Richard shook his head. “I do not. Pass along that I am putting Colonel Fitzwilliam in the blue chambers and Miss Darcy in the yellow.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Darcy.”
Ignoring Darcy’s glower, Richard led the way up the steps, trying not to walk as if on the way to a school room reprimand. He was doing this to save Darcy’s life, after all. No matter how much his cousin’s face puckered with anger.
“I do not understand,” Georgiana said quietly as they reached the top of the staircase. “Why did the butler call you Mr. Darcy, Richard?”
Richard grimaced. He didn’t want Georgiana to know how much danger Darcy was in, and he certainly did not want her to know who had initiated the threat to her brother. He gestured to Darcy. “PerhapsRichardhere will explain after he and I have spoken. If you would wait in your room? It is three doors down, that way. It is a lovely suite. I will have a maid sent up. I am afraid yours is already on her way to London.”
Georgiana’s footsteps halted.
Richard turned to find she had wrapped her arms about her, her chin jutting out. Concerned, he asked, “Georgie?”
“I will be told the truth along with my brother. I am a grown woman. I am—” She broke off, her features pinching. Long fingers dug into the sleeves of her gown. “I will not be shuffled off.”
Taking in her pallor, how thin she’d become, the way her hair hung lank and dull, Richard looked to Darcy. What had he been doing with the girl? Could Darcy not see how miserable their ward was?
Darcy, his visage nearly as drawn as Georgiana’s, asked, “Does it concern her in any way?”
Richard frowned, considering. “Somewhat, though mostly it concerns you.”
Georgiana tipped up her chin. “My brother is my concern.”
“Georgiana, I—”
“Show us to the blue chamber and explain yourself,” Darcy cut in crisply. “Standing about here in the hallway is accomplishing little.”
Richard rubbed at the back of his neck, Darcy’s banked anger once more making him feel like an errant child. “Very well.” Pivoting, he led the way.
He opened the door to the blue suite’s sitting room to the sight of a maid readying the fireplace. One glance at the three of them and she gathered her tinderbox, curtsied, and scuttled away in the direction of the bedchamber. To light a fire there as well, or to depart through the bedroom’s other door, Richard didn’t know. Nor did he truly care, for she was one of Padgett’s.
Richard strode into the room, “Shall I call for tea?”
“No,” Darcy snapped.
Annoyance sparked in Richard as he dropped into a plush armchair. “There is no need to be rude. Not until you have at least heard me out.”
Georgiana came around the couch to perch on the end nearest a struggling fire that could have used a few more minutes care, and Darcy joined her. Together, they regarded Richard like an exam board.
“Yes, well, as you can see, I am not on the Continent.”
Darcy offered a sardonic nod. Georgiana merely watched Richard with worry-filled eyes.
He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. He would prefer to stand. To pace, really, but that would only make him seem guilty.
He supposed he was, but all in a good cause. “Yes, well, the thing is, my superior learned that a reward for your, ah, demise, has been issued, Darcy, to be collected on the first of December.”
“My demise?” Darcy’s tone was as incredulous as his expression. “Why? By whom?” He held up a hand before Richard could speak, and muttered, “Wickham.”
“Oh,” Georgiana gasped, covering her mouth. “No. Surely George would not…not… No, someone else must have set this reward.”
Swiveling to look at her, Darcy said, “I do not make a habit of aggravating people to the point where they wish me dead. It must be Wickham.”
She pressed her lips tight together, tears building in her already red-rimmed eyes.
Richard cleared his throat again, surprised how short Darcy was with her. What had been happening in Pemberley? “Yes, well, though I might disagree with your assertion that you do not aggravate people, Darcy, you are correct. It is Wickham. He read your will. He knows you have left Pemberley to Georgiana.”
Georgiana let out a sob.
