No Longer the Master of Pemberley

Prologue

Fitzwilliam Darcy scowled at the storm clouds hovering over St James’s Street.

If the oppressive heat and sweltering humidity weren’t bad enough, the day only needed rain to make it perfectly miserable.

Adding to his annoyance, his carriage was nowhere in sight.

After meeting for drinks with his close friend Charles Bingley, he was ready to spend a quiet evening at home with a good book.

“Are you certain you won’t attend the assembly tonight, Darcy? It promises to be a splendid affair,” Charles said with his usual inexhaustible optimism.

Darcy could think of nothing he would enjoy less. “Maybe next time,” he said.

“Ah, well, I’ll convey your regards to everyone,” Charles said as his driver approached. “Here’s Lockhart. See you soon.”

The driver promptly carried him off, leaving Darcy to cool his heels alone on the busy flagway.

Passersby scurried to and fro, attempting to reach their destinations ahead of the rain. Emerging from within the crowd, a craggy bearded man approached wearing a black hooded robe. Besides thinking the old man rather unkempt, Darcy found his odd attire vastly unsuited to the scorching temperature.

“If you value your sister, you will hie to Ramsgate.”

“How dare you speak to me,” Darcy snarled, incensed by the stranger’s presumptions.

“The wolf is at the door.”

Darcy recoiled as a loud clap of thunder resounded through the air, sending people running in every direction. In the next instant, the hooded man was gone.

“What insolence,” he said as the first drops of rain began to fall. He opened his umbrella and grasped the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing away. Fortunately, his coachman arrived with the carriage before he was soaked to the skin, and he boarded for the short ride home.

Still, that ominous message lingered. He knew he had no cause for alarm on his sister’s behalf.

Georgiana was well protected with her companion, lady’s maid, and trusted footman.

But he couldn’t help wondering how the old man knew she was in Ramsgate.

London was thin of company at this time of year.

Was her summer residence widely known? Had the bearded stranger learned of her location from some nefarious source?

By the time he arrived at Grosvenor, he had made his decision. He gave the order, and within the hour, he had changed clothes and was on the road headed east.

Hours after the sun had set, he arrived in Ramsgate.

Georgiana welcomed him with a warm embrace. “Fitzwilliam, what a lovely surprise.”

“I couldn’t stay away, sweetling.”

His dear sister was in excellent spirits, and Darcy concluded that his fears had been entirely unfounded.

Her companion, Mrs Younge, seemed less happy to see him. “Do you intend to make a long stay?” she inquired.

Darcy didn’t care for her insolent question. “My plans are not yet fixed,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She bobbed a slight curtsy and left him alone with Georgiana.

“Are you enjoying the sea?” Darcy inquired.

Her eyes glimmered with delight. “Oh yes, the air is so invigorating. I love promenading along the coast and watching the waves.”

He led her to the sofa and sat beside her. “Is it much crowded?”

“Only sometimes, but I don’t mind the crowds. Everyone is so jolly. We all had ices today, and it was great fun.”

This gave him pause. “Did you meet someone we know from town?”

She shook her head. “Not from town, from home. Our old friend, Mr Wickham.”

A wave of revulsion coursed through him at the sound of that name on her lips. “Wickham? What’s he doing in Ramsgate?”

“It was only by the merest chance that we ran into him, but so lovely to see him again after all these years.”

Of course, Georgiana knew nothing of Darcy’s past disputes with George Wickham.

However, recalling his most recent confrontation with his former friend, he suspected some scheme was afoot.

The last he’d heard, George hadn’t a feather to fly with.

How had he secured the funds to travel to Kent and pay for lodgings? “Does he have friends in Ramsgate?”

“None that I know of, except for Mrs Younge and me.”

Darcy couldn’t fathom how the head mistress of a seminary for young ladies could be acquainted with the likes of George Wickham, the scourge of Derbyshire.

“I knew you wouldn’t mind my seeing George, especially since Papa loved him like a son.”

An ominous chill crept into his core. This sounded eerily similar to the argument Wickham had used to coerce Darcy into cancelling a previous agreement. “Do you have plans to see him again?”

“Oh yes, and I hope you’ll join us. We’re betrothed to be married,” she said with a radiant smile.

“Betrothed?” he said in a sharp tone. “How is this possible without my consent?”

She flinched and hung her head. “George was afraid you would disapprove.”

“I certainly do not approve, nor should any respectable man offer marriage to a young lady without her guardian’s knowledge.”

Keeping her focus on the floor, she wrung her hands. “That’s precisely what he thought you would say,” she said in a meek voice. “But sometimes when two people love each other, and the world is against them, there’s nothing else to do but elope to the border.”

“Elope! Dear God, don’t tell me you agreed to this scheme,” he said, aghast at her imprudence. “It’s scandalous. You would be in disgrace for the rest of your life—to say nothing of the degradation to the Darcy name.”

Georgiana sniffed into her handkerchief. “I’m sorry, Fitzwilliam. Please don’t be cross with me.”

Clenching his jaw to regain control of his temper, he gently held his trembling sister in his arms. “This isn’t your fault, Georgiana.

George Wickham is well aware of the unseemliness of Gretna marriages and is perfectly willing to subject you to the scorn of the world to secure your dowry.

He’s unworthy of you.” What’s more, he suspected her companion had conspired with Wickham and arranged for him to meet Georgiana.

Now in a rage, Darcy called for Mrs Younge.

After a brief interview, his suspicions were confirmed – she and Wickham had persuaded Georgiana to agree to the elopement.

He discharged her immediately and had her removed from the house.

He then composed a letter to advise his former friend that there would be no elopement and sent a footman to deliver it to Wickham’s lodgings.

An hour later, he had the satisfaction of learning that Wickham had left the area.

At first light the next day, he set out on the road back to London. Georgiana wept all the way home.

***

A Warm September Evening

Possessed of a large inheritance and educated at the finest university in the kingdom, Charles Bingley longed to live the life of a gentleman on an estate of his own. Despite his roots in trade, his fortune now opened doors that had been closed to his late father.

Although he currently resided at his brother-in-law’s house on Grosvenor Street, he liked to imagine himself sitting at the head of the table, entertaining his friends and hosting grand parties at his own manor house, just like his friend Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Nothing prevented him from realising his dream, except that he had no idea how to go about finding a suitable property. Fortunately, Darcy had plenty of connections to assist with that endeavour, and Charles intended to ask for his friend’s advice at his earliest opportunity.

This evening, however, he put that matter aside to devote himself to the pursuit of an angel.

Miss Destiny Haversham had graced him with the honour of sitting beside her at an open-air performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Vauxhall Gardens.

Although Shakespearean plays were far from his favourite pastime, they were deuced dull in all honesty, being in this fair maiden’s company had made it all worthwhile.

The lady’s spinster aunt had been a bit of a bother, but since she was Destiny’s chaperone, Charles had endured her frequent interruptions.

After the theatre company had taken their final bows, he escorted Miss Destiny through the crush of the crowd towards her waiting conveyance. “Did you enjoy the performance, Mr Bingley?” she inquired.

“It was entirely delightful.” Truth be told, he hadn’t paid much attention to the players. Instead, he had spent the evening admiring Destiny’s charms. Just eighteen and recently out to society, this fair-haired, blue-eyed beauty had thoroughly captivated him.

“Will I see you at the assembly tomorrow night, Mr Bingley?” Destiny asked.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said. “May I reserve the first set with you?”

“Oh, Mr Bingley, how thoughtful you are.”

In the next moment, they came upon Darcy, his sister, and her new companion, Mrs Annesley. Charles introduced the party to Miss Destiny and her aunt, Miss Haversham. “What a splendid performance this evening,” he said.

Darcy agreed. “We were just saying the same.”

An elderly man with a long, white beard stepped forward, blocking their progress.

Since the man wore a flowing black robe with a hood over his wildly unkempt white hair, Charles assumed that he must be an actor in tonight’s play, although he couldn’t fathom why the man hadn’t changed out of his costume on such a warm evening.

Shaking a gnarled fist, the old man glared at Darcy. “You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, with meekness and humility; but your heart is crammed with arrogancy, spleen and pride.”

A bolt of lightning lit the sky, followed by booming thunder and rain. Charles raised his umbrella as the chaotic crowd rushed to the exit. Destiny and her aunt ran off together, with Miss Darcy and her companion following right behind.

To Charles’s amazement, the hooded man had disappeared. “Who was that, and what was he going on about?” he inquired as he and Darcy followed the crowd to the gates.

“Who knows?” Darcy said. “He quoted Henry VIII instead of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He can’t be as well versed in Shakespeare as he supposes.”

Since Charles wasn’t well versed on either play, he offered no opinion on the matter. “Never mind him, Darcy. I’m thinking of buying an estate in the country. Do you know someone who can recommend an excellent property?”

“Indeed, Mr Morris on Lombard Street is just the man,” he said. “Tell him I sent you.”

“Capital! When I find the perfect place, you must come and visit me,” Charles said, then waved as Darcy rushed off to join his sister.

Despite the clamour and confusion at the gate, Charles found his driver and boarded his chaise for the short ride home.

He relaxed into the squabs, pleased with the prospect of enjoying another splendid evening with his favourite lady and encouraged by the possibility of realising his dream of owning a proper gentleman’s estate.

With any luck, Charles would soon be the master of his own domain.