Now his sister was applying that same wisdom to Elizabeth Bennet, and he found himself without a ready counter-argument.
“You were manipulated by a practiced deceiver. Miss Bennet deliberately shared private matters with the very man she knew to be my enemy.”
“Was it so different?” Georgiana asked with the devastating directness that reminded him of their father. “I trusted someone I believed to be my friend.”
Darcy felt something crack in his chest at the pain in her voice. Georgiana so rarely spoke of her near-ruin at Wickham’s hands, preferring to bury the memory beneath careful composure and determined cheerfulness.
“Wickham was after your fortune. He deceived you,” he said gently. “This is hardly comparable.”
“When Wickham convinced me that he loved me, I believed him because I wanted to be loved. I shared my fears, my loneliness, not because I wished to hurt you, but because I was in pain and he seemed to offer comfort.” Her voice trembled slightly. “Is it not possible that Elizabeth sought comfort from a friend after a distressing encounter?”
The possibility had haunted him for weeks, though he had fought against acknowledging it. If Elizabeth had genuinelysought comfort from Wickham, if she had trusted him as Georgiana once had…
“Even if that were true,” he said, struggling to maintain his certainty in the face of his sister’s quiet logic, “it does not excuse her actions. She made me an object of ridicule throughout Hertfordshire.”
“And you have made her an object of suspicion and disbelief throughout the same community,” Georgiana observed. “Which of you has suffered more from this exchange, I wonder?”
The question hung in the air, uncomfortable in its accuracy. Elizabeth’s reputation—indeed, the reputation of her entire family—had been severely damaged by his denial. His own standing, while somewhat diminished, remained largely intact due to his wealth, connections, and position in society.
“Elizabeth prides herself as a discerner of character,” he maintained. “She uses her wit and that sharp tongue of hers as a weapon. You, meanwhile, have not been out in society, and hence you were vulnerable to deceptions.”
“I think you misjudge her,” Georgiana said. “Pain makes all of us vulnerable to poor decisions. You wounded Elizabeth with your declaration.”
“You’ve been listening to Caroline, haven’t you?” Darcy retreated to his role as older brother. “I had hoped to spare you the details of this sordid affair.”
“Except, Brother, I believe your methods were awkward, and you didn’t mean to wound Elizabeth. You were too honest, and yet, she might have reacted to her pain by making a jest of the situation. She wanted to believe she wasn’t severely hurt.”
Darcy closed his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He could see Elizabeth’s face during his proposal, not just her anger, but the hurt that had flashed across her features when he spoke of his struggles, his reservations, and his sense of condescension in offering for her.
“What would you have me do?” he asked, a note of genuine bewilderment entering his voice. “Admit that I lied? Confirm her story and reveal myself as a man who would deny the truth to protect his pride?”
“I would have you be the brother I have always admired,” Georgiana said simply. “The man who taught me that integrity matters more than appearances, that honor requires us to acknowledge our mistakes, however painful that acknowledgment might be.”
She hesitated, then added with quiet emphasis, “The man who showed me that a single error in judgment need not define us, if we have the courage to make amends.”
Darcy turned away, unable to meet her gaze as the full weight of his hypocrisy settled upon him. He had indeed taught Georgiana those principles, had lived by them himself—until Elizabeth Bennet’s rejection had wounded his pride so deeply that he had abandoned them all in pursuit of petty revenge.
“It may be too late,” he said softly. “The damage is done. Miss Bennet’s reputation is already compromised.”
“It is never too late to do what is right,” Georgiana replied. “Though the consequences may be painful, the alternative is to live with the knowledge that one had the chance to correct an injustice and chose not to take it.”
She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “William, I know you better than perhaps anyone in the world. You are a good man—principled, honorable, and compassionate. This situation has brought out qualities in you that are not your true self. Whatever Miss Elizabeth did or did not do, I cannot believe you truly wish to see her ruined.”
Darcy covered her hand with his own, startled to find his fingers trembling slightly. “I do not,” he admitted. “I never intended… that is, I did not consider the full consequences of my denial.”
The irony was bitter beyond bearing: in seeking to punish Elizabeth for her supposed betrayal, he had betrayed everything he claimed to value about honor, justice, and protecting those who could not protect themselves.
Yet even as this devastating realization washed over him, another thought—equally painful—rose to the surface. The image of Elizabeth turning to Wickham for comfort after his proposal, selecting his greatest enemy as the recipient of his most private humiliation. Had Wickham’s false gentleness been everything Darcy’s brutal honesty was not? Had she found solace in those blue eyes that had charmed so many women before her?
The jealousy burned through his chest like acid, warring with his growing recognition of his own moral failure.
“Forgive me, Sister.” Turning abruptly, he headed toward the house, eager to retire to the study. “I’m not finding this garden party to my liking.”
Raised voices from the direction of the house drew their attention. The butler’s protests were followed by a tumult of voices, and a familiar voice that made Darcy’s blood freeze in his veins.
“I assure you, I have urgent business with the gentlemen present. Stand aside.” Wickham’s voice carried across the grounds.
“Brother, is that?” Georgiana’s face went pale.
