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1811 July - Darcy House, London
As the London summer temperatures soared, the beauty of the garden outside Fitzwilliam Darcy’s study window was glorious enough to distract him from the pile of correspondence that needed to be finished by that afternoon. Already, he alerted his butler that he did not want to be disturbed.
Once the task was complete, he straightened his desk, appreciating the orderliness of his life. Thus, he was startled when an unexpected sound from the vestibule distracted him. A giggle.
He blinked.And he heard it again. An uneasy chill rippled down his spine, his brotherly instincts on high alert.
Georgiana? What is she doing in London?
Upon her request, he had secured the beach cottage in Ramsgate for the entire summer. It was mid-July. His sister should have been enjoying the salty breeze and the stunning views.
Georgiana Darcy was not yet sixteen, far too young to make travel arrangements for herself. Had something dire occurred? Yet she laughed. Rarely had he heard his timid sister expressing that level of mirth.
As he crossed the study, the door swung open. Georgiana practically danced into the room. Darcy’s first impression was the beauty of her smile, then how much she resembled their late beloved mother.
Wrapping his arms around her slight form, many questions threatened to pour from his mouth. Restraining himself, he, instead, delighted in her presence. She had been in Ramsgate for six weeks. Apparently, she was as happy to be home as he was to have her at Darcy House.
“Fitzwilliam, I am the happiest person alive!” His sister pulled from his embrace.
She held up her left hand. Wiggling her fingers, the glint of a tiny sapphire caught his eye.
He was utterly unprepared when his nemesis, George Wickham, entered closely behind her.
“Georgiana, what is the meaning of this?” said Darcy.
Her voice pitched high, her gestures expressive, she said, “We married over the anvil on Monday last. We are eager to?—”
“Georgie, my bride”—Wickham took her hand and pressed it to his lips—“I do not believe your brother is interested in our plans.”
Georgiana blushed.
Darcy wanted to strike the smug look from his face. His gut twisted as he struggled for composure.Blast and damnation! Married! Over the anvil? My sweet, shy, innocent sister permanently joined to that rake?
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his throat feeling like it would stick closed. “On the contrary. Nothing interests me more.” Skewering his nemesis with a withering glare, Darcy said, “Gretna Green? She is not yet sixteen, which is required by Scottish law.”
Georgiana replied, “We were married by none other than Robert Elliot, the grandson-in-law of Joseph Paisley himself. He asked only our names and places of abode, if we were both unwed and if I came of my own free will and accord, which I did. He mentioned nothing about either of our ages.”
When her chin lifted, Darcy could hardly believe her display of youthful conviction.
“Brother, you will no longer need to fret over my presentation or my coming out. I am finally free of the drudgery of school and will become exactly what our mother wanted me to be?—”
“My sister, the only daughter of Gerald Darcy and Lady Anne Darcy, granddaughter of the Earl of Matlock, eloped? And what exactly do you believe your mother wanted you to be, Georgiana? A bride of fifteen!”
Georgiana stepped back. Darcy’s arms dropped to his side. His jaw clenched so tightly that he feared his teeth might break. Did she not understand that once she stood before the blacksmith, she assigned all rights to her possessions and her flesh to Wickham?
“Fitzwilliam, we are in love. Our friends and family will understand our need to begin our lives together right away. Now that I am wed, I will be the mistress of my house, where we will rear our children to be proud of my Darcy heritage.”
Each word stung. “Yet, you are no longer a Darcy. Youare Mrs. Wickham, the bride of an impoverished man with no prospects.” His hands fisted until his knuckles burned. “Where was Mrs. Younge when all this occurred?”
Georgiana clasped her hands in front of her, her head bowed. “Since I would no longer require her service, George arranged for her to return to London, where she could seek another position.”
“He did, did he?”
Shifting his eyes from his sister to Wickham, his enemy failed to hide his self-congratulatory look.
A molten blade pierced Darcy’s heart. He tasted bile at the back of his throat.“Your pockets are to let? How much are you in debt?”
