Page 29 of Companions of Their Youth
“You are a statue. A handsome statue, but stone, nonetheless. It is a miracle you danced with Rebecca, and as she is happily engaged to my brother, it does not truly count.”
Darcy inclined his head. “I thought it might soothe your mother’s nerves if I stood up with someone before midnight.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Yes, but now the gossips are saying you may have decided to persuade her from him.”
Darcy looked away. The weight of eyes seemed to press against the back of his neck—real or imagined, he could not tell.
“I need air,” he muttered.
Without another word, he made his way to the vestibule, gathered his greatcoat and hat, and ordered his carriage home.
The London air was thick and damp. Horse hooves echoed down cobbled lanes as gas lamps flickered weakly. Darcy said nothing as he dismounted from the carriage at his townhouse and ascended the stairs.
One of the footmen met him in the entryway. “A message came for you, sir,” he said. “Delivered by hand not long ago.”
Darcy froze. “Did they say who sent it?”
“No, sir. It was just left with the butler. He thought it might be from your solicitor.”
Darcy took the envelope with deliberate care. He recognized the handwriting at once.
Slanted. Feminine. Too perfect.
He moved to the study, shut the door, and broke the seal.
There was no greeting. No signature. Only a line:
Some men take a beautiful young girl and hide her away from the world. But she still will want to walk out in the sun with her parasol. Girls just want to have fun, after all.
He stood frozen for a long moment. Then, without hesitation, he rang for his valet.
“Pack my trunk,” he said sharply. “I am leaving for Ramsgate at first light.”
∞∞∞
The sea wind howled as Fitzwilliam Darcy dismounted in front of the leased house on the cliffs of Ramsgate. His coat was stiff with dust from the road after almost two days of riding in the carriage. The horses had been pushed mercilessly, but he had not stopped, except to change them every few hours—not since reading that note.
But she will still want to walk in the sun…
The words seemed so innocent, but he knew better. He had not even waited to have breakfast at the inn that morning, choosing instead to eat some cold biscuits in the carriage in order to leave as soon as the sun had risen.
Flinging the front door open, he ignored a gaping maid who had paused on the stairs. “Where is my sister?” he demanded of the footman, who was hastily closing the door behind his master.
Before he could answer, Mrs. Younge burst from a room down the hall from the foyer, her cap askew and her face pale. “Mr. Darcy! Thank heavens!”
He caught her by the elbows. “Where is she? Where is Georgiana?”
She motioned for him to follow him into the drawing room she had just vacated. “She left this morning after sending down a note that she was too unwell for breakfast,” she told him grimly after having closed the door. “I sent an express to you this afternoon, sir. I have been unable to locate her at any of her usual places.”
“Herusualplaces? Are you telling me she often leaves the house unaccompanied?”
Mrs. Younge shook her head with vehemence. “Absolutely not, sir. This is the first time. I mean to say that I have checked the lending library, her favorite place to sit on the beach to sketch—all places that she would request to go towith me.”
“Then why the devil would she leave unaccompanied.”
“I think an old friend of yours may be part of the reason.”
“An old friend?”
