Page 130 of The Difference of a Darcy
Throat tightening, Elizabeth gripped the barrel on which she leaned. In the hours of half-sleep she had allowed herself to believe that he must be safe by now, that help would already be on its way. But the morning light had brought no certainty. What if something had happened on the road? What if the Matlocks had not believed him—or worse, had detained him for presuming too much? Or—her heart faltered—what if Wickham had found him first?
Before she could ask another question, she heard a loud gasp. “Mrs. Wells?” she called out anxiously. “What is it?”
“Hush, Beth!”
The terror in the cook’s tone caused Elizabeth to freeze.
Through the early-morning stillness came the sound of hooves clattering on the loose gravel outside of the kitchen where the path led down to the stables.
“Someone is coming,” Mrs. Wells said. “Quick, get as far back into the scullery as you possibly can. The rest of us all know to go to our rooms or to hide; if there is no one in here, then no one can reveal where you are.”
Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. She turned back into the scullery at once, kneeling beside Georgiana. “Mrs. Georgiana,” she whispered urgently, “wake up, ma’am—quietly now.”
The girl stirred, blinking in confusion. “Beth? What is it—?”
Elizabeth pressed her hand gently over the girl’s mouth and shook her head. Then she lifted a finger to her lips. Georgiana’s eyes widened with fear, but she nodded her understanding.
Elizabeth drew her close, pulling the blankets around them both as they crouched against the far wall, doing their best to remain hidden and silent. The scullery was icy; the air smelled of damp stone and ashes, and every sound from the yard beyond seemed to echo against her heart.
The rhythmic drumming of hooves grew louder. Elizabeth held her breath and tightened her hold on Georgiana.
Please let it be Darcy.
∞∞∞
The first pale streaks of dawn were just beginning to silver the horizon when Pemberley’s great house came into view. The sight, familiar and foreign all at once, stole Darcy’s breath. The wide expanse of stone was dim in the early light, its windows dark and shuttered, and a thin mist hung low over the fields like a shroud.
The company guided their horses down the road and along the side of the manor house, where the path split go left towards the kitchen door and right in the direction ofthe stables. The colonel dismounted and surveyed the silent grounds with a frown.
“Looks like it was not a trap after all—at least, not on the way here,” he said grimly. Then turning to Darcy, he added, “I will go in and speak with my cousin. You will remain here until I can verify your story.”
Darcy stared at him in disbelief. “You cannot mean to leave me standing here! Not while my wife is in danger. I must go to her—she was being hidden in the scullery.”
The colonel cut him off with a raised hand. “You will do nothing of the sort. If what you say is true, and my cousin is indeed in peril, we can ill afford chaos. My men will stay with you. I will see to the rest.”
“Sir, please—”
But the colonel was already dismounting, striding across the gravel toward the great front doors. He flung them open and stepped inside, his voice echoing through the silent halls. “Georgiana! Georgiana Wickham!”
Darcy’s heart pounded as he listened. No sound came in answer—no footsteps, no startled cry. Only the dull whisper of the wind across the courtyard.
After several long minutes, Fitzwilliam reappeared, his expression grave. “She is not in her rooms,” he said tersely. “Where is she?”
Darcy’s pulse quickened. “Did you ask Mrs. Reynolds? Surely she would know—”
“I did not see a single soul,” the colonel replied. “The house is empty.”
A cold dread settled in Darcy’s stomach. “Then Wickham has returned,” he said hoarsely. “He must have dismissed the staff—taken her—”
He broke off, spurring his horse toward the side of the house, but the colonel’s men seized his reins before he could reach the corner. “Easy there,” one warned.
“Let me go!” Darcy struggled against them. “Every moment we waste—”
The colonel came round the corner himself, motioning for his men to follow. “We will check the kitchens,” he said curtly. “If anyone remains in the house, we shall find them there.”
They dismounted and crossed the narrow yard. The kitchen door hung slightly ajar, but the rooms beyond were still and dark. The colonel entered first, pistol drawn, his boots loud against the flagstones.
Darcy waited just outside, straining to hear. “There is no one in the kitchens,” the colonel called after a moment. Then, more sharply: “The scullery is locked!”
