CHAPTER1
SEPTEMBER 1811, PEMBERLEY
Fitzwilliam Darcy leaned against the limestone column in his mother’s rose garden and breathed deeper than he had in the last three months.
His little sister was safe. Only months ago, Georgiana had sworn her heart was forever broken, but now she was tilting her chin and smiling. She looked so much like their mother, it made Darcy’s chest ache. She was a young lady now. When had that happened?
He crossed his arms and pressed his lips together. He knew how to keep a boy occupied and out of mischief, but a girl…even worse, an heiress on the edge of adulthood with a considerable fortune and a disposition to please?
After five years without their father’s protection, Darcy had perfected his skills of intimidation. One look—posture rigid, marked scowl, arms tight over his chest, eyes conveying anything from boredom to disdain—effectively discouraged scheming men from preying upon his fifteen-year-old sister. Unfortunately, the young man to whom Georgiana now directed her smile was too well-acquainted with Darcy to take his threatening looks seriously.
“Darcy, must you stand over us like an angry sentinel? Your glower is wasted on me.” Charles Bingley moved over to make room on the bench he shared with Georgiana.
She looked up from her sketchpad, her charcoal poised over the page, to regard Bingley with a tenderness that had stolen nights of Darcy’s sleep lately.
Bingley waved Darcy over, apparently impervious to her fluttering eyelashes and blushing cheeks. “Thrill your palate with these delicious strawberries before Louisa eats all of them.” He cast a pointed look towards his eldest sister, who ignored him as she dipped a piece of fruit deeply into a bowl of clotted cream and popped it into her mouth. Her husband napped on the blanket beside her, which explained why the supply of strawberries had not been exhausted; Mr. Hurst had an appetite worthy of his girth.
Darcy might believe Georgiana’s heart to be safe with Bingley, but he would not encourage her daydreams of love and marriage until she reached a more appropriate age.
Like thirty.
He flipped up his coattails and sat between Bingley and Georgiana. His sister was too shy to protest or even hint at her displeasure, unlike the object of her portrait, who sat across from her on a blanket before a colorful rose bush.
“A bee! Squish it!” Miss Caroline Bingley interrupted her preens and poses to flail her arms. She was surrounded by the last of summer’s second flush of roses, the full blooms hovering over her hair like a prickly halo.
“Take care of the thorns,” Darcy said for at least the third time.
Miss Bingley inclined her head, ignoring sense in favor of affectation. Did she think she conjured images of Aphrodite growing roses from her tears? One false move would soon dispel Miss Bingley of that sentiment. “I am perfectly aware of where I am, Mr. Darcy, but I thank you for your concern.”
Darcy clenched his jaw and held his tongue. His concern was for the flowers.
Miss Bingley heedlessly arched her back and then lifted her arm over her head, making a show of elongating her neck as she shifted a curl to drape over her shoulder. “It is so very warm,” she purred, directing her avaricious eyes towards Darcy.
“Gracious, Caro, are you quite well? You appear to be suffering from a spasm.” Bingley’s concern received only a glare from his younger sister in response.
Darcy feigned a cough and looked away.Good boy, Bingley.Unlike his sisters, he held no ambitions of grandeur. A point in his favor.
Mrs. Hurst commented on cue, “Where is your parasol, dear? I would hate for you to ruin your lovely alabaster skin. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?”
He did not agree. Pale complexions looked sickly and bespoke an unseemly disregard for nature, but this he could not say. “Perhaps Miss Bingley would be more comfortable indoors.”
She fluttered her hand over her throat. “I would not dream of altering everyone’s plans.” Again she raised her arm over her head, leaning perilously close to the bush. Darcy rather wished she would return indoors. Between the thorns and the bees feeding off the blooms, there was very little chance of Miss Bingley remaining unscathed. While the lady deserved such a lesson, Darcy had tired of her complaints.
“Halloo!” shouted a deep voice.
Darcy’s heart jumped into his throat in the split second before his brain registered the source of the startling call. Georgiana squealed and leaped to her feet, dropping her portfolio on the bench and jumping into her cousin’s open arms. “Richard! This is a lovely surprise! William did not say you were coming!”
“I knew nothing of it.” Usually Richard’s calls were a source of great pleasure, but his sudden appearance after months of duty worried Darcy. Had something happened?
Richard’s gaze met Darcy’s over Georgiana’s head, conveying curiosity and wonder…but mostly relief. Darcy relaxed a bit. Explanations would come later. Georgiana was happy again, and that was all that mattered. Richard spun her in a celebratory circle and gently set her down. As he looked up, his eyes widened and the corner of his lips twitched.
Darcy heard the shriek before he looked over his shoulder. He had completely forgotten about Miss Bingley. She was stuck, the bush’s thorns snagging and pulling at her gown with her hair frizzed in the shrubbery.
Definitely not Aphrodite.
“Calm yourself, Caro. You are making it worse—Ouch!” Mrs. Hurst sucked on an injured finger.
Several servants came running to assist, having heard Richard’s boisterous entry, Miss Bingley’s increasingly loud protests, and their party’s noisy pleas for her to calm herself.
