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“Indeed,” Darcy admitted, “but she cares for him.”

“You surely cannot think that! She cares for his house, fortune, and position.”

“His position?” Darcy asked. “His position as a tradesman’s son? She is a gentleman’s daughter.”

Miss Bingley coloured at this, but her determination was not lessened by the slight. “It is true that she is a gentleman’s daughter,” she said, “but the distinction is not so great as you pretend, Mr. Darcy. Her father’s estate is entailed away from her family; their connections are, as you must acknowledge, quite beneath us. Mrs. Bennet’s relations are people in trade—a lawyer’s clerk in Meryton, and an uncle in Cheapside! That is not to mention Mrs. Ellington, the wife of a steward! To ally ourselves with such people must be a mortification you cannot wish upon my brother, for you know the world will say it is a misalliance.”

“If your brother does not care what the world will say, why should I? He is his own man. I do not agree with you that it would be a misalliance, for if Bingley wishes to settle in Hertfordshire, he cannot do better than to unite himself with one of the jewels of their society. I shall not comment on the relations in trade, for I do not wish to offend you further, Miss Bingley, but it should not be of any consideration in this union.” Miss Bingley opened her mouth to speak, but Mr. Darcy continued before she could. “If I believed Miss Bennet indifferent to your brother, perhaps I might take your part, Miss Bingley. Given Bingley’s history, when I observed his very public interest in the lady, I took it upon myself to observe them. While Miss Bennet is perhaps reserved in her display of affection, I could not miss the genuine regard between herself and your brother. I should be a very poor friend indeed, if I should disengage him from a match of true affection.”

Miss Bingley pressed her lips together, unable to reply. This was not at all the response she had expected from Mr. Darcy, who regarded his name and position in society with such importance. “You truly will not speak to him?” she asked finally.

“I shall not. If Mr. Bingley succeeds in winning the hand of Miss Bennet, I shall wish him very happy.”

Miss Bingley’s response was a strangled sound of disbelief, which she suppressed with some effort; her features arranged themselves in a mask of polite incredulity. “Very well, sir,” she said finally, before rising. “Do give my farewells to your sister.”

Mr. Darcy rose and bowed. “I shall, Miss Bingley.”

Miss Bingley quickly departed, her tight movements betraying all her emotions despite her best efforts to appear unbothered. The silence that followed was a relief, as it always was when a person was released from Miss Bingley’s company.

“Why does she think so poorly of Miss Bennet, Brother?” came his sister’s voice, nearly causing him to start.

“Georgie,” he said, moving to make room on the settee next to him. She took the offered spot, leaning against him as she had often done when she was small.

“Why does Miss Bingley think so poorly of Miss Bennet?” she repeated.

“Sometimes, sister, when people think poorly of themselves, they are determined to hide it. Miss Bingley is ashamed that she is the daughter of a tradesman, and instead of attempting to better herself, she would rather tear down those around her. There are many such ladies in the ton, Georgie. They will never be happy unless all those around them are miserable. If it were not for her brother, I would not keep company with Miss Bingley at all.”

“Are you quite certain that Miss Bennet feels affection for Mr. Bingley?” she asked in such a small voice that Darcy might have thought her five years old again. He turned to look at her, removing her head from his shoulder to look her in the eyes.

“Georgiana, I know that you are still hurting from what happened at Ramsgate, but I would not have you believe that there are no good people in the world. Mr. Bingley has a good fortune, it is true, but Miss Bingley is wrong to believe that Miss Bennet cannot therefore favour him for any other reason.”

“But how can you be certain, Will? How can you know she is not mercenary when there are people so skilled at deception in the world?” Georgiana asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“One can never be entirely certain, Georgiana, for we cannot know the mind of another. But Miss Bennet is not Mr. Wickham. She is a young lady well thought of in her community. She is sensible, I am sure, of Mr. Bingley’s fortune, but she does not seem at all calculating. Besides which, only yesterday I saw the announcement of the betrothal of her sister, Miss Mary Bennet, to Mr. Lucas, the heir of a neighbouring estate. His father cannot have more than a thousand pounds a year, and she shall have even less than that until Mr. Lucas inherits.”

“Then you believe the family wishes their daughters to marry for love?”

“I do not believe Mr. Bennet should be very happy if one of his daughters should marry the town butcher, but so long as the man is respectable, yes, I believe they wish their daughters to marry for love.”

“Do you wish to marry for love, Will?”

Georgiana’s question took her brother aback. After a moment, he realised he had never truly considered it. His parents, he knew, had married for love, but they were both from very prominent families with connections to nobility. He wondered if they still would have wed had one of them been of lesser consequence in the eyes of the world. “Mother and Father married for love, and they were happy together. I should like the same, if I can manage it.” Darcy spoke softly, remembering the affection between his parents. Unlike most couples of the ton, they did not spend most of their time apart. The late Mr. Darcy saw going to his club as a duty, rather preferring to dine informally with his wife or watching her paint instead of associating with those society deemed important.

“I wish to marry for love as well, if any gentleman will want me after what I did.”

Darcy did not know what else to do to reassure his sister. It was not her fault Wickham had done what he had, nor that she had been too unworldly to realise what might have come as a result. He blamed himself for listening to Lady Catherine and not educating his sister about such things, and for not telling her why Mr. Wickham had been sent away. If only he had trusted his own judgement and to hell with what others thought.

“The right gentleman will not care what happened when you were so young, Georgie,” he said finally. “If he does, he is not deserving of you.”

“I hope you are right, Will,” she said, leaning against him once more.

“I know that I am.”

∞∞∞

“An express has arrived from Netherfield, sir,” said Mr. Hewitt, holding the missive out to his master on the silver platter.

“Does the messenger wait for a response?” Bingley asked, taking the letter.