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“You have thought this through,” Richard stated.

“Yes, and even though I have only known Miss Darcy a few months, I do truly love her. And if I love her, I must think of her good. And I will prove my love by waiting for her.”

“Then why are you here?” Darcy asked, challenging the young man. “You will clearly leave England in a month or two, and you will not return for two years. My sister will be presented to the court in a year or two. She will attend balls, converse with gentlemen—the aim of which is courtship and marriage.”

Ashworth’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair as the color drained from his face and the brutal arithmetic of reality caught up with him. He opened his mouth, perhaps to ask if his sister might at least be permitted to write to Georgiana, but a gentleman’s instincts told him how such a request would be received in this room.

“There can be no promises, Mr. Ashworth,” Darcy said quietly, leaning forward with his elbows on the mahogany desk. “If you return in two years, my sister will still be under our guardianship until she reaches her majority at twenty-one. If your intentions are truly for her welfare, you will leave Pemberley tomorrow, you will hold no correspondence with her, and you will let her grow up in peace.”

“I would wait.” Ashworth stood and offered his hand. “I will return once I have built the house and the ministry. And if she wishes to receive my addresses, then I shall meet you again.”

Darcy stared into the eyes of this man who behaved honorably enough to confess his transgressions. “Two years is a long time, Mr. Ashworth.”

“Not when one is working for the woman one loves.” He dropped his hand and picked up his hat. “Jacob labored for Rachel for seven years, and it seemed to him but a day. I shall leave in the morning, Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Ashworth said stiffly, bowing his head. “And I shall not write. If… if she asks for me⁠—”

“She will be answered with discretion,” Darcy replied. “You have acted with integrity tonight, Mr. Ashworth. I ask that you maintain it by departing without theatrical farewells.”

Richard watched him go with a long, measuring look, then turned to Darcy as the study door clicked shut behind the young missionary.

“He’s not Wickham,” Richard said.

“No, but your mother supervised an introduction, permitted an unsanctioned correspondence, and failed to inform either guardian of a developing attachment.”

Richard winced, the defense dying on his lips before he could fully form it. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, staring down at the polished mahogany floor where Ashworth had just stood. “Between you and me, his father is Lord Ashworth of Essex. He is a second son but of good breeding. He’ll do, Darcy. If he proves what he claims, and if Georgiana’s heart holds steady—he’ll do.”

Darcy stared at him. “That is generous coming from you… considering your insult of my wife.”

Richard’s gaze turned thunderous. “Lord Ashworth sits in the House of Lords. Your wife’s uncle traded on your father’s debts. That is the difference.”

“Indeed,” Darcy said, his expression equally thunderous. “Let us go and face the drawing room.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

THE FAMILY TRIBUNAL

If one asked Elizabeth whether waking up in her sister-in-law’s childhood bed was part of marriage, she would have laughed and said, “Surely, you jest.”

However, no one could have anticipated the storm that thundered over Pemberley when Georgiana’s dear Mr. Ashworth had emerged from his audience with Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth had held her breath in the drawing room while Georgiana danced around, hugging herself, sure that Darcy and Richard would see the idealistic young preacher as she did. True, Charlotte had injected her practical common sense, but Georgiana had been certain the marriage would be sanctioned—after all, who could oppose God’s will?—so that when her precious James emerged with a drawn face, grey, the light in his eyes extinguished, Georgiana had collapsed in a dead faint.

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared moments later, glowered at each other, and then asked the Ashworths to retire to their chambers, with the understanding that they would leave Pemberley in the morning without theatrics or drama. Miss Ashworth apologized profusely while James merely bowed to everyone and said, “God bless you, Madam,” to Elizabeth before departing, his back straight.

Elizabeth had to admit that the young Mr. Ashworth cut quite a compelling figure: handsome and passionate, with a kind gentleness that complemented his solid strength.

So Elizabeth rued the sunlight streaming through the windows and the doll on the shelf staring at her. The April morning had no business being so fine, the refined cruelty of a season that did not consult the heart before choosing its weather.

Elizabeth had advised Georgiana to remain upstairs until the Ashworths had departed—breakfast, a discreet farewell, and then the carriage. But upon waking, she discovered her sister-in-law had attempted a last-minute interception, only to be firmly shepherded back to her chamber by the Colonel.

Now, she sat huddled by the window in her best cream silk dinner gown, the hope of conversing with James dimming as they loaded the carriage below.

“He did not look back,” Georgiana said without glancing at Elizabeth. “When he came down the stairs this morning, he did not look for me in the hall.”

“He was following your brother’s instruction.” Elizabeth kept her own voice gentle. “Mr. Darcy asked him to depart without theatrical farewells. Mr. Ashworth is proving himself a man who keeps his word.”

“By pretending I do not exist?” Below, on the drive, James handed his sister into the carriage. She glanced up at the window, but her brother did not. The footman closed the door.

“By trusting you to understand.” Elizabeth turned from the window and took Georgiana’s cold hands in her own. “He has agreed to wait, Georgiana. Two years is not forever.”

“Two years with no correspondence. No letters. No assurance that he will not meet someone else, someone whose family does not require—” Georgiana stopped, her chin lifting in an unconscious echo of her brother’s most guarded expression. “Forgive me. I should not complain. He has been more honorable than anyone could have required.”