Page 33 of Companions of Their Youth
She swatted his hand away and ran up the stairs, sobbing loudly. Mrs. Younge looked to Darcy, who nodded at her, and she followed her charge to the family wing on the second floor.
Darcy turned and motioned silently toward the study. Once inside, he shut the door and walked straight to the sideboard, pulling down a pair of glasses and uncorking the brandy. He poured generously and slid one toward his cousin.
“Well,” Richard said, settling into the nearest chair. “That went poorly. What happened?”
Darcy sank into the seat across from him and took a long swallow before telling him everything.
The meeting. The manipulation. The cove.
Wickham.
Richard listened, his face growing graver by the minute. When the story was finished, he rubbed a hand over his face. “God in Heaven. I imagined Wickham hated you when yourefused to give him the living, but I had no idea he would act in revenge. Is Georgiana… did she—”
“No one saw. No one knows.” Darcy’s voice was flat. “And I will see to it that no one ever does.”
“Will there be any… consequences of her behavior?”
“A child?” Darcy snorted. “I doubt it. She was still mostly clothed when I found them, and that was the first time they had truly been left alone together. Mrs. Younge was quite diligent in her care.”
“Thank heaven for that.”
A knock interrupted them. A footman entered silently and placed a sealed envelope on the desk.
“For you, sir. It was delivered just now.”
Darcy paled.
He broke the seal and read the contents, his mouth hardening as his eyes moved down the page.
“What? What is it?” Richard’s voice was urgent.
Darcy handed it to him, then poured himself more brandy. Richard read silently as Darcy downed his glass.
I fear we are facing a problem, Darcy… I spend my nights awake, wondering what I could have done in another way so that you will say that you love me, that you need me. I cry, and I pray, and beg for you to do so.
“Who wrote this?” Richard demanded. “How could they already know what occurred?”
“I have no idea,” Darcy said glumly. “I have not been able to discover the source of these letters.”
“Letters? As in more than one? This is not the first?”
“No.”
Darcy moved to the corner cabinet and withdrew a small wooden box, locked with a brass clasp. He unlocked it and handed it over.
Richard opened the lid and slowly lifted several folded notes and tokens: a ribbon, a dried sprig of lavender, pressed petals. Each with handwriting so exact and so delicate it made his skin crawl.
Richard swore under his breath. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since May. The handwriting is female. The messages never come by post, but simply appear on the doorstep. But at times they have arrived somewhere in the house. One even showed up on my pillow with Bates none the wiser.”
Richard turned back to the letter. “She knew. She knew about Ramsgate.”
“I believe she has a servant’s access. Or is being helped by someone who does.”
Richard was silent for a long moment. “You need to disappear.”
Darcy looked up.
