Anne nodded, her heart torn between apprehension and the familiar resignation of a daughter who could neither wholly oppose nor wholly please her formidable parent.
Georgiana lifted her chin with quiet courage. “Whatever she intends,” she said, “I rely on your support, Fitzwilliam.”
Darcy’s expression softened, warmed, and steadied — the expression of a man determined to shield those he loved from every unreasonable demand the world might lay upon them.
“Yes,” he said, “you can count on that, little sister.”
And as the July breeze drifted through the open windows, carrying with it the faint rustle of distant leaves, the three of them shared a moment of collective understanding — that Rosings Park, with all its grandeur and all its storms, awaited them once more, and that Lady Catherine, in her unyielding confidence, was already moving the first piece of her next design.
***
The house had grown still in the gentle descent of twilight. The long gallery lamps were being lit one by one, their glow softening the silhouettes of portraits and casting sober reflections along the polished floor. Outside, the last light of day slipped behind the western hills, and the familiar hush of evening settled upon Pemberley.
Mr. Darcy stood beside the library window, one hand resting upon the sill, the other brushing lightly against the folded letter he had brought with him. He had awaited this quiet hour deliberately. Some conversations ought not be held in the drawing room, where domestic concern and polite restraint softened truths that, for Georgiana’s sake, needed to be spoken plainly.
The door opened softly.
“Brother?” Georgiana stepped inside with a hesitancy that did not mask her concern. Her eyes went immediately to the letter in his hand. “I thought… I thought you might wish some company.”
Darcy gestured for her to sit near the small escritoire where lamplight illuminated her face with a gentle gold. “I am glad you came,” he said, his tone warm but unambiguously serious. “There is something I wished to speak of before we face our aunt’s designs.”
Georgiana folded her hands in her lap. “I suspected as much. You have worn that expression all evening — the one that means you are weighing every possibility and rejecting all but the most difficult truths.”
He allowed a faint breath of amusement. “An unflattering but accurate assessment.”
She offered a small smile, but it faded quickly. “You fear for me.”
“Yes,” Darcy said, with none of the hesitation that pride or delicacy might once have imposed. “I fear not for your safety — for you are surrounded by those who love you — but for the pressure Lady Catherine intends to exert. She is not merely arranging an assembly, Georgiana. She is arranging futures, and she believes it her right to do so.”
Georgiana’s expression softened into something solemn. “She sees my future as a matter for her own influence.”
“She does,” Darcy replied steadily, “and she views your age, your accomplishments, and your fortune as assets she may distribute as she deems suitable. The presence of Mr. George Dashwood and his father, the baronet, confirms that she intends to parade you as though you were an ornament to be admired, assessed, and claimed.”
Georgiana lowered her gaze. “I had hoped she might not renew the subject of marriage so soon. I have just turned twenty.”
“I had hoped the same,” Darcy said, taking a step nearer so that his voice lowered into a more intimate register, one reserved only for his sister. “But my mother-in-law does not alter her methods simply because the rest of the world considers them intrusive. She is persuaded of her own benevolence and will not hesitate to press you before any number of strangers if they bear rank enough to suit her pride.”
A faint tremor touched Georgiana’s hands, and Darcy, seeing it, felt that old, familiar swell of protectiveness — the same instinct that had guided him through the darkest chapter of her youth, the same one that sharpened his judgment every time the world set its expectations upon her.
“I do not want to disappoint her,” Georgiana whispered, “and yet I cannot be what she wishes me to be.”
“You must not even try,” Darcy said firmly, lowering himself into the opposite chair so that their eyes met without obstruction. “To please Lady Catherine at the cost of your own comfort would be a sacrifice unworthy of you and unnecessary besides. You owe her civility, affection as her niece, and respect due her age and position — but not obedience where your own happiness is concerned.”
Georgiana breathed slowly, absorbing his words with the depth of someone who has learned that guidance is not a restriction but a safeguard. “I would endure the evening more easily if I knew she did not expect acquiescence from me. I fear she will present Sir George as though the matter were already settled.”
Darcy’s expression darkened with a protective intensity that he rarely allowed others to see. “If she attempts it, I will intervene without hesitation. And if Sir George himself mistakes the nature of the invitation, I shall correct him before asingle rumour may take root. You shall not be forced into any attentions you do not welcome.”
Georgiana hesitated only a moment before asking, “What if the pressure is spoken publicly? What if she corners me in such a way that politeness becomes a trap?”
Her brother leaned forward, his voice steady with an authority that had long comforted her. “If she corners you, you will do nothing except let me answer for you. I am not merely your brother but your guardian still. The world may speak of guardianship ending at twenty-one, but I do not consider such duties governed by age. Most of those present barely know your age — and even fewer will respect it — so why should you trouble yourself with their suppositions? You need never stand alone in such company.”
The words, delivered with such unvarnished sincerity, brought a quiet warmth to Georgiana’s features. “I am grateful beyond what I can express,” she said softly. “You have done so much — far more than any brother must — and I never wish to be a burden to you.”
He shook his head with gentle firmness. “You are not a burden, Georgiana. You are my sister, and your well-being is the measure by which I judge every demand placed upon this family. Anne, too, feels this pressure keenly, though she would never confess it. Her mother’s expectations weigh upon her, and I will not have the same yoke placed upon you.”
Georgiana rose, drawn by a sudden need to reassure him. She stepped closer and rested a hand lightly upon his sleeve. “We shall go to Rosings,” she said, “because courtesy demands it, and because Aunt’s temper will not bear a slight. But we shall not go in fear. I will not give her the satisfaction of believing that she alone governs our choices.”
Darcy looked up at her, pride warming the severity of his gaze. “That is all I ask. Your composure will disarm her more effectively than resistance. And if she presses too boldly…” He allowed a rare, dry smile. “I shall handle the matter with all the delicacy my mother-in-law has never shown.”
