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Darcy noticed Charlotte’s cheeks coloring, but decided it was merely the slanting of the wan April sunlight.

A footman lowered the folding steps, and his sister emerged into the April sunshine, looking smaller than he remembered.

He knew this was a trick of memory and distance—she had not shrunk since he had seen her last, and sixteen was old enough that she would not grow much taller. Still, the wariness in her gaze made her seem fragile.

Darcy and Elizabeth hurried down the steps toward her.

“Brother.” Georgiana executed a hurried, nervous curtsy. “I… I hope I have not caused you unendurable vexation.”

“We shall discuss your itinerary in private,” Darcy said, though the severe edge in his voice softened at the sight of her trembling lower lip. “Elizabeth, may I present my sister, Georgiana?”

Elizabeth stepped forward and caught Georgiana’s gloved fingers before the girl could retreat.

“Miss Darcy, I have been longing to meet you.” Elizabeth’s voice was suitably serene. “Your brother has told me so much about your musical accomplishments that I confess I am terrified to play in your presence. I hope you will take pity on my inferior skills and perhaps teach me a few of your favorite pieces.”

Georgiana blinked, her wide, dark eyes darting to Elizabeth in utter astonishment before a breathless, helpless giggle broke through her tension. “I—I assure you, ma’am, that I am not usually one who invokes terror.” She curtsied, and her expression brightened. “Richard has told me that you are very kind, and I see he was not exaggerating.”

“Then I shall think remarkably well of Richard,” Elizabeth retorted, shooting a bright look at the Colonel, who was pointing out landmarks to Charlotte. “You have had a dreadful journey, and you must be exhausted. I insist that you come inside and have something to eat before anyone asks you a single question.”

Georgiana’s shoulders relaxed, and the gratitude on her face was so transparent that Darcy felt his chest tighten with gratitude; the woman he loved was exactly the sister Georgiana needed.

Mrs. Annesley followed and was duly introduced. Her composure remained unruffled as she curtsied to Elizabeth and murmured pleasantries about Pemberley’s springtime beauty.

Mrs. Reynolds welcomed the guests, having already decided to place them in the family wing, and soon, footmen were dispatched to fetch the trunks while Elizabeth took Georgiana’s arm and accompanied her to her childhood bedchamber.

“Sir, a moment.” The housekeeper drew Darcy aside. “A note has arrived from Mrs. Darcy’s solicitor. Mr. Henry Bennet’s personal effects are being shipped. I expect one shipment from Bristol and another from London. Shall I prepare a room, or would you prefer them stored?”

“Prepare a room near the mistress’s quarters. And inform Mrs. Darcy when she has a moment. They are her uncle’s belongings, and she will wish to go through them herself.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded and withdrew, and Darcy rejoined the party for luncheon half an hour later. His sister was already seated next to Elizabeth at the foot of the table, while Charlotte sat on her other side, across from Richard. Mrs. Annesley kept herself silent, as Darcy took his place at the head of the mahogany board.

“—and Mr. Ashworth is entirely persuaded that it is his true calling,” Georgiana was saying, her cheeks flushed with the animation of a young woman defending a grand design. “He has accepted a commission to join a missionary enterprise in the West Indies, focusing on the establishment of schools and chapels for the local population.”

Darcy arrested his fork mid-motion. “Is it a settled parish living, or merely an itinerant appointment under some evangelical committee?”

“Neither, brother,” Georgiana replied, her voice dropping a fraction under his steady, critical eye. “It is for building schools and ministering to the local populace. James believes the Church has a fundamental duty to serve them—not merely to baptize them from a distance, but to live among them and ensure they are truly instructed.”

Darcy’s jaw tightened. “A climate notorious for yellow fever and malaria, supported by fluctuating committee funds, is scarcely a fit environment for a young man of family, let alone—” He checked himself, glancing at Georgiana’s defensive posture, and swallowed the rest of his objection.

Across the table, Colonel Fitzwilliam caught his eye and gave a slow, dry lift of his eyebrows, as if to say he should speak about it later.

“He says it will be difficult but meaningful. He says purpose matters more than comfort.” Georgiana’s chin lifted with the defiant idealism of a sixteen-year-old. “I think it is noble, do you not? To give up everything familiar for the sake of people who have nothing?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed. “All people, especially enslaved, deserve the gospel, and missionaries will do extraordinary good—particularly if they work toward abolition as well as salvation.”

“That is precisely what James says.” The Christian name slipped out before Georgiana could stop it, and her blush intensified. “That is—Mr. Ashworth says—he believes the gospel can be a force for liberation, that if we can save their souls, we might also work toward freeing their bodies. He speaks of abolition with such passion, such conviction. I have never met anyone who cared so deeply about something beyond himself.”

Darcy felt his jaw tighten and consciously relaxed it. Across the table, Richard studied his wine glass with the furrowed brow of a man who wished to be anywhere else, and Mrs. Annesley suddenly became fascinated by the pattern on her plate.

Charlotte, however, set her fork down and waited for a break in the conversation. “A noble sentiment, no doubt, and quite admirable.” Her grey eyes rested calmly upon Georgiana’s flushed face. “However, the tropics offer much more than adventure and good works. A man may require a secure income, provisions, and much powdered bark to counter the maladies of a climate that wilts our English roses.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded appreciatively as he chewed his chicken, and Charlotte’s remarks seemed to lift Georgiana’s mood. She appealed to Elizabeth, and his wife responded by patting the girl’s hand.

“Perhaps we should let Mr. Ashworth explain his plans once we are introduced.” She added with a bright smile. “Tell me, Georgiana, how did you come to meet him?”

Georgiana’s cheeks pinkened, though her expression softened with pleasant recollection. “We met through music—the many recitals and musicales he attended. He is excessively fond of Handel, and he praised my watercolors when he saw my sketching portfolio left out in the music room. He is so remarkably attentive, and he speaks with such feeling of the natural beauties abroad—he told me how the forests there are draped with wild orchids, blooming in colors we can scarce imagine in Derbyshire.”