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Before dawn the next day

While Evan Ingram made preparations to follow Cecile, Georgiana stood mesmerized by the way her husband gave orders to the men gathered around their coach. Footmen were frantically loading trunks onto the conveyance. Meanwhile, several of the best marksmen from Pemberley as well as Rosewood, all dressed in travelling clothes, were systematically loading rifles into a trunk especially made to store them for travel and sliding pistols into pockets sewn into their jackets. She was full of pride at the way Evan took charge of the situation—sure and swift. It brought to mind memories of William. They were much alike, her husband and her dear brother—men who could be counted on to take command and inspire confidence when adversity arose.

Evan had heard from enough of his scouts to determine the direction the coach carrying Elizabeth was travelling—towards Liverpool. Liverpool! Georgiana cringed at the thought. Liverpool was a shipping port, and from there Elizabeth could be spirited out of the country in a matter of days, never to be seen or heard from again. Trying to calm her anxiously beating heart, Georgiana repeated the mantra she had clung to since Evan had decided to go after Elizabeth. All will be well. All will be well.

Having explained everything to his satisfaction, Evan glanced to the portico to find Georgiana standing in a shadowy corner of the large front entrance. Though it was still quite dark and the front door was closed, he could nevertheless make out her outline simply from her light blond hair. It reflected the glow of the torches on either side of the steps even though she stood perfectly still. Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, he took the steps towards her two at a time, well aware that he must get on the road immediately if he was to have any chance of overtaking the coach carrying Cecile and Elizabeth.

Reaching the portico, he gathered Georgiana in his arms, leaning his head atop hers and feeling her begin to shiver while he held her as tightly as possible. All he could think of at this moment was the way they had made love that night—as though he were leaving forever.

“You should not have come out in this cool air. You will fall ill.”

Georgiana shook her head against his chest, trying hard not to cry. She pasted a smile on her face as she leaned back just enough to look into his eyes. “Evan Ingram, I have ridden across Pemberley at this hour since I was old enough to sit upon a horse. It has never made me sick.”

“We both know that you were out at that hour only because you insisted on doing whatever your beloved brother did. Besides, I am sure he made certain you were well clothed for the weather. This dressing gown over your night shift is not sufficient to ward off this dampness.”

“That is why I am hiding in this corner. I do not want the others to see me dressed as I am, but I could not let you go without saying goodbye.”

Immediately, she pulled back from his embrace and grew solemn as she stared at him.

“Promise me.” She took both his hands and squeezed them tightly as she brought them to her heart, all the while searching his eyes. “Promise me that you will send me posts all along the way—just so I will know what to tell Millie when she asks about her papa.”

Evan knew just who needed reassurance. “I will, my darling. I promise.”

He kissed her, pouring all his love into the endeavour. At length, he began to feather light kisses across her face before gripping her so tightly she could barely breathe. “I will return before long with Miss Elizabeth. I have no doubt that Darcy, and probably Richard, will be in pursuit as soon as they receive my express. We shall likely converge in one place to discover her well and bring her home. Try not to worry—just pray for us all.”

Cupping his chin, she pulled his lips back to hers in a searing kiss. Then blinking back her tears, she whispered, “I love you more than life itself, Evan Ingram, and I shall pray for you every minute you are gone. Now, do what you must and return to me.”

Grateful for Ana’s courage, Evan touched his forehead to hers. “Take care of Millie, and tell her that her papa loves her dearly.” Georgiana nodded and he pulled her close for one last kiss before whispering, “I shall see you both soon, my love.”

“Soon, my love,” Georgiana repeated, biting her lip as he turned and ran back down the steps. He was in the coach in an instant, and it began to pull away into the mist as soon as the others settled inside. Hanging partially out of the open window, Evan waved until they faded completely out of sight in the fog.

Essentially all alone now, Georgiana allowed herself the luxury of crying. Still standing in the damp night air, she stared at the long driveway that had taken Evan from her and cried until she had no more tears left.

Be safe, and come back to me.

The Landmark Inn

Liverpool

Morning

Glancing about the small, unattractive room, Cecile Preston had to wonder why the sign over the inn door boasted—the finest accommodations in Liverpool. If this was the finest, she would have been loath to see the worst! Granted it was clean enough, but it was obviously quite old and very plain, with only a few well-worn pieces of furniture gracing each room. The curtains and counterpanes were equally as old and quite faded. However, this was where Wickham said for them to wait, and wait she would! With the funds he had provided, she had reserved a suite with two bedrooms and a small sitting area. At least, she reasoned, each bedroom had a balcony overlooking the water.

The view of the sea was the only redeeming feature, and Elizabeth had hurried out onto the balcony that adjoined her bedroom as soon as she had arrived. At this moment, she was examining some ships in the distance, so Cecile moved to the doorway to observe her. The smell of salty air was invigorating, and Cecile took a deep breath. Then the wind shifted in their direction, and the smell of the fish market nearby replaced the more pleasant odour with one not so pleasing. Elizabeth seemed not to notice, her eyes never leaving the vessels on the horizon as she shaded them with her hand.

It had been awkward trying to study her rival for Mr. Darcy’s affections in earnest whilst they faced one another in the carriage. Thus, Cecile was pleased to have this chance to observe her unnoticed. Sweeping Elizabeth’s comely form with envious eyes, she began a mental inventory of her assets and liabilities. Miss Elizabeth was entirely too short—just over five-feet tall with a slender figure and full breasts, which undoubtedly made fitting her gowns difficult, she thought. Her face was pleasant enough, she supposed, with a small nose and straight, white teeth that, she had to acknowledge, were perfect. Furthermore, Cecile would concede that her dark hair was lustrous, and her equally dark eyes had merit, still her complexion was much too tan, obviously the results of excessive time spent in the sun.

No, she ultimately concluded, she does not even compare to the quality of the women who have pursued Fitzwilliam Darcy!

Cecile prickled at the recollection of the myriad of dinner parties and balls where she had stood in a corner, ignored, while the beautiful women in attendance threw themselves at every eligible gentleman, including Mr. Darcy. Well aware of her lack of desirability, she had never been foolish enough to attempt anything so bold with any man. Thus, she was reduced to being an observer and not a participant at those type endeavours. Releasing a heavy sigh, Cecile realised that this pattern had followed her throughout her life until Fitzwilliam Darcy had begun to notice her. And for a few short weeks, she had revelled in the jealousy of the women of the ton. For once in her life, she had been the one everyone envied!

Suddenly flustered by this bit of remembrance, Cecile concluded with a huff—there is absolutely nothing about the physical appearance of this woman that would explain Mr. Darcy’s enthralment!

Unexpectedly, the second she settled on Elizabeth’s unsuitability, Cecile comprehended what irked her most about the woman. During this entire trip, she had been unable to fathom why Elizabeth had agreed so readily to leave Fitzwilliam Darcy—to leave behind the safety of Pemberley for his sake. There was no doubt that she would have done the exact opposite, choosing to protect herself, so her disapprobation of Elizabeth was really an attempt to soothe her seared conscience. Elizabeth Lawrence, or whatever her name, had scruples—something she was sorely lacking— and it galled her.

Still observing her rival, Cecile began to ponder the man who called himself her husband. Wickham had never disclosed what the count had done to make her flee or what he might do to Elizabeth when she was returned to him. The few times that Stefano had been mentioned, Elizabeth had been more worried about his harming Darcy than any concern for herself. Would the man kill Fitzwilliam if he were to come after her? And what would Elizabeth do once she realised that she had been deceived? Quickly, Cecile pushed those worries into the same minuscule compartment of her soul that held her conscience. Reduced to her present circumstances, she reasoned, there was no room for sympathy for anyone other than herself.

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her musings. She opened it to find a maid holding a tray of tea and sandwiches—enough to suffice until dinner—so she stood back to let her enter. Surprisingly, as the maid set the tray down, Cecile noticed that it held delicate china cups with a matching teapot, something that seemed out of place in the barren room. Smiling, she sat down and poured a cup of the steaming brew before the maid could even exit, adding a lump of sugar before bringing it to her lips. It was just what she needed to calm her nerves, so she enjoyed another sip before rising to collect Elizabeth.