The Trouble with Mr. Darcy (42 page)

Pushing herself away from the wall, Georgiana shuffled down the corridor wishing she could give in to her grief as Miss Lisa did. But then one should not cry over a nightmare, should they?

The period following the shocking garden revelation was identical to a dream. Someone screamed and Georgiana was still unsure whether it was she or Simone. She remembers bending to touch the poor rabbit, the warm fur and flutter of a heartbeat bizarrely relieving as if his life assured the survival of Lizzy and Alexander, wherever they were. Then there were shouts, running feet, and a blurred onset of commands and activity.

Simone scribbled a note, sending a groomsman to Angelo’s where she knew her husband and Darcy were. Another message was dispatched to the hospital for Dr. Darcy. Mr. Travers took charge, although there was nothing to do but wait.

Georgiana clutched on to the note, afraid to read it after the look on the butler’s face when he had, delivering it into her brother’s hands when he stormed in less than twenty minutes later. She had no time to marvel at how quickly he and Richard managed to travel from Angelo’s Academy in Soho to Grosvenor Square, her hand’s shaking and heart breaking as he silently read. Then she shrank away from the fury suffusing his face as he turned to Richard, who was reading the letter over his shoulder.

“Wickham has taken my wife and son.”

“Wickham?” Georgiana blurted, beyond stunned.

But Darcy ignored her, his eyes locked with Richard’s. “It is not his handwriting,” Richard began, holding his palm up to stay the scathing retort Darcy was about to deliver, “but I would agree it the logical conclusion. With no reason to deduce otherwise, we have the upper hand, as we know where to find him.”

“We waited too long,” Darcy interrupted, his voice shaking with rage and fear. “We should have… I should have…”

“It does not matter,” Richard snapped, his voice commanding and in control. “All that matters is getting them back. Wait here and…”

“I am not waiting for a second!” Darcy yelled, the words echoing from wall to ceiling. “They have my wife and son!”

Simone and Georgiana flinched, instinctively stepping back a pace and reaching for the other’s hand. But Colonel Fitzwilliam stood fast, his face grim but unperturbed.

“We need assistance, Cousin. There is no way to know what we are walking into. The best chance of success is with numbers. We need men who know how to handle weapons and are combat trained.”

Darcy did not reply, instead pivoting abruptly and moving toward his study. Richard sighed, turning toward Simone. “Did anyone think to send for Dr. Darcy? Well done,” he said when Simone nodded, his lips lifting in a minuscule smile that did not touch his eyes. “Darcy will require physical restraining, I fear.” And after a quick squeeze to his wife’s upper arm and the same semi-smile directed to Georgiana, he followed Darcy, mumbling, “Bloody idiot is probably loading his pistols.”

What transpired in the study between Darcy and Richard was never revealed to the females, but within five minutes Richard exited. He briefly conferred with his wife, kissing her brusquely before leaving the house.

Through it all Georgiana stood glued to the same spot, her mind unable to veer from Darcy’s firm proclamation of Wickham being the abductor.
It was impossible, all of it was impossible
, her mind screamed. Lizzy and Alexander spirited away by an unknown assailant to God knew where with unfathomable tortures being inflicted upon them was horrid enough to contemplate, not that she was allowing herself to contemplate it, but to think that Wickham…

Georgiana shuddered, her heart pounding to the point that she heard the blood rushing past her eardrums and felt the beats under the palms pressed against her breast. Wickham. The man she nearly eloped with so long ago. The man she knew to be unscrupulous and plagued by envy for her brother, but had never considered truly evil. Yet this act crossed into a place beyond evil into…

She shivered and gasped, and felt the room swimming before her glazed eyes.

“Georgiana, dearest. Come, let us sit down while the men deal with the situation.” Simone’s tender voice pierced through the haze, her hands warm and stabilizing where they grasped Georgiana’s elbows. “Mrs. Smyth,” she called to the lurking housekeeper, her eyes engaging Georgiana’s steadily, “we require tea, very hot and very strong, as quickly as possible.”

“Wickham,” Georgiana squeaked. “How?”

“Let us sit before you fall down and I will tell you what I know of the situation.”

A bitterly strong cup of scorching tea later, Georgiana persisted in believing it had to be a nightmare. But she was calmer and somewhat informed based on what Richard had told his wife of the matter since suspicions were raised in Hertfordshire.

“I cannot believe that Mr. Wickham could do this.” Georgiana paused, not certain how much Lady Simone knew of her entanglements with Wickham and not prepared to delve into that portion of her past, especially not now. “That explains William’s extra caution this past week, not that it has apparently been effective.”

“Do not be harsh on your brother. I am sure he is berating himself enough as it is. I wish he were not alone…”

Noises from the hall caused them to glance toward the door, the stomp of feet and hasty greetings of Mr. Travers followed by the appearance of Dr. Darcy, tall and serious faced with his dark, stained hospital coat covering the flowing suit of blue worn underneath.

“Ladies, can someone enlighten me as to what the bloody hell is going on?”

“I declare, Dr. Darcy, you must have flown from Whitechapel to arrive so speedily!”

“A fast horse can do wonders, my lady. Anyone I bowled over was instructed to convey my apologies to my associates and place the bill onto my account. Your note was understandably vague. Do we know what has happened? Does William know what has happened?”

“He is in his study awaiting the return of my husband with reinforcements. I am sure he needs you.”

George nodded, robes swirling as his wide stride carried him out the door, narrowly missing Mrs. Smyth, who flinched away from his body and the disgusting diseases she was sure he carried upon his person. He did not notice, intent only upon talking to his nephew, and seconds later was in the study where he would remain for a long while.

Mrs. Smyth, once recovered from the trauma of almost touching the doctor’s garments, delivered the message from Mrs. Hanford that Michael was awake and needing his mother.

Georgiana responded to the summons, as much to assist as to turn her mind away from the horrors that only grew worse. She informed the stricken nannies of Lizzy’s absence as succinctly as possible, her emotions buried while attending to her nephew. Assisting Mrs. Hanford with the chore of inducing a thoroughly angry baby to ingest warmed, sweetened cow’s milk and wheat porridge, and then rocking him to sleep while singing favorite lullabies had been an oddly comforting procedure that wrested her thoughts away from the drama beyond the nursery walls. At least to a degree as she was torn between envying Miss Lisa’s tears and shamefully wanting to throttle her!

Now she stood at the end of the hallway desperately searching for the strength to continue walking. She flipped open the dainty pocket watch fastened at her waist, shocked to note the time now a quarter to five. Barely an hour and a half since she blithely walked into the garden with Simone. Her thoughts were so scattered and clouded that the passage of time had no meaning. It could have been fifteen minutes ago or half a day and she would feel as shocked and numb.

Mrs. Smyth passed with a tray of coffee and pastries, heading toward Darcy’s study, drawing Georgiana into the present. “Mrs. Smyth. Would you please tell Mr. Darcy that Master Michael is fed and asleep? I am sure it will offer some comfort.”

The housekeeper nodded. “As you wish, Miss Darcy.”

Georgiana watched her walk away, momentarily distracted by the woman’s pained expression and clipped intonation.
She is definitely an odd woman,
Georgiana thought,
but I would not have considered her caring for Lizzy enough to be so distressed
. She shrugged, squaring her shoulders and entering the parlor.

“Needlepoint?” she exclaimed, so surprised that she released a humorless laugh. “You can focus on needlepoint?”

Simone did not glance up from her hoop. “I learned years ago that painful vigils passed quicker if my hands were occupied with something other than wringing my skirts. Precise stitchery requires concentration and calculation, thus keeping my thoughts away from dwelling upon the trouble of the moment and spinning wild with speculation. This is a new situation for me, to be sure, but I am well acquainted with periods of strain and waiting.”

“Yes, of course you are. Forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. But do not be deceived, my dear. I am frantic on the inside, doubly so as many people I love are in jeopardy and not just my son.” The needle flashed, each stitch perfectly sewn. “Of course I now have trunks filled with completed samplers, garments, pillows, and so on. Quite beneficial for Christmas and birthdays.”

She smiled at Georgiana, who again laughed, albeit briefly. “Richard has not returned?”

“No. I am sure he is acting as expeditiously as possible, but amassing an armed forced must take some time. I am fairly confident that whoever he enlists will be highly competent for the task.”

“Armed forces. Loaded pistols.” Georgiana sank heavily onto a chair across from Simone. “Lizzy and Alexander kidnapped from my house. While I was here just yards away! While servants moved about and…” She drew in a deep breath, clenching her fists to control the shaking. “Please tell me this is a nightmare from which I shall awake momentarily?”

“I wish I could, Georgiana, I truly do.”

“Should we watch for them?” She glanced to the wide windows overlooking the Square, restless anxiety wrecking havoc on her attempts to calm. “Perhaps time will be saved if I alert William as soon as they enter the Square.”

“They will come in through the mews,” Simone answered with a shake of her head, continuing at the questioning expression on Georgiana’s face, “Richard will be considerate of discretion. Best not to cause a scene. I am sure the neighbors are already spinning conjectures over what brought Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam galloping crazily into the Square.”

“Oh! I did not think of gossiping neighbors! This is horrible enough without wild tales spreading through Town!”

“Breathe, my dear, before you faint.”

“I cannot bear it, Simone. Please, tell me how you have learned to remain tranquil in crisis situations. How do you maintain your sanity and stay strong and act bravely? And do not say needlepoint!”

Simone shrugged, the needle continuing to steadily pierce the stretched linen in even strokes. “Tranquility and strength are illusions. And bravery in my case is more bravado. Trust me, crying and raging occurs. Frequently. All I have learned to do is choose the time for my emotional collapse when I am alone and not inconveniencing anyone. Well, generally so, I should say. I did try to kill my own father when my feigned acceptance and patience failed me.”

She spoke in a lighthearted tone, almost as if jesting, but Georgiana knew the pain buried underneath her carefree words. Suddenly, Lady Simone dropped the hoop into her lap, reached across the narrow space, and clasped Georgiana’s hand. “There is no shame in crying. You do not need to be brave or strong if tears are necessary. Releasing the emotion usually aids the rebuilding of one’s fortitude and restores clarity.”

Georgiana shook her head, opening her mouth to assert her intention to remain brave for her family when the door chime rang, jolting through the depressive pall heavy in the air as if a clanging cymbal. Nerves strung tighter than a coil, Georgiana jumped up, taking an involuntary step toward the doorway.

“Fret not. Mr. Travers will handle whoever it is.”

Georgiana nodded but moved closer to the foyer to overhear. Mr. Travers’s polite greeting transmitted across the expanse, but the response from behind the stout door was muted. Yet something in the hushed, mumbled tenor piqued her curiosity.

She opened the door further, peeking curiously through as a hand appeared with a folded envelope extended to the butler. “I shall see that Miss Darcy receives this as soon as she returns, sir.”

The hand disappeared, the butler beginning to close the door, when the response reached her ears. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

Instant recognition swept through her body, the musical timbre of the male voice causing her heart to lurch with joy while also pulverizing the tenuous tethers holding her emotions in check. Her legs carried her across the tiled floor before she found her voice, then shouted, “Sebastian!” startling Mr. Travers into dropping the note.

Mr. Butler was equally startled, but responded with a broad grin of happiness which lasted about two seconds before the impact of his beloved’s body knocked the air out of his lungs and nearly sent him sprawling onto the outside step. Thankfully, Mr. Travers grabbed one arm, the other instinctively clutching the wooden threshold for stability so he did not tumble with the clinging, sobbing Georgiana onto the stones, but his emotions at such a bizarre greeting were chaotic to say the least!

Years of experience paid off as the butler rallied rapidly, hauling on Mr. Butler’s arm to bring him into the foyer and slamming the door shut. Then he retrieved the fallen note and walked away as if Miss Darcy weeping in a strange man’s arms was a daily occurrence.