Page 3 of The Difference of a Darcy
Mrs. Younge flushed. “I did not know she was so young. And he said—he promised—five thousand pounds. Once the marriage was complete and the dowry settled.”
Darcy gave a short, humorless laugh. “Then you are a greater fool than I thought.”
Her head jerked up.
“Georgiana’s dowry is only released upon marriagewith the approval of both guardians. Otherwise, she receives only the quarterly interest directly to herself. You would have been waiting a very long time.”
The woman stared at him, dumbfounded.
“And Wickham,” he added with a sneer, “wasin the roomwhen my father’s will was read. He knew all of this. He lied to you.”
Mrs. Younge’s face contorted with rage, but it did not last. A heartbeat later, she turned as pale as parchment when he stepped forward again.
“You should be grateful I do not call the magistrate,” he said icily. “Fraud. Forgery. Attempted abduction of an heiress.”
Her knees nearly buckled. “Please… Mr. Darcy, have mercy, I beg you—”
“Do not insult us both by pretending remorse,” he snapped. “The only reason I shall not drag you before the law is for Georgiana’s sake. The scandal would be unendurable.”
She nodded quickly, trembling.
“You are dismissed at once. If you provide an address, your wages to this day shall be sent to you.To this day, mind—there will be no payment for the full quarter.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“You will not ask me for a reference. I shall not give one. If I hear your name again in connection with any position as a governess, companion, or teacher—anywhere in England—I shall ensure no respectable family will ever consider you again.”
Tears began to fall.
“You have ten minutes to gather your things,” he said. “My valet will accompany you to ensure you take only what belongs to you.”
Mrs. Younge dipped into a clumsy curtsy and stumbled past the footman.
Darcy stood alone in the drawing room, the fire behind him too weak to dispel the chill that had settled in his limbs.
His sister had nearly been ruined.
And it had all happened under his name. Under his roof.
He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the mantel.What would Father say?
Without looking, he raised his hand and rang the bell with more force than necessary. Within moments, the housekeeper entered wiping her hands on her apron and casting a wary glance at the smoldering fire and the tense set of his shoulders.
“Mr. Darcy, sir?”
“I require Miss Darcy’s maid. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir.” She curtsied and turned to fetch the girl.
Darcy remained by the hearth, pacing twice before forcing himself to stillness. He did not blame the housekeeper or the butler—neither had been of his choosing. The furnished house had come with a partial staff, and he had made only minor additions of his own.
But the maid—Georgiana’s personal attendant—had come from Pemberley. She was Mrs. Reynolds’niece,of all things. He expected better.
When she entered, he turned sharply. She was no older than twenty, red-cheeked and pale-eyed, with a nervous expression and trembling fingers wringing the edges of her apron.
“You are Sally, Mrs. Reynolds’ niece.”
“Yes, sir.”
