Dearest Georgiana,
I am eager to join you at Pemberley with Elizabeth, but I fear we have been unavoidably delayed.
The next linewas impossible to pen.Accidentsounded too grave. As didcalamityanddisaster.Little incident, on the contrary, was too flippant.Mishap? Misadventure?That was it.
A misadventure befell Elizabeth,and I would not dream of insisting she travel until she is fullyrecovered.
He wroteat length about other matters between glances through the window, careful to keep his tone light so as not to cause his sister alarm. There was no need distressing her when, in all probability, Elizabeth’s memories would return before the evening. Or, as Mr. Bennet suggested, on the morrow. That was the estimate Mr. Jones had given them.
Beyond that…
Darcy shivered. He would not allow Elizabeth to worsen. He would see to it she had every advantage she required.
His final letter was for his cousin.
Richard,
I need you immediately. The Bennets’ carriage was sabotaged, and Elizabeth was hurt. She is sound in body, but she has no memory of me.
I am at my wit’s end.
Please come directly. We have an enemy to expose, and I have a bride I am desperate to have restored to me.
Make haste,
Darcy
Elizabeth could have satby the pond for hours, but Mr. Darcy would not remove himself from his observational perch until she returned indoors.
She was pleased to hear him offering hearty congratulations to the rejoicing couple, and it was with a lighter heart Elizabeth crept up the stairs to her bedchamber.
Her room would feel empty without Jane. It already did. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself, a paper fluttering on the corner of the dressing table catching her eye.
Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Mrs. Lizzy Darcy.
Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy…
Looped letters and swirls adorned the length of the page, bittersweet in their un-fulfillment. She had looked forward to taking Mr. Darcy’s name. She had been on the brink of a new happy beginning.
A happy beginning an evil, unknown foe had stolen.
She would discover his or her identity. She would find him and expose his blatant injustice against her. She would demand satisfaction.
Filled with indignation, Elizabeth set to work, writing names along with means and motives, facts and potential clues.
CHAPTER 18
George Wickham tossed and turned, eager for morning to arise. After one night in the tenant hovel, he understood why nobody inhabited it. Fortunately, the night was warmer here than in the north, and the holes in the roof might have provided an exceptional view of the stars … had the luminaries not been covered with clouds.
He also understood why the cot had not been reclaimed. Itchy, red welts spotted his flesh. The more he scratched, the more they itched.
Still, he was optimistic. If all went well, his misery would end, and he would return to the regiment that same morning.
But he must make certain first.
Sneaking over fields and sticking to the shadows, Wickham crept to Longbourn, not too close but close enough to observe the goings on.
