Page 23 of Twice Chosen

If I made you believe your grief or fear disappointed me, I was wrong.

Darcy stopped again.

That was enough. Too much, perhaps.

He folded the letter.

Bingley entered without knocking.

Darcy looked up. "Do you ever knock?"

"Not when I suspect you are writing love letters."

Darcy covered the page.

Bingley grinned. "Ah!"

"It is to Georgiana."

"Oh." Bingley looked disappointed, then curious. "You have written her every day."

"Not every day."

"Three times since we arrived."

Darcy said nothing.

Bingley sat. "Are you worried about her?"

"Always."

"Has something happened?"

Darcy looked at him. Bingley was young, kind, trustworthy. In their first life Darcy had underestimated him in a way that embarrassed him for decades. Bingley had been persuadable because he trusted. Darcy had treated that trust as license.

Not again.

"She had a difficult summer."

Bingley's face sobered. "Is she well?"

"She will be."

"Good."

Darcy sealed the letter.

Bingley watched, then said, "Miss Elizabeth likes hawthorn."

Darcy almost dropped the wax. "What?"

"You asked her."

Darcy glared.

Bingley laughed. "I have decided your method of courtship is botanical. Jam. Hawthorn. What next? Turnips?"

"I am not courting her."