Page 56 of Darcy's Guarded Heart
“I know you are angry,” he said, moving closer. “Is this because I brought you away from Longbourn? From the Bennets’ ward?”
Still, she said nothing.
“Please,” he added, “just speak to me.”
Georgiana’s eyes stayed fixed on the street outside, but her voice came at last, low and tight. “His name is Thomas. And he is more than a ward. You would know that, if you’d ever given him a chance.”
Darcy looked away, caught off guard by the sharpness in her tone.
“I didn’t want to believe what Mr Wickham said about you,” she continued. “That you were proud. Unkind. Cold. Butnow I wonder. You seem to care only for people who meet your high standards. Everyone else—Thomas, Miss Bennet—you push aside.”
Darcy tried to reply, but Georgiana went on. “You speak of doing what’s right. But you helped Caroline and her sister separate Mr Bingley from Jane. Don’t deny it. I heard them. They talked about it openly, as if it were clever.”
He turned away, his jaw clenched. “That wasn’t the full story.”
“I’m not a child,” she said. “I know what I heard. And I know how unhappy Jane looked when we left. You always criticise Aunt Catherine for meddling, for judging everyone by their rank, but how are you any different?”
Her words struck him like a slap. He stood still, unable to speak.
“I will fix it,” he said at last. “What I did to Jane. To Bingley. To you. I’ll make it right.”
Georgiana looked at him. “Then will you let me see Thomas again?”
Darcy hesitated. “That is… a separate matter.”
“Why?” she asked. “Why is it separate?”
He couldn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to speak the truth—that jealousy and pride had guided his hand more than care ever had.
“I should have talked to you,” he said quietly. “Really talked. I thought I was protecting you.”
She stood now, her face pale but calm. “Taking me from Netherfield wasn’t protection. It was control. You ruined my happiness—and Jane’s, too. And you didn’t even tell Bingley the truth. You let him believe she didn’t care.”
Darcy stepped forward, but she pulled back.
“You say you’ll fix it,” she said. “But you can’t undo everything. Not easily. You should ask yourself whether it was all worth it.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and left the room.
***
Darcy remained where he stood, alone. Her words echoed in his mind, and for the first time, he truly saw how far he had fallen from the man he believed himself to be. Darcy sat with his hands clenched tight in his lap, the pressure of his fingers digging into his gloves. The study in Bingley’s London townhouse was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the mantel. He had been speaking for some time now—everything laid bare. His interference. His doubts. His intentions, however misplaced. He had told Bingley all.
Now he waited.
Across from him, Bingley leaned back in his chair, a pained look on his usually cheerful face. He had not spoken for several moments, and Darcy dared not break the silence. He had braced himself for anger, perhaps even a demand that their friendship come to an end.
At last, Bingley looked at him and said quietly, “So, you did not truly share the opinion of my sisters and Mr Hurst?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I did not. I should not have allowed myself to be drawn into their confederacy. I was a bad friend and I can only ask your forgiveness now.”
Bingley’s reply surprised him. “Did it have something to do with Wickham?”
Darcy blinked, startled. “I—what do you mean?”
“Do not feign surprise, Darcy. I know you better than that. I’ve always suspected it ran deeper than just your opinion of Jane. I know how much you disliked Thomas and I assume the idea of my marrying Jane would mean being near Thomas which would not be favourable to you.”
Darcy looked away. “I had no wish to bring that up. It sounds like an excuse.”
