Page 15 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
He nodded. “Very well. I shall do the same. My sister is at our townhouse and I must tell her I will be away.”
She gave him her uncle’s address. He escorted her to the carriage, which would drop her at her uncle’s house. She would collect what she needed and wait for him across the street, safely hidden until he collected her.
As they parted, she looked out of the carriage at him, feeling like the unlikely heroine of her own improbable tale, about to embark on an adventure with an unknown ending.
Chapter 5
Darcy
Fitzwilliam Darcy strode through the entrance hall of Darcy House, rain dripping from his greatcoat. The downpour had surprised him as he’d made his way back to his house from the park.
He was soaked through the bone now but oddly enough, gratitude filled him as this meant the party leaving the church would be delayed, allowing time for the young lady to retrieve her belongings without being caught.
His boots left wet imprints with each step as he made his way towards his study. Fletcher, his valet, appeared, his face betraying only mild surprise at his master’s bedraggled appearance.
“Good evening, sir,” Fletcher said, reaching for the sodden greatcoat as Darcy shrugged it off. “I did not expect you until much later.”
“Change of plans, Fletcher.” Darcy ran a hand through his damp hair, scattering droplets of rainwater. “I require you to pack immediately for an extended journey.”
“Extended, sir?” Fletcher’s eyebrows rose a fraction.
“Yes. I will leave for the north within the hour. Pack sufficient clothing for at least a fortnight of travel.”
Fletcher nodded, absorbing this information with professional composure. “Very good, sir. May I ask your destination?”
Darcy hesitated. “First Scotland, then Pemberley.”
“Scotland, sir?” This time, even Fletcher’s well—his trained impartiality faltered.
“Yes, Fletcher. Scotland.” Darcy’s tone brooked no further enquiry. “And ensure that my travel writing desk is prepared with ample paper and ink.”
“Of course, sir. And shall I fetch Mrs Annesley to prepare your sister for departure?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I shall travel on my own.”
Fletcher bowed and departed, no doubt already mentally cataloguing the necessary items for such a journey.
Alone in the hallway, Darcy exhaled slowly, the weight of his impulsive decision settling upon his shoulders. Had he taken leave of his senses? He, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, who prided himself on rational thought and measured action, had just proposed marriage to a runaway bride.
Yet as he entered his study, he could not bring himself to regret it. Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s forthright manner had struck him immediately. Her determination to escape a marriage that would stifle her spirit, even at great personal cost, revealed a strength of character he could not help but admire.
Darcy lit a lamp and settled at his mahogany desk, drawing out two sheets of paper. The first letter would be to Lord Matlock, explaining his sudden departure on the pretextof urgent estate business at Pemberley. The second would be to Bingley, offering apologies for cancelling their plans to visit Netherfield.
As he dipped his quill in ink, Darcy’s mind returned to Miss Elizabeth’s situation. She had been moments from marrying Jonathan Blackfriars. It had not occurred to him until he’d replayed the entire conversation in his mind on his way back that he knew of the fellow. In the London financial circles, he was known for his ruthlessness. Darcy had never met Blackfriars personally, but he had heard enough about his business practises to feel instinctively that Miss Elizabeth had made the right choice in fleeing such a match.
His quill scratched across the paper as he composed a deliberately vague explanation to his uncle. He would simply state that matters at Pemberley required his immediate attention—a half truth, for he did intend to take his new bride there once they were married. The thought gave him pause. His bride. A week ago, even a day ago, the notion would have been unthinkable.
“Brother?”
Darcy looked up to find Georgiana standing in the doorway, her expression concerned.
“Georgiana.” He set down his quill and rose. “Come in.”
“Fletcher informed me you are packing for a journey to Scotland. Is something amiss?”
Darcy gestured for her to sit, then resumed his own seat behind the desk. “Not amiss, precisely. But I have made a decision that will significantly alter our circumstances.”
“What sort of decision?”
