Darcy narrowed his eyes. “Pray inform Lady Anne I am here to see her.”
“Sir, her ladyship commanded me not to admit anyone,” he said nervously, then he repeated, “Sir.” As if that would undo his disobedience.
“And I am telling you to let me in.” He used his best imperious voice, the one no one at Pemberley would gainsay.
Watson stiffened, and then he bowed and shuffled backwards. Darcy walked past him without a second glance. Mrs. Reynolds would hear about this.
“I will inform Lady Anne that you are here.” Watson must have at long last remembered his duties.
“Do that. Immediately.”
Darcy headed for the sitting room, still seething, then paused at the bottom of the staircase as a loud man’s voice drifted down it. Despite having the accent of a gentleman, he was practically shouting and the words raced together so quickly that Darcy could not make them out, only that the speaker hardly paused to breathe. Who in heaven’s name had his mother brought here? Was she in danger?
To the devil with proper manners. He hurried up the stairs, but was interrupted on the first landing by a woman’s voice, one with a thick German accent. Darcy froze, his mind suddenly back in France. To the Prussian accent he had been so carefully taught, and to the people in the Vosges who sounded so much like this. A bead of sweat began to run down his neck.
He rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to make the thoughts go away. He was home at Pemberley, safe from the French – at least until the invasion came. No one could lock him up or keep him from his family.
For now.
His body was less convinced, though, leaving him still on edge as that damned accent continued to grate at his nerves. Then it was interruptedby the loud voice, but at least that was an English one. Even if it made no sense.
His mother appeared at the top of the stairs and descended towards him slowly. Her normally perfectly coiffed hair was in disarray, and her day dress had streaks of dirt by the hem. She should have had time to refresh herself, but perhaps the argument upstairs had stopped her.
“Ah, Fitzwilliam,” she said calmly, as if there was nothing unusual in this situation. “Pray join me in the sitting room.”
“What is going on here?” he snapped. “Did you fail to understand my instructions that no one should enter Pemberley without my permission?”
Her expression barely changed as she took him by the elbow and led him down to the sitting room. “Pray lower your voice, Fitzwilliam. We are trying to calm His Majesty.”
It made no sense. Had he heard her incorrectly, or had she obtained a dog and named it so inappropriately? Was her mind addled again after all those bindings were removed? Or was he somehow back in France where everything was muddled and dangerous?
Then it sank in. Everyone knew mad King George could talk for hours without interruptions and had to be held down at times. Queen Charlotte’s German accent made her difficult to understand.
And something had terrified the under-butler.
“Why?” he breathed. “Why in God’s name did you bring them here, of all places? Are you out of your mind?”
“First, Her Majesty brought him, as she is his guardian,” Lady Anne said in that damned calm voice of hers, as if this were not an utterly impossible situation. “My sister destroyed the king’s mind with her bindings, and only Coquelicot has a chance of fixing it. Coquelicot cannot go to London, so Her Majesty brought him here.”
His mind kept tying into knots. The king and queen were notorious for hating to travel, preferring to remain at home. The press mocked them for never leaving southern England. How could they have got here without a huge retinue and everyone knowing?
The king and queen, at Pemberley. When the War Office already wanted to arrest Darcy.
“How dare you do this without a word to me?” he snarled.
“Her Majesty commanded that it must be done in the utmost secrecy.”
Darcy ground his teeth. It was an impossible argument to answer. “You still should have warned me, and you know it.”
She gave a delicate cough. “Perhaps we could discuss this after Coquelicot examines His Majesty.”
The king had been mad on and off most of Darcy’s life, but certainly it was worth trying to fix it if possible. And talking to his mother was worse than useless, so he reached out to the healer dragon.Coquelicot, could you come to me at the Dower House? We have another person who is ill from mislaid bindings, like my mother.
A moment of bright interest.Oh, the one she told me about? Excellent.
She had told Coquelicot, but not him? He tried to bury his seething where the dragon would not feel it.I would be very happy if Companion Elizabeth and Companion Frederica knew that I desired their presence here.A truth-caster might help him deal with his mother, and Elizabeth would want to know what was happening.
I will tell them.
