Darcy froze at the threshold. “Who was the sender?”
“No name, sir,” the butler replied evenly. “But it is postmarked from London.”
A chill ran down his spine, slower than ice, deeper than fear. The scent of beeswax and burning coal from the nearby parlor barely registered. He crossed the marble floor on autopilot, each step heavier than the last.
It could be anything. It could be nothing. He told himself this, repeated it like a chant.
But then he saw it.
The letter lay on the silver tray like an omen—delicate ivory paper, folded with unnatural precision. The writing on the front danced before his eyes: feminine, fluid, beautiful in its symmetry. Too perfect. Too practiced.
Too familiar.
No air moved in the hall. Only the beat of his heart—loud, uneven—filled his ears, drowning out Fitzwilliam’s voice behind him.
“Darcy? Darcy—are you well?”
He did not answer.
He reached for the letter slowly, as if touching it too quickly might cause it to vanish—or explode.
The seal cracked beneath his thumb, and the words leaped from the page.
I have to follow you, my love, though you do not want me to. It will not stop my love for you; I cannot stay away. I am coming.
∞∞∞
Georgiana had gone utterly silent. No more tantrums, no tears—just a stiff, blank stare as the sound of the departing carriage faded into the distance. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her eyes unblinking.
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with her father before gently touching the girl's elbow. “Miss Darcy,” she said, her voice even but not unkind, “may I reintroduce myself? I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I shall be helping to oversee your time with us.”
Georgiana did not respond.
“Let us get you settled.” Elizabeth turned toward the staircase. Mr. Bennet gestured for Stephens to follow them with the trunk.
They ascended to the nursery suite—three connected rooms at the rear of the upper floor. The main chamber served as a bedroom, with two modest beds and a washstand. Off to one side was the schoolroom, lined with shelves, a long table, and a chalkboard. The third room, smaller and spare, was for the temporary governess.
Georgiana swept her gaze over the rooms and promptly wrinkled her nose. “This is a nursery.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact. “It served our family well for many years.”
“I am nearly out,” Georgiana said sharply, folding her arms. “And I am the granddaughter of an earl. This is entirely inappropriate for someone of my age and breeding.”
Elizabeth stifled a laugh. Stephens, still carrying the trunk, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he placed it at the foot of the bed.
“I see,” Mr. Bennet said mildly, stepping into the schoolroom behind them. “Well, your brother has placed you under my guardianship for the present, and in my household, you shall be treated not as the granddaughter of an earl, but as a young lady who must relearn what it means to be a member of society. That means living as my daughters do—which includes this room.”
Georgiana turned toward him, eyes wide with indignation.
Mr. Bennet continued, his voice now firmer. “There are a few rules to keep in mind, Miss Darcy, and I shall expect them to be followed without exception. First, every member of this household—regardless of birth—treats servants with courtesy. They are not required to serve anyone who speaks to them unkindly. If you abuse their patience, they may refuse to wait on you at all.”
Georgiana scoffed softly.
“Second,” he went on, “you will take your meals with the family. We do not deliver trays to anyone except the truly ill. Youare in good health, and so you will join us in the dining room for breakfast, luncheon, and dinner.”
“But what if I do not like what is served?” she snapped.
“Then you may wait for the next meal,” he replied. “This house does not cater to caprice.”
