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“The gallery is honored.” Darcy heard himself respond with the formal courtesy that came as naturally as breathing. “And you, Elizabeth, how fare you?”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows arched with a delicate, lethal precision. “I fare remarkably well. The chamomile and feverfew did their office, and these ordinary complaints take their due course in a few days.”

She set down the small tray laden with two porcelain cups of coffee and a plate of delicately flaky Shrewsbury cakes, his favorite since childhood. Steadily, and without looking at him, she poured two cups of steaming coffee and offered one to him. Their hands brushed as he took it, and she did not pull away, though neither did she linger.

“I should have inquired after you sooner.” The words emerged before he could stop them. “I should have—Mrs. Reynolds brought me reports, but I ought to have come myself. I was not certain my presence would be welcome.”

Elizabeth’s cup paused halfway to her lips. “You thought I was angry with you.”

“You locked your door.”

“I was—” She set the cup down with a small click that echoed in the gallery’s stillness. “The ailment was genuine. The retreat was… less so. You dismissed me, and so I.” She swallowed, picked up a piece of the biscuit, and contemplated it. “I retreated like a petulant child, and I have no excuse except I had never seen you look at me as if I were a… a rabid dog.”

Darcy wanted to touch her, to hold her close and assure her that it was not she who had disturbed him, but his cousin’s accusations. But a man did not dignify another man’s insults to his wife, or force her to acknowledge them. She was his wife to defend and protect, and so he took a sip of the coffee.

It was also sweet. She had inquired well with Mrs. Reynolds.

“My face has an unfortunate tendency of turning into stone when under pressure,” Darcy said quietly, his gaze resting on the porcelain rim of his cup.

“Are you calling me a Gorgon?” Elizabeth’s lips twitched, although her eyes remained large and troubled. “A terrifying comparison, to be certain, and one I shall consider if you had truly displeased me.”

He recognized it as a skillful deflection, an attempt at humor to shield her true vulnerability. The fact remained that he had hurt her deeply with that dismissal. “It was inexcusable.”

“You were overwhelmed.” Elizabeth’s voice was quieter now. “I could see it in your face. Whatever you and Colonel Fitzwilliam were discussing, it had—you looked as though someone had struck you—and that is the reason I dragged the coffee and Shrewsbury cakes past seventy-eight portraits to serve you breakfast. Georgiana mentioned the intense disagreement. About the guardianship and whether Pemberley is the appropriate place for her, or whether she ought to return to London under Lady Matlock’s supervision.”

This was not the heart of his trouble, though it pricked at him. He would not drag Elizabeth’s name through Chancery or dignify Richard’s suspicions. He had already written to Uncle Matlock, calling off the hounds. Elizabeth was his wife—his to defend, not to suspect.

“I believe the peace and isolation of Pemberley would suit my sister well, especially the immediate future, while my cousin wishes to return her to London under the auspices of my aunt, Lady Matlock, which was exactly the lack of attention and guidance that embroiled her with this Mr. Ashworth.”

“I tend to agree with you,” she said, selecting a Shrewsbury cake and breaking it neatly in half. “Eat, if you please. Mrs. Reynolds assures me you have taken nothing since breakfast, and I should hate to have carried a tray the full length of the east wing only to watch the biscuits go cold while you brood magnificently.”

Darcy bit into a biscuit—rich with butter and cinnamon, and, if he allowed himself, a memory of Elizabeth’s lips. He banished the thought. “Then you will agree to be her guardian? I believe you would guide my sister with more wisdom and warmth than either of us has managed.”

“I would be honored to be her sister.” Elizabeth’s voice was steady, though her fingers tightened on the cup. “I would not, however, presume to supplant the Colonel in his legal office. Georgiana has two guardians who love her and disagree only on the manner of her keeping. Where she lives, whether she goes to London for a season or remains in Derbyshire until she is of an age to make a more considered choice—these are questions for you and Richard to settle between you, and I would urge you to settle them as allies rather than as adversaries, because your sister watches the pair of you with sharper eyes than either of you credits her with.”

She was right—she was nearly always right, and her clarity cut through the fog of the past three days like a lamp through mist. United. He and Richard should be united. Instead, they had been snarling at each other like dogs over a bone, with Georgiana watching from the corners, Elizabeth locked in her chamber, and the whole household holding its breath.

“Richard and I are not adversaries,” Darcy said, though even as the words left his mouth, he heard their hollowness and suspected Elizabeth heard it too.

“Then you should contrive to sound less as though you are convincing yourself,” she replied without heat. “Gigi needs you and the Colonel to present a united front. Especially as she has invited Mr. James Ashworth and his sister Miss Amelia Ashworth to Pemberley, and she wrote the invitation in my name, without my consent and without consulting you or the Colonel.”

“But… that is a significant breach of propriety.” Darcy’s jaw tightened. “My sister is not the mistress of Pemberley, no matter how she styles herself to be in my mother’s absence. We humored her when she was a little girl, but why would the Ashworths accept it? What kind of people does that make them?”

“She issued the invitations in my name, apparently. She had no authority and a great deal of resourcefulness, which is a combination I recognize from my own family and do not admire less for being familiar.” Elizabeth’s mouth curved, and the hint of rueful humor in it loosened something in his throat. “The invitation has been sent. Whether it was proper or not is now beside the point. The Ashworths are traveling to Pemberley as we speak, and the question before us is what to do when they arrive.”

“But we did not invite them. This is coming at the worst possible time,” Darcy protested, his fingers raking his hair. “Sometimes I wonder if I have left the reins too loose on my sister’s willfulness. She was so young when we lost our mother, and then to lose our father only a year later.”

Darcy leaned forward, elbows on the table, closing his eyes to gather himself.

“I was not pleased with this either.” Elizabeth’s tone was dry. “We shall have to receive them, and we shall have to do so as a united household. Whatever disagreements exist between you and Richard, whatever—” She hesitated. “Whatever troubles me, or troubles you—Georgiana’s reputation must come first. If we are seen to quarrel, if the servants carry tales to Lambton, if the neighborhood perceives any hint of discord⁠—”

“They will assume the worst.” Darcy finished the thought grimly, unable to stay seated. He paced between the portraits of the Earl and Grandmother Darcy as if those two notables could present a united front. “A hasty invitation, a household in disorder. Georgiana’s name will be linked with scandal before the Ashworths’ carriage reaches the drive.”

“Precisely.” Elizabeth set down her cup and rose, crossing to where he stood. She was close enough now that he could smell the lavender in her hair and see the faint shadows beneath her eyes that three days of retreat had left behind. She looked away, toward Lady Anne’s portrait, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. “There is something else I wished to speak to you about. A matter apart from Georgiana.”

Darcy waited. He was learning, slowly and against every instinct bred into him by twenty-eight years of giving orders and expecting compliance, that Elizabeth would reveal herself in her own time, and that pressing her only produced a sharper withdrawal.

“However, I would rather leave it for now,” she said, and the reluctance in her voice was unmistakable. “Georgiana’s situation takes precedence, and I should not wish to burden you with a second trouble when the first is not yet resolved.”