Darcy exhaled slowly. That omission, at least, had spared Georgiana further injury.
“Then he has told you only what served him,” Darcy said. “And nothing of what condemns him.”
Elizabeth did not interrupt.
“When my father died,” Darcy continued, “Mr Wickham declared he had no desire to enter the church. He requested money instead, claiming he wished to study law. I did not believehim sincere, but I honoured my father’s generosity. I gave him three thousand pounds.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened despite her composure. “Three thousand?”
“Yes,” Darcy said. “It was a considerable sum. He squandered it within the year.”
She said nothing, but the appalled look on her face told him she had understood the implication.
“I hesitate to speak of what came next,” Darcy said, his voice harsh in his own ears. “Nor would I, if I did not trust you to tell no one of what I shall relate.”
“I thank you for your confidence,” Elizabeth said softly. “Indeed, you may count on me.”
Darcy nodded. “The following summer, he sought out my sister while she was staying at Ramsgate with a companion. He attempted to persuade her to elope with him.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught audibly.
“His object,” Darcy said, his voice tightening despite himself, “was her dowry, a fortune of thirty thousand pounds. There was no question of genuine feeling in the case, as you can well imagine of a man who intended to take a girl of sixteen away from her family. Had he succeeded, Georgiana would have been attached to a husband without sense, judgement, or honour, without even affection for her. And had anyone learned of the intended elopement, her reputation would have been ruined.”
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her mouth, too much overcome to speak.
“I came upon the situation by chance,” Darcy continued. “I was only just in time. Georgiana confessed everything to me. I removed her at once and ensured the matter was kept quiet.”
He paused, then added more softly, “I have never spoken of it beyond my family. You will now understand why I asked for your assurance of secrecy. My sister has already endured enough.”
Elizabeth nodded immediately. “Of course.”
Her expression had changed entirely. Where suspicion had once lived, there was now something else. Horror, certainly. Compassion, unmistakably. And beneath both, a resolute belief that steadied Darcy more than he had expected.
“I am so sorry,” she said quietly. “For her. And for you.”
Darcy looked at her, truly looked at her, and felt something settle within him with unmistakable clarity.
She believed him. Not grudgingly. Not provisionally. She believed him because she trusted the truth when she heard it, regardless of what she had once thought of the man who spoke it.
In that moment, Darcy knew himself undone.
He had admired Elizabeth Bennet long before this. He had been drawn to her wit, her liveliness, her independence of mind. But admiration was not love, and fascination was not devotion. What he felt now was neither light nor transient. It was the deep, unyielding certainty that his happiness had become inseparable from hers.
He did not want to correct the gossip of London society and see Elizabeth Bennet safely indifferent to him.
He wanted to marry her.
The thought came unbidden and did not go. It stayed there, firmly in the centre of his heart, solid and undeniable. And yet, even as it took shape, it was followed by a certainty just as sharp.
It was too late.
He had just proposed a plan designed to separate them in the eyes of the world. He had watched her agree without hesitation. She had accepted the idea of another escort with composure and good sense, and every evidence of approval.
Everything pointed to the same conclusion: she did not wish to be his.
Darcy forced his expression into steadiness as Elizabeth lowered her hand and met his gaze.
“I believe you,” she said simply. “And I thank you for trusting me with something so painful.”
