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“It is,” Elizabeth agreed, though she did not mean it. “But I believe you are to come with us when we depart, yes?”

“I am,” Georgiana replied. “And I am eager to. I have not been home in so long. First London, and now here,” she said. “But I was glad to be of help.”

“Help?” Elizabeth frowned as she leaned against the bed.

“Ah, Fitzwilliam did not tell you. I volunteered to stay here when you left together, so I could serve as spy on his behalf. Not that there was much to report; they never talk in front of me at all, and Lady Catherine has been mostly occupied with Cousin Anne’s lack of a child.”

Elizabeth’s curiosity got the best of her then. “Pray, you said there was not much to report, but was there anything?”

Georgiana chuckled. “At first, Lady Catherine hoped to convince me Fitzwilliam had lost his mind and needed family intervention.”

Elizabeth couldn’t help laughing. “She clearly finds me unsuitable for the Darcy name.”

“Lady Catherine finds most people unsuitable for one reason or another,” Georgiana replied with unexpected spirit.

“Until recently, she insisted I should marry a viscount at minimum, though she’d prefer an earl.

She is more amenable to a knight or baronet now, however.

But now you must tell me about your writing.

Fitzwilliam wrote that your story will be published? It is so very exciting.”

Pleased to have someone to talk to, Elizabeth sat by the fire, Georgiana opposite her, and the two talked until the gong rang for dinner.

***

At seven on the dot, Elizabeth was escorted into the dining room by a still withdrawn Darcy.

During the meal, Lady Catherine dominated every conversation, issuing pronouncements on everything from music education to clergy standards.

Elizabeth answered direct questions but otherwise kept quiet, painfully aware of Darcy’s occasional glances.

It wasn’t until dessert that Lady Catherine acknowledged Elizabeth’s writing.

“I understand, Mrs Darcy, that you engage in some form of scrawling,” she said, as if accusing Elizabeth of picking pockets. “Georgiana mentioned it during yesterday’s music practise.”

Elizabeth met the lady’s stare without flinching. “I write stories, yes. I’ve recently completed a manuscript for Nocturne Publishing in London.”

“Nocturne!” Lady Catherine’s eyes widened in horror. “A commercial venture? No Darcy connection has ever stooped to trade or public authorship!”

“I wasn’t aware that creative pursuit constituted stooping,” Elizabeth replied, her cheeks warm despite her steady voice.

“A gentlewoman’s accomplishments are for private appreciation,” Lady Catherine insisted. “To publish is to expose oneself to vulgar scrutiny. It cannot be borne.”

She waited for Darcy to speak up but he stared at his plate. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Lord Matlock, silent throughout dinner, suddenly leaned forward. “What sort of stories do you write, Mrs Darcy?”

“Gothic romances, mostly,” Elizabeth said, grateful for the unexpected interest. “Tales of mystery and moral fortitude.”

“Like Mrs Radcliffe?” he asked. “My wife adores The Mysteries of Udolpho .”

“Similar in some ways, though I wouldn’t compare my modest efforts to Mrs Radcliffe’s genius.”

“Nonsense,” Colonel Fitzwilliam cut in. “Darcy has read your work and says it’s excellent. His judgement in literary matters is unimpeachable.”

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, whose face showed discomfort. “My wife has considerable talent,” he said quietly. “I see no reason why it shouldn’t be shared more widely.”

Lady Catherine sniffed. “Next you’ll tell me she intends to profit from these publications.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” Georgiana asked with surprising firmness.

Shocked silence followed. Elizabeth felt a rush of affection for the young woman whose courage in defending a sister-in-law she’d just met revealed her true character.

Lady Catherine recovered quickly. “We’ll speak no more of this unsuitable topic. Georgiana, you will play for us in the drawing room.”

As the ladies rose, Elizabeth caught Georgiana’s eye and mouthed, “thank you.” The younger woman smiled back, her expression full of both sympathy and solidarity.

Once dinner concluded, the gentlemen retired to the parlour while Lady Catherine excused herself, feigning a migraine.

This left Elizabeth and Georgiana alone once more.

“Come,” the girl said. “Let us go into the garden.”

Relieved to have escaped Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock’s scrutiny as well as Darcy’s cold demeanour, she followed her sister-in-law outside.

At first, their conversation revolved around benign things—books, plays, clothing and such. However, Georgiana was no better at hiding her feelings than Darcy was, and Elizabeth knew something was on her mind.

“Fitzwilliam and I had occasion to talk before dinner,” she said suddenly. “He told me about Mr Wickham. About your acquaintance with him, and the disagreement between you.”

Elizabeth stopped, caught off guard. “He did?”

Georgiana nodded, her face was solemn in the fading light. “He’s deeply wounded.”

A chill raced down her spine. “I never meant to betray him. When I saw Wickham’s portrait, I thought of telling him about my acquaintance with him, but then I chose not to, for I did not know their history—” Elizabeth began, then hesitated.

“Later, Colonel Fitzwilliam told me more details and…” she paused, not wanting to open wounds for the young woman.

“My foolishness at Ramsgate. You need not avoid using the words, Elizabeth.”

She gulped. “When I heard the tale, I feared that by confessing my prior knowledge of Wickham, I would taint my relationship with your brother. I know I should have told him, but I could not bring myself to. I was also ashamed for ever having considered Wickham a decent man.”

“Wickham is calculating; he always has been. Fitzwilliam would have understood, but I can see you chose to conceal it for him.”

“I should not have. It only caused problems between us,” she admitted. “I should have trusted him.”

“Trust is very important for my brother. That’s why your silence about Wickham hurt him so deeply. It suggested you didn’t trust his judgement—that perhaps you found him wanting.”

Georgiana’s words sank in. “I never meant—”

“I know,” Georgiana squeezed her hand. “And so does he, when he’s thinking clearly. Give him time. He will forgive and he will understand.”

She squeezed her hand and for the time being, Elizabeth could do nothing but hope her young sister-in-law was right.