Page 30 of Companions of Their Youth
She swallowed hard. “I hate to say such a thing about a man you and your late father have held in complete trust, but I am afraid that Mr. Wickham has been quite a negative influence on your sister.”
He froze. “GeorgeWickham.”
“Yes, that is what she called him. We met him by chance walking along the boardwalk one day. She claimed they werefamily friends, and that you and he had often played together as children.”
“Well,thatpart is true, at least.”
“I was reluctant to allow it, but she seemed very happy to see him, and even a few of the older servants recognized him.” She shrugged helplessly. “I allowed it, but something seemed… off. He is quite handsome, but he is also too… confident. Too smooth. I warned her the day before last that I would not allow him to call anymore until I heard from you about him, and she went into such a rage.”
Oh Lord, please do not let her be eloping with him,he thought.But surely he would not do such a thing? Not with her.
Mrs. Younge paused and swallowed again before saying, “To be honest, sir, that is why I did not insist she come down to breakfast. I thought she was still upset, and that giving her space and time would do her some good. I confess I did not know she had left until I went upstairs to insist she come down to lunch.”
“Didanyonesee her this morning?”
“Only her maid, who took her a tray for breakfast.”
“Summon her,” he ordered.
Mrs. Younge pulled the bell and told the answering maid to “fetch Sally, quickly.” Darcy paced the room as they waited, his composure near its breaking point.
“I have kept it from getting out to the servants, though, sir,” Mrs. Younge assured him. “Only Sally knows, and she will not tell—she is quite loyal to the Darcy family.”
“Yes, she is from Derbyshire; her aunt is my housekeeper,” he replied, absent-minded. “That is why she was chosen for the position.”
The door opened, and Sally entered the room. She did not have much information, other than Miss Darcy had requested her muslin walking gown with a sash in the back, and that her slippers she used for walking on the beach were missing.
“But I checked the shoreline and did not see her,” Mrs. Younge cried.
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “I will go myself. You remain here in case she returns. Sally, come with me.”
The door had scarcely shut behind Sally before Darcy was out of it again, striding across the gravel path and around the hedgerow toward the cliff trail that led down to the beach. The sky had darkened from the east, sea wind pressing cold and sharp against his cheeks, but he scarcely felt it. His boots slipped once on the narrow path, but he did not slow. Sally hurried behind him, her skirt catching brambles, nearly running to keep pace.
At the base of the trail, the shoreline stretched wide and empty, the tide drawing long foam-edged lines across the sand. No parasols. No picnic blanket. No signs of his sister.
“Are there coves nearby? Places she could be hidden from view?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Sally called, catching her breath. “To the left—behind the rocks—there is a small one she likes for sketching. It is just round the bend!”
He broke into a run.
The sand was loose and clinging, but he pressed on, boots pounding. His heart was a roar in his ears, louder than the wind or the sea.Let her be alone. Let this be a misunderstanding. Let her be safe.
He rounded the rock and saw them.
His sister—fifteen-year-old Georgiana—was seated on a man’s lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her pale muslin skirts gathered up around her calves.
Darcy stopped, thunderstruck. For one moment, he could neither breathe nor move.
Then he surged forward.
Wickham saw him first.
His face drained of color. He tried to shift Georgiana, to push her off with a murmured “Get off—Georgie, let go,” but she clung tighter.
“Brother?” she called, blinking up as Darcy stormed closer.
“Georgiana!” His voice cracked like a whip.
