"Tell me," Georgiana said softly, pouringhim a cup of tea.
And he did.
He told her everything. He told her about Netherfield. About watching Bingley fall in love, or lust, with Miss Bennet. About his own observations of Jane Bennet's serenity, which he had mistaken for indifference. About his interference and the alliance with Bingley's sisters.
And he told her about the meeting at the club. About the Shepherdess. About the "end of January."
When he finished, silence filled the room. The fire crackled. Georgiana sat opposite him, her hands folded in her lap, looking not like a child, but like a judge.
"So," she said finally. "You were right."
"I was," Darcy admitted bitterly. "Jane Bennet does not love him anymore—or at least, she shouldn't. And he certainly does not love her, never did. I saved them from a mistake."
"You savedher," Georgiana corrected. "Mr Bingley seems to be saving himself quite happily for the next pretty face."
"I feel like a scoundrel, Georgiana. I meddled. I played God with their lives. And even though the outcome is fortunate, the act itself was arrogant."
"It was," she agreed. She didn't offer platitudes. She didn't say 'you meant well.' She looked him in the eye. "You decided you knew better than they did. That is your great failing, William. You always think you know best."
Darcy flinched. "I know."
"But," she softened, reaching out to touch his knee. "You are also the man who ordered lemon biscuits because a lady liked them once. You are the man who is agonizing over this because you have a conscience."
"What do I do?" he asked. "Miss Elizabeth blames me. She thinks I broke her sister's heart out of malice. If I tell her Bingley doesn't care... it will crush her. It will confirm that her sister is weeping for a man who is currently debating the merits of a Shepherdess costume."
"You cannot protect everyone, William," Georgiana whispered. "You tried to protect me from Wickham, and you succeeded, but I still had to learn the truth. You tried to protect Bingley, and he didn't need it. You tried to protect yourself from Miss Elizabeth, and look where that got you."
"Miserable," he supplied.
"Exactly. So, stop protecting. Start trusting."
Darcy looked at his sister. When had she become so wise? When had the frightened girl from Ramsgate turned into this calm, clear-eyed young woman?
"What would you have me do?" he asked, surrendering his pride to her judgment.
"Do not duel him," she said first, a small smile touching her lips. "I know you are angry with Mr Bingley for being fickle, but violence is not the answer."
"I wasn't planning to duel him. I was planning to shake him."
"Also inadvisable. He is your friend, for better or worse. Accept him for what he is: a pleasant, shallow companion. He is not a villain. He is just... light."
"And Miss Bennet?"
"Miss Bennet," Georgiana said thoughtfully, "seems to be in excellent hands. Did you not see Cousin Robert today?"
Darcy groaned. "I saw him. He was practicallysitting in her lap."
"He was attentive. And she was smiling. Robert is a rake, yes, but he is not fickle. If he sets his cap at her... she could do far worse. He has a title, a fortune, and despite his nonsense, a good heart. And he seems to truly see her."
"So I should leave it?"
"No," Georgiana shook her head. "You should do the hardest thing of all. You should talk to Miss Elizabeth."
"Talk to her?"
"Tell her the truth. Not about Bingley's Shepherdess—that is cruel—but about your part in it. Tell her why you did it. Tell her you were wrong about her sister's feelings, but right about your friend's constancy. Give her the truth, William. And let her decide what to do with it."
"She will hate me."
