And yet, Darcy could not breathe easily. Not withherabsence hollowing out a space in his chest.
He was a bloody fool, mooning about over a woman who… well, she never had loved him, had she? She was certainly good at acting the part—so good, he had almost believed it himself. Especially when he found her at the docks, and she had clung to him so…
The faint chime of the front bell rang, but Darcy barely registered it. He was busy pressing his face into his palms, wishing he could bury his humiliation. A Darcy of Pemberley, lost and spinning helplessly over…
Then—footsteps in the hall. A brisk knock at the study door. “An express has arrived,sir.”
Darcy sat up immediately, the ever-present burning in his stomach coiling tighter. “From whom?”
“The Colonel, sir.”
His heart lurched.Richard.That meant—
He did not waste another second. Rising so quickly that the chair fell back against the wooden floor, he strode forward and snatched the letter from the footman’s outstretched hand.
Darcy,
It was a fine thing we trusted your instincts.
The words blurred for a moment before he forced himself to focus.
I arrived in Ramsgate just in time. Georgiana’s things were being loaded into a carriage. A carriage bound for Scotland… with George Wickham.
Darcy’s grip tightened around the paper, the focus of his vision contracting to the letters on the page.
He had her. He had her completely under his thumb, convinced they were in love. I called him out then and there. I regret to say it caused a scene—dueling being illegal and all that—and in this case, dear cousin, you would have done better than I. You would have handled it tactfully. I fear I did not. There will be talk.
Darcy’s jaw clenched, the pulse bounding at his throat.
Mrs. Younge, of course, was complicit. I dismissed her on the spot. I have Georgiana with me now, and I fear she is not only unrepentant (as of yet) but also inconsolable. I am taking her straight to Pemberley—not London. To hide her away, yes. But that may not be enough. I will send word when we arrive.
The moment Darcy finished reading Richard’s express, his hands clenched around the letter, crumpling the fine paper between his fingers. His jaw locked so tightly it ached, his blood thundering in his ears.
Wickham!
The name alone was enough to send a fresh wave of fury surging through him. That man—that wretched, scheming blackguard!—had very nearly stolen Georgiana away! The thought was unbearable. Unforgivable.
Richard had stopped it—thank God—but not before a scene had been made. Not—not before Wickham had made yet another public spectacle of himself and, by extension, of Georgiana.
Darcy’s stomach twisted painfully. Hissister!His sweet, trusting, foolish sister. He had tried to protect her, done everything within his power to make her happy and shield her from the world’s cruelties, and yet, somehow, Wickham had still found a way to get to her. Darcy could only imagine how Richard had found them—Georgiana standing there, her trunk packed, ready to be whisked away to ruin.
He wanted to hit something. No—he wanted to hit someone.
His fists curled so tightly that his nails bit into his palms. He could almost see Wickham’s smug, lying face, could picture the insufferable ease with which the man would have smiled as he spun whatever web of deceit had convinced Georgiana to trust him. Had he charmed her with pretty words? Had he frightened her, warning of her brother’s supposed cruelty and control? Or had he simply played on her loneliness, her vulnerability?
It did not matter. He had nearly taken her from him.
And now… now there would be talk.
Richard had done the best he could—Darcy knew that. Knew that his cousin had acted on instinct, that he had stopped an elopement in progress. But Richard had never been one for subtlety. And in a town like Ramsgate, where the comings and goings of a gentleman’s daughter were of endless interest to prying eyes, tongues would be wagging already.
His hand pressed against his stomach, where a deep, sickening nausea churned.
He was too high-profile now.
The election—whichever way it had fallen—had made him seen. If his name was on everyone’s lips, then so, too, would be his sister’s. If Wickham had already told her sweet lies, what would stop him from telling them to others? What would stop rumors from spreading beyond Ramsgate, beyond Kent, beyond Derbyshire?
Georgiana. His little sister. Ruined!
