Page 8 of The Engagement at Longbourn

“He has borne it as well as could be expected.”

Elizabeth stood. “Will he live?”

The doctor looked at her closely. “If fever does not take him.”

That night, fever came.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Missing Gentleman

In London, Georgiana Darcy waited until nine o’clock before admitting she was frightened.

Her brother was never late without sending word. At ten, the housekeeper at Darcy House had sent a servant to Bingley’s residence.

Charles Bingley had arrived from an afternoon engagement and been surprised to learn that Darcy had not reached town. “Not reached town?” he repeated.

“But Caroline said he meant to ride.” Miss Bingley, who had been installed in her brother’s drawing room for less than three hours and already disliked the curtains, looked sharply at him.

“He may have stopped at an inn.”

“Darcy?” Bingley said. “Without sending word to his sister?”

Georgiana’s hands tightened in her lap.

Bingley noticed. “No, no. Of course he is perfectly well. There will be some ordinary explanation.”

“There generally is,” Georgiana said, though she did not believe it. At midnight a rider was sent back toward Hertfordshire. By morning there was still no news. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam arrived at Darcy House shortly after breakfast because Georgiana’s note had contained only nine words: Fitzwilliam has not come home. No one knows why.

Richard read it once and left his coffee untouched. He entered his cousin’s house in cavalry boots, carrying his gloves and a temper. “Where was he last seen?”

“At Netherfield,” Georgiana said. “He meant to ride to London.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Richard swore under his breath.

“Richard.”

“Forgive me.” He kissed the top of her head. “I am swearing at your brother, not in your hearing.”

“That seems a distinction without a difference.”

He gave her a quick grin. “There is the Darcy wit. Good. Keep it. I shall bring the idiot home.”

Within an hour Colonel Fitzwilliam had two men with him and was riding north.

They stopped at posting inns, asked after a tall dark gentleman on a bay horse, and learned very little. One ostler remembered him. Another thought he had seen a gentleman of that description. A farmer insisted a bay horse had galloped loose across a field near Meryton the previous morning but could not say where it went.

That was enough to turn Richard cold.

They reached Meryton near noon. The town was busy with Saturday trade. Carts clogged the main street. Women stood before the butcher’s. Two militia officers crossed toward the inn. Richard dismounted before the Red Lion to ask for news.

He had not yet spoken when he heard a woman at the pump say, “—at Longbourn, poor gentleman, with his leg broken something dreadful, and Miss Lizzy found him herself.”

Richard turned. “What gentleman?”