grimly. “A gentleman’s daughter, and if he had the slightest inkling that your affections were engaged... he may well have seen an opportunity for both financial advantage and revenge upon you.”

Georgiana pressed a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening in distress. “Oh, it is exactly what he attempted with me, is it not? Only Miss Elizabeth had no brother or guardian nearby to intervene.”

“We do not know that for certain,” Darcy cautioned, though the scenario his cousin described aligned all too well with Wickham’s established pattern. “And even if true, what can be done now? If she has been compromised in the way Miss Bingley described, her reputation...”

“Her reputation may already be beyond salvation in Meryton,” Colonel Fitzwilliam acknowledged. “But better a damaged reputation than a lifetime bound to such a man.”

Darcy looked at him sharply. “What are you suggesting?”

“That we leave for Hertfordshire at first light,” the colonel replied without hesitation. “That we speak with Mr. Bennet directly, present the full history of Wickham’s character and conduct. If Miss Elizabeth was indeed compromised, we must determine whether it was by design or genuine misfortune.”

“And if it was by design?” Darcy asked, a dangerous edge entering his voice.

“Then I shall have my long-awaited confrontation with Mr. Wickham,” Colonel Fitzwilliam stated simply. “And you shall have the opportunity to offer Miss Elizabeth an alternative to a forced marriage with a scoundrel.”

The implication hung in the air between them. Darcy felt a surge of conflicting emotions: hope that Elizabeth might yet be saved from Wickham, dread that he would arrive too late, and the painful awareness that even if rescued from this entanglement, she had made her feelings toward him abundantly clear.

“She may well prefer Wickham, even knowing his character, to any alternative I might offer,” Darcy said at last, giving voice to his deepest fear.

“Then at least she will make that choice with full knowledge,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied firmly. “Rather than through deception or coercion.”

Georgiana looked up, her distress now tempered with resolve. “I will accompany you. If my testimony regarding Mr. Wickham’s character might help save Miss Elizabeth, I cannot in good conscience remain silent.”

“Georgiana, no,” the colonel said quietly. “All that would do is put you in her place, and neither Darcy nor I could abide that. Nor would I have you within twenty miles of Wickham, if we can possibly prevent it. Your brother and I need to know you are safe; you must remain here and trust us to do what must be done.”

Darcy nodded, grateful that Fitzwilliam had found the right words, as Georgiana sighed with resignation.

“I understand. But please, please, you must both write to me every day and tell me what is transpiring!” She looked from one to the other of them, eyes wide with appeal. “Else I shall run mad with not knowing!”

Darcy could well understand that. He felt a little mad himself, not knowing whether Elizabeth was yet Mrs. Wickham. “Thank you, dear one, and of course we will. I hope…” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “I hope to be able to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth. One day very soon.”

Georgiana threw herself into his arms for a tight embrace. “Save her, brother!” she begged.

“I shall do everything in my power to do so,” Darcy vowed, and the colonel nodded in emphatic agreement.

“Very well. We leave for Hertfordshire at dawn.”