“What I mean to say,” Darcy tugged at his cravat, “is that you attended me in my private chambers, at considerable risk to your own reputation, and provided care that… that no lady should be required to give.”
Heat flushed his cheeks as he spoke, the acknowledgment of intimate circumstances causing him profound discomfort. Yet the conversation was necessary, regardless of his personal embarrassment.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said carefully, “if you are concerned about propriety, I can assure you that my reputation could hardly be damaged further by such service. My circumstances, as you have observed, place me beyond the usual social considerations.”
Darcy’s heart twisted at her dignified acceptanceof her reduced station, accepting the degradation with a grace he could barely comprehend.
He steeled himself for the central point of his speech. “Nevertheless, I cannot allow your sacrifice to pass without acknowledgment. I believe it appropriate to offer compensation for the potential damage to your reputation that may result from having nursed me in such intimate circumstances.”
Georgiana sounded like she’d choked on a fish bone, but it was Elizabeth’s silence that clanged an alarm bell in his aching head. Those sharp, perceptive eyes of hers had gone completely still, fixed on his face with an intensity that made him inexplicably nervous.
“A settlement,” Darcy clarified, forging ahead with a dreading desperation. “Sufficient to provide security for yourself and your son, with my assurance that no one need know the source of your improved circumstances.”
“I see.” Elizabeth’s voice had developed a dangerous edge. “You wish to pay me. For nursing you through an illness that might have claimed your life.”
Put that way, it sounded considerably less noble than he had intended. “Not payment precisely. Rather, an acknowledgment of the potential social consequences?—”
“Tell me, Mr. Darcy,” she interrupted, her eyes unmistakably flashing with fury, “do you typically offer monetary compensation to everyone who assists you? Or is this special consideration reserved for women you believe to be already fallen from society’s good graces?”
Georgiana made a small, distressed sound. “Fitzwilliam, I don’t think?—”
“Perhaps,” Elizabeth continued, cutting across Georgiana’s attempt at intervention, “you might clarify exactly what service you believe you are compensating me for. Was it holding the basin while you vomited? Changing your sweat-soaked linens? Or perhaps the application of cool compresses to your fevered brow? Which of theseduties do you find sufficiently compromising to warrant financial restitution?”
“You misunderstand my intentions,” he said stiffly. “I meant no insult?—”
“No? Then allow me to enlighten you, Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth’s voice remained level, though her eyes blazed. “When you offer money to a gentlewoman for services rendered in a sickroom, you place her in the same category as hired help. When you frame such an offer as compensation for damaged reputation, you imply that her virtue is a commodity with monetary value.”
Darcy felt the blood drain from his face as the implications of his offer, seen through her eyes, became horrifyingly clear. “That was not my intention?—”
“Your intentions,” Elizabeth said precisely, “matter considerably less than your actions. And your action, sir, was to offer payment to a woman you believe has already fallen from respectability, as if her additional descent would be mitigated by financial consideration.”
“I would never,” he began, then stopped, realizing that his protestations would only confirm the interpretation she had placed upon his offer.
“Wouldn’t you?” she asked with deadly sweetness. “How refreshing to discover that Mr. Darcy draws some distinctions in his commercial transactions. Though I confess myself curious about where, precisely, those lines are drawn.”
Georgiana suddenly slapped the tabletop. “This is intolerable!” she declared, her usual quiet demeanor entirely absent. “Why don’t we simply tell him the truth instead of allowing this… this farce to continue?”
Both Darcy and Elizabeth turned toward her in surprise, though their reactions differed considerably. Where Darcy felt confusion at his sister’s outburst, Elizabeth appeared to experience something approaching panic.
“Georgiana,” she said quickly, her previous anger instantlyreplaced by urgent caution, “that is quite unnecessary. Mr. Darcy’s offer, while… unexpected… requires no dramatic revelations.”
“Unnecessary?” Georgiana rose from her chair, her hands clenched at her sides. “When he sits there offering payment to his own?—”
“Stop,” Elizabeth commanded with such authority that Georgiana immediately fell silent. “Please. This is not… the time or place for such discussions.”
Darcy looked between them with growing bewilderment, sensing undercurrents he could not begin to interpret. His sister’s emotional state seemed entirely disproportionate to the situation, while Elizabeth’s swift intervention suggested knowledge of something he did not share.
“Perhaps,” he said carefully, “someone might explain what truth requires such urgent revelation.”
Both ladies exchanged a look of pure communication that excluded him entirely.
“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said with obvious reluctance, “there are… circumstances… regarding our acquaintance that you may not recall clearly.”
“What circumstances?” he demanded, leaning forward with sudden intensity. “What connection could we possibly have that would make such revelations necessary?”
Elizabeth hesitated, clearly weighing her words with extreme care. When she finally spoke, her voice carried a quality he could not quite identify—sadness, perhaps, or resignation.
“We met previously, at the Red Lion Inn in Barnet. You assisted me when I found myself in difficult circumstances.”
