He could not write.
He sat at the desk with paper and pen before him, staring at the blank page as though it might reveal answers he could not find on his own. He needed to speak to Miss Elizabeth. Needed to explain about Wickham—the lies, the manipulation, the danger the man posed to anyone foolish enough to trust him.
But how?
He could not reveal Georgiana's near-ruin. The scandal would destroy her. And yet without that crucial piece of evidence, his accusations against Wickham would seem like nothing more than petty rivalry: a proud man slandering a charming one out of spite.
Miss Elizabeth had begun to doubt Wickham. She had said as much in the alcove. But doubt was not certainty, and Wickham was skilled at appearing wronged. One well-timed display of wounded innocence could undo everything.
After breakfast, Darcy retreated to the library under the pretense of reviewing correspondence.
He could not concentrate on a single word.
He paced the length of the room instead, his footsteps muffled by the carpet, his thoughts churning. He needed to speak to Miss Elizabeth. Needed to explain about Wickham—the lies, the manipulation, the danger the man posed to anyone foolish enough to trust him.
But how?
He stopped before the window, staring out at the frost-covered grounds without seeing them.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said aloud, testing the words. “There are matters I must bring to your attention regarding Mr. Wickham's character.”
Too formal. Too cold. As though he were presenting evidence before a magistrate.
He tried again.
“Miss Elizabeth, I beg you would hear me. The man you believe wronged is not what he appears?—”
Too dramatic. Too desperate. She would think him jealous, or mad, or both.
He resumed pacing, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“The truth is—” He stopped. Whatwasthe truth? That Wickham was a liar? That he had nearly ruined Georgiana? That Darcy had watched him charm his way through Hertfordshire and could not say a word without exposing his sister to scandal?
He could not reveal Georgiana's near-ruin. The scandal would destroy her. And yet without that crucial piece of evidence, his accusations against Wickham would seem like nothing more than petty rivalry—a proud man slandering a charming one out of spite.
Miss Elizabeth had begun to doubt Wickham. She had said as much in the alcove. But doubt was not certainty, and Wickham was skilled at appearing wronged. One well-timed display of wounded innocence could undo everything.
Darcy stopped before the fireplace, gripping the mantel until his knuckles went white.
He had rehearsed a dozen different speeches in his mind. None of them were right. Words that sounded reasonable in his head became stilted and suspicious when spoken aloud. Every approach seemed either too vague to be convincing or too specific to protect his sister.
The fire crackled. The clock ticked with maddening steadiness.
Darcy pushed away from the mantel in frustration. Unable to sit still any longer, he decided to see if a walk would dislodge some coherent revelation.
The winter air cut through him like a blade, sharp and clarifying. He strode across the frost-covered grounds without direction, his breath fogging in the December cold, his thoughts gradually settling into something approaching order.
He thought of Wickham's smug expression at the entertainment. The way the man had laughed when Lydia fell, a laugh designed to wound. The cold edge in his voice when he spoke to Miss Elizabeth as he tested her loyalties.
And then he thought of Miss Elizabeth's growing doubt. The way she had stepped back from Wickham's charm.
He thought of the alcove, her voice soft with trust:I have begun to suspect as much.
She was already so close to seeing the truth. And if he could just speak to her—honestly, without pride or pretense—perhaps he could help her see the whole of it.
If he stayed silent, Wickham won. The man would continue spreading his poison, continue playing the victim and worming his way into the confidence of everyone Darcy cared about.
If Darcy spoke too freely, he risked Georgiana's reputation—and Miss Elizabeth's trust, if she felt he was asking her to believe accusations without proof.
