Prologue #2
“My plan,” Sally said quietly, “was to wait until Mrs. Younge and Miss Darcy left—I thought I could speak to Mr. Filkins, the butler, or even send an express myself. Or walk to the post if I had to. But I was afraid. If I left too soon, she might… they might go early, and Miss Darcy would be alone.”
Darcy looked at her for a long moment.
Sally’s chin trembled, but her eyes did not waver. “I am sorry, sir. I know I should have found a way sooner. But I did not want to leave her.”
His anger softened—not extinguished, but redirected. He saw now the impossible trap the girl had been caught in. And in truth, she had done the most important thing she could have: she had stayed.
“Thank you,” he said at last. “For not abandoning her. That alone may have made the difference.”
Sally’s eyes filled with tears.
“I am going to give you something,” he said quietly, stepping to the escritoire and opening a small case. From within, he removed two crisp five-pound notes.
Her eyes widened.
“This first one is for you, as a way of expressing my gratitude for your loyalty.” He extended it, and she reached out with a trembling hand.
“This other is for emergencies only,” he said. “If ever there is danger again—if Wickham or anyone else returns, if Georgiana is in distress—you will use it to send me word. Any delay could be disastrous. Is that understood?”
Sally took it solemnly, hands shaking. “Yes, sir. I swear it. I’ll keep it with me always.”
Darcy gave a terse nod. “Good. Now please return to my sister’s room and begin packing. We will return to London tomorrow. Tell her nothing of Mrs. Younge for now. I shall speak with her myself later, once she has calmed.”
Sally curtsied deeply and slipped from the room. He sat down and the desk, ran a hand through his hair, and began to write.
Richard,
I know this letter will not reach you in Spain for quite some weeks, but I needed to tell you about Georgiana’s experience in Ramsgate.
Do you remember my old playmate from childhood?
Well, she encountered him here, of all places.
Is that not the most strange coincidence?
Fortunately, I arrived in time before he departed.
It is a pity you could not be here to give him your regards.
The companion your mother interviewed was also required to depart, which has greatly saddened my sister.
Due to her feelings on the matter, we will be traveling to London as soon as may be.
She misses you, and so I believe residing with your parents under your mother’s care will be best for her tender emotions.
It is so strange to think that she has grown so much and is nearly the age to be married, though I know I hope for a few more years yet before she makes such a decision. It would not do for her to choose poorly because of a young girl’s fancy.
Please do take care. I will admit that I will be greatly relieved once you have returned to England’s shores.
Darcy
He kept the letter vague, just in case it fell into the wrong hands, but he knew Richard would understand its meaning. He wrote the address and summoned a footman to have it delivered immediately. His job complete, his mind returned once more to his sister.
He climbed the staircase to the family rooms with long, clipped strides, his anger only barely kept in check by years of practiced self-control. He stopped before Georgiana’s door, knocked once firmly, and called her name.
“Georgiana? May I come in?”
“No!” came the immediate reply, high and sharp through the wood. “You have broken my heart. I will never speak to you again.”
Darcy drew a slow breath and let it out through his nose. “I understand that you are upset—”
“You understand nothing!” she cried. “He loves me. And I love him. Why would you be so cruel? Why would you take him from me?”
His jaw tensed. “Because he is a terrible man, Georgiana. He sought to take advantage of you—”
“You always hated him,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “You never gave him a chance. Why do you despise him so much? What has he ever done to you?”
Darcy closed his eyes. “That is not a fit subject for discussion with a young lady, especially one who is not yet out.”
“Do not speak to me like I am a child!” she shouted.
“I speak to you as your guardian.”
“I wish you were not my guardian!” she shrieked. “I wish you were not even my brother! Then I could do as I pleased!”
Darcy’s heart twisted. The words struck deeper than he could admit. For a moment, he said nothing.
When he spoke again, his voice was colder. “We shall not continue this discussion. I expect you to be packed and ready by eight o’clock. We depart for London at first light.”
“I will be glad to go,” she snapped. “At least then I may return to my establishment and be free of your tyranny.”
Darcy’s voice turned iron. “You shall do no such thing. Mrs. Younge has been dismissed—permanently—and you will not be living alone again.”
“I will not live with you!” she cried. “You are horrid!”
“I am not offering that option,” he said, tight-lipped. “I am a bachelor. You will reside with the Matlocks until a more suitable arrangement can be made.”
“I refuse.”
“Then you may prefer Rosings. I am certain Lady Catherine would have a strict regimen ready for you within the hour.”
There was a strangled gasp—then the thump of something soft being thrown across the room.
“I will never speak to you again!” she wailed.
Darcy’s temper snapped.
“Well, then I shall be grateful for your silence,” he said, voice clipped. “I would not care to hear such childish nonsense from a girl who bears the Darcy name and is the granddaughter of an earl. You do not know how fortunate you are.”
“I hate you!”
He stepped back from the door, shoulders stiff. “So be it. I expect you dressed and downstairs at the appointed time. We will leave without delay.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away, his boots heavy on the stairs. His hands shook slightly as he reached the bottom landing.
Righteous indignation burned through him—justified, he told himself. He had arrived just in time to rescue her. To protect her. To shield the Darcy name from shame.
But behind the anger, beneath the pride, something deeper throbbed.
She had wished he were not her brother.
And part of him feared that, perhaps, she meant it.