By this time her aunt and uncle had reached the pavement. Mr Gardiner's usually cheerful countenance betrayed unmistakable relief as he embraced his niece with genuine affection. "My dear girl," he said, holding her at arm's length to assure himself she was indeed safe and well, "you have managed to give us all a very uncomfortable week."
"I am so sorry."
"My dear," he replied at once, "you did not summon the flood."
Mrs Gardiner smiled as she stepped forward to embrace Elizabeth in her turn. Pregnancy lent a particular softness to her countenance and her eyes were glassy. "You are home now," she said simply. "Nothing else matters."
For one brief moment Elizabeth allowed herself to believe it.
The familiar hallway smelled of beeswax and baking bread. The children chattered all at once as they escorted her inside, each determined to be the first to tell her of some small triumph or mischief accomplished during her absence, whilst Mrs Gardiner insisted that tea should be brought immediately and Mr Gardiner declared that no traveller ought to answer a single question before being properly fed.
It was all so wonderfully ordinary that Elizabeth felt herself begin to breathe again. Whatever had happened at the Golden Goose belonged to another Elizabeth, stranded by a storm upon a forgotten road. Here, amongst the warmth of Gracechurch Street, she would find herself again.
Chapter Sixteen
Darcy had never before found his London study so ill-suited to purpose. It was a room intended for calm reflection, its shelves lined with orderly ranks of books, its escritoire perfectly arranged and its windows overlooking the elegance of Berkeley Square. Ordinarily he valued precisely those qualities. Today they seemed only to magnify his impatience. He had crossed the room so often since breakfast that even Burke had ceased pretending not to notice.
The letter had been dispatched within an hour of his arrival in London. It had contained no explanation beyond the urgent request that Colonel Fitzwilliam come to Berkeley Square with all possible haste. Darcy had trusted that those few words would suffice. Richard knew him too well to mistake urgency for exaggeration, yet two days had now passed with no sign of his cousin and every passing hour seemed another hour in which Captain Henderson remained at liberty.
Burke continued arranging the morning correspondence with a calm composure that was grating on Darcy’s last nerve.
"I cannot imagine what is detaining him."
Burke glanced up briefly. "I imagine, sir, that the colonel has encountered precisely the same inconveniences upon the road asevery other traveller. The storm has done lasting damage, and the weather never did show much respect for rank."
"He ought to have been here yesterday."
"I daresay he thought so himself."
Darcy returned to the window, though there was nothing to be seen that he had not already studied a dozen times. Carriages rolled steadily across the square, footmen hurried about their employers' business and a lady in an extravagantly feathered bonnet had spent the last quarter of an hour attempting to persuade an exceedingly obstinate pug to continue its walk. The ordinary business of London proceeded with its usual unconcern, whilst the one man Darcy required appeared determined not to arrive at all.
At length he turned away with an expression of increasing dissatisfaction.
"It is intolerable."
"Patience has never been one of your virtues," said Burke mildly. He had to turn away to hide a smile when Darcy growled at him like a bad-tempered tiger. Darcy opened his mouth to return a more verbose rebuke when the sharp rap of the knocker echoed through the house.
A moment later voices carried faintly from the hall below, followed by the unmistakable sound of an animated greetingdelivered in the cheerful carrying tones of a man who had spent many years making himself heard across parade grounds.
Burke's mouth twitched. "I believe your wait is at an end, sir."
The study door opened without ceremony.
"Darcy, my dear fellow! And Burke, just the man! Could you pour me a brandy before I die of thirst?"
Colonel Fitzwilliam entered without waiting to be formally announced. He stripped off his gloves as he crossed the room, tossed them onto a side table, flung his hat and travelling coat across the nearest chair and dropped languidly into a seat. A moment later his boots were resting comfortably upon the edge of Darcy's desk. Only then did he glance up at his cousin with cheerful curiosity.
"I have abandoned perfectly respectable company and endured two nights at inns of distinctly doubtful character, all because you sent me the most mysterious letter I have received in years. I confess I have been inventing explanations for the last twenty miles."
Darcy sat opposite him with folded arms and a scowl that would have discouraged most men. Fitzwilliam, long since inured to such looks, merely examined his cousin's face with increasing curiosity.
"I had settled upon a duel. Now I am less certain."
Darcy made no attempt to answer the jest and a flicker of pain crossed his features. The change in Fitzwilliam was immediate. The easy smile faded from his face and, after a brief hesitation, he lowered his boots from the desk and leaned forward, his forearms resting upon his knees. A drink appeared at his elbow courtesy of Burke and he tossed it back.
"Very well," he said quietly. "Whatever this is, it is plainly no laughing matter. Tell me how I can be of use."
Darcy remained silent for a moment. "I need to find a man," he said at last. "Captain Henderson."
