She rose, not without effort, and crossed to him—her gaze sharp despite the years. “You will lose her, Fitzwilliam. Not to scandal. Not to society. But to hesitation. You tried once to marry without love, and see what it earned you.”
His breath caught.
“Go,” she said. “Before the world writes a final chapter you were too proud to pen.”
Darcy turned toward the door.
He did not look back.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
24 January
Darcy had not plannedto leave half-dressed with hardly a straight line to chase. He had planned, in fact, to hire someone, pay for information, find out whereshehad gone, but there seemed to be almost no one he could risk asking. He could just go… drive north, with little but a prayer that he had chosen correctly. Time was short, no room for mistakes.
And also no room for indecision. Damned if he jumped, damned if he stayed still.
That left him with little plan at all—except to pace the study like a caged animal, reread the map of Derbyshire without blinking, and possibly lose the final fragments of his sanity somewhere beneath the west edge of Lambton.
But after the third circuit of the rug and the second scalding cup of tea he did not remember pouring, he found himselfstaring at the door as if it might open of its own volition. As if, by sheer will, he might conjure her silhouette there—dark curls, dark eyes, some scathing remark perched on her lips.
He was halfway to summoning Jackson when the door creaked open on its own.
His breath caught. He turned, half-risen already, heart surging despite itself.
Elizabeth?Had she come? Here to hold him to his silly old promise—the one he would spill his life-blood to keep!
But no.
Not Elizabeth.
The dowager swept in without knocking, two shawls slung over one arm and the faintly murderous look of someone who had, once again, been forced to manage all the world’s foolishness before breakfast.
“Pack your coat,” she said without ceremony. “And your map, before you rub the ink off it with your anxious fingers.”
Darcy blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Unless you want to settle your bones in London, she sniffed. “I daresay Miss Lavinia Watson would have you, as would Miss Pamela Darnall and—”
“As I want none of them,” he interrupted, “I cannot think why you are rattling off names.”
She raised her brows. “Are you sure? You could still settle matters in time, if you secure a lady before the weekend. The banns can still be called. Your father's terms met, just in time.”
Darcy closed his eyes. “I know. I have thought about it from every angle. But…”
“Indeed, indeed. Only the girl who pinned her ribbon on you will do. And I believe we both know she has probably gone to Derbyshire, so I have ordered the smaller carriage,” she continued, as if he was not turning to stare at her incredulously.“The large one rattles too much over gravel. And I have no intention of arriving like a corpse shaken out of its wrappings.”
“You are coming with me?”
She gave him a look of such withering incredulity that he almost sat down. “I am not letting you gallop off like some doomed knight while I wait for the scandal to reach my breakfast tray. I am old, not irrelevant.”
He opened his mouth. Shut it again.
The door opened a second time. Darcy looked up—and froze.
“Richard?” The name came out half-astonished, half-accusation, as though his cousin had just materialized from a cannon blast instead of the front hall.
The colonel stepped in with the breezy confidence of a man who had absolutely no idea what he was walking into. “Afternoon, all. Two months’ leave, as of today.” He dropped his travel cloak onto a chair with a flourish. “My regiment has finally been billeted near London—I was only just freed from garrison duties and constant drilling. I’ve been in barracks so long that I nearly forgot what society looked like.”
