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"I hope you defended my character more faithfully than that," Elizabeth said, making herself smile.

Kitty was standing near enough to hear. "Is it true, Lizzy? Was Mr. Wickham deprived of his fortune?"

Elizabeth regarded the two young women. She could not betray Georgiana's confidence, nor would she allow them to take a stranger's accusation for established fact.

"I know enough of Mr. Darcy to trust his honour," she said. "And I would caution you against deciding any quarrel between gentlemen upon the testimony of one who has told you only his side."

Lydia made a face. "You sound like Mary."

"Then Mary has been speaking wisely. Mr. Wickham may be excellent company at a card table. It does not follow that every tale he tells must be true."

Kitty looked thoughtful. Lydia merely shrugged and returned to the officers. Elizabeth wished she could do more, but a public denunciation would invite the very questions Georgiana had trusted her not to raise. She found Jane by the fire and asked her to keep an eye on the younger girls. Jane listened without demanding particulars and quietly changed her place to be nearer Kitty and Lydia.

Bingley came to them soon afterward with a cup of lemonade for Jane. He had noticed the discomfort between Darcy and Wickham and looked troubled. "Is there something I ought to know?" he asked Elizabeth when Jane had been drawn aside by their aunt.

"There is a private difficulty," Elizabeth answered. "It belongs to Mr. Darcy to explain what he thinks proper. I ask only that you do not repeat any accusation against him merely because it has been delivered pleasantly."

Bingley's good humour deserted him for a moment. "I should never do so. Darcy is my friend."

"Then you already know which part of the story deserves your confidence."

The evening ended without further confrontation. Wickham was careful not to approach Darcy again. When the party dispersed, Elizabeth saw the lieutenant standing at the door, all courteous attentions to Mrs. Phillips while his gaze followed the Matlocks' carriage. She did not imagine their meeting had pleased him. For once, that knowledge gave her little satisfaction.

The following morning Darcy came to the house where Lady Matlock and Elizabeth were staying. The countess received him in the morning room, saw the seriousness of his expression, and announced that she must consult her housekeeper about a letter. She left the door open as she went into the adjoining room. Elizabeth remained by the window, looking out upon a lane where carts creaked toward market.

"I owe you an explanation," Darcy said.

"Only what you are willing to tell," Elizabeth answered. "I know what Georgiana has chosen to trust to me. I have not forgotten that it is hers to speak of."

He was silent for a moment. "She told you?"

"Of Ramsgate, yes. She wished me to understand why she had been unhappy. I have said nothing of it to anyone."

Darcy went to the mantel, then turned away without touching anything upon it. "My father was very fond of Wickham's father and thought well of the son. In his will he recommended Wickham for a valuable living should he take orders. Wickham chose not to enter the Church. He asked instead for money in settlement of his claim, and I paid him three thousand pounds in addition to a legacy left by my father."

"And the settlement was final?" Elizabeth asked.

"Entirely. Some years later, after the living became vacant, he wrote to say he wished to take orders after all. The money was gone. I refused to give him what he had already surrendered." Darcy looked at her, his composure drawn tight. "He has made that refusal the story of his misfortunes. I might have endured it if he had left my sister alone."

He broke off. Elizabeth moved from the window but did not hasten to fill the silence. She had seen Darcy angry, amused, thoughtful, and tender; she had seldom seen him unable to complete a sentence.

"I was her guardian," he said at last. "I engaged Mrs. Younge. When I arrived at Ramsgate, Georgiana came to me before I had taken off my coat and asked whether I could forgive her. She had scarcely dared look at me. I have remembered her face ever since."

"You came in time," Elizabeth said.

"By chance. Had my business detained me another day—" He stopped again. "I still remember the little room where we spoke. Her gloves lay upon the mantel, one turned inside out. I wanted to pursue Wickham. Instead I sat with her until she could stop shaking."

Elizabeth reached for his hand. He held hers with sudden force, then gentled his grasp as though ashamed of the need he had shown.

"You chose your sister," she said. "Whatever else happened, you chose to remain where she needed you."

"I should have prevented it."

"Perhaps you would prevent every injury to those you love if it were within your power. But Georgiana cannot live as though the whole world were dangerous because one man deceived her. Nor can you."

He looked at her then. "You seem very certain."

"Not of every danger. Only of the fact that she needs her brother, not a gaoler who happens to love her." Elizabeth's voice softened. "She has begun to laugh without looking over her shoulder. That is not a small victory. I think you have helped her win it, though you are reluctant to count it."