Page 189 of A Question of Character

His eyes seized upon the date.

Not a week.

Yesterday.

The room seemed to lurch, though he knew he sat perfectly still.

A second folded note had been enclosed. Not Georgiana’s hand. Mrs. Annesley’s.

Sir,

I write in great distress. Miss Darcy’s maid, overcome by guilt, brought me the enclosed letter this morning, though she had been instructed to send it after a week had passed. Miss Darcy complained last night of a severe megrim and requested that she not be disturbed today. Her maid reports that she believed her mistress asleep and permitted the deception to continue for several hours before remorse overcame her. Miss Darcy had assured her that her brother intended to imprison her in the country until she surrendered all thought of marriage. The maid had believed herself the ally of a persecuted young woman, not the accomplice of a deceiver. The enormity of what she had done overcame her loyalty.

Miss Darcy is gone. I have sent to Colonel Fitzwilliam and await instruction, but I thought it necessary that you should know without delay.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Annesley

Gone.

Darcy stood so quickly the chair struck the wall behind him.

“Fletcher.”

“Sir?”

“My boots. My coat. Send for my horse. No, two horses saddled. Now.”

Fletcher moved at once.

Darcy crossed the room, then back again, letter still clutched in his hand. Yesterday. She had left yesterday. London. The roads. Gretna was too far for any immediate marriage, unless a license had been procured elsewhere, unless—

His mind recoiled from every possibility.

Who?

He knew who his fear supplied.

But this time fear could not be permitted to decide.

Wickham was at Longbourn. Wickham called upon Miss Lydia Bennet twice a week, and today was one of those days. Darcy had intended to go there to speak with him.

Now he would go there to discover whether he had been the greatest fool in England.

If Wickham was there, then Georgiana was not with him.

If Wickham was there—

Darcy gripped the mantel until the edge bit into his palm.

“Mr. Bingley?” Fletcher asked from the doorway.

“Tell him I have urgent family business. He is not to follow unless I send.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And have a rider prepared to leave for Colonel Fitzwilliam.”