“That is a reporter forThe Morning Post,” Mary said in an aggrieved tone. She must know from the protests she organized. “He will gain admittance.”
Darcy said to Harriet, “Miss Woodhouse would not wish her presence reported in the papers. I am sure you share her concern.”
“If you say so, sir,” Harriet answered uncertainly. Despite her friendship with elegant Emma, she seemed unaware of how damaging it was for a lady’s name to appear in print. Perhaps Harriet was not gentry.
“The constables are finishing,” Darcy said. “I suggest we depart. Where are you staying in London?”
“Miss Woodhouse did not say,” Harriet said, sounding stricken. “We talked of returning to Surrey this evening.”
“That is hours in a coach,” Mary protested. “That would be unwise.”
The voices outside were becoming more distinct.
“Miss Woodhouse,” Darcy said to Emma. “We must leave this place. Would you honor us by accepting an invitation to Chathford House?”
“Chathford?” I said, surprised. “Is it ready?” Chathford House was the Darcys’ London home. I had never seen it, as it had been shuttered since the death of Darcy’s parents. Darcy had spoken vaguely of reopening it now that Georgiana and I were spending time in London.
“Mrs. Reynolds has some rooms open.” His smile was rueful. “I had planned to surprise you.”
Emma had not answered him. Her fingers continued their ritual pattern. Muscles worked along Darcy’s jaw, then he turned to Harriet. “May I have your permission to assist your friend?”
“Of course, sir,” Harriet said, awestruck. Darcy glanced for my nod before he gathered Emma in his arms and stood.
“Oh. He does that so easily,” Harriet whispered to me as Darcy strode to thedoor, Emma’s skirts hanging gracefully. They looked like an illustration in a scandalous novel.
“He does,” I said, vaguely proud that I felt not a flicker of jealousy.
My curiosity, however, was raging. I knew my husband. He would not sweep a strange woman into his arms unless she was in graver danger than an encounter with a reporter.
3
THE COUNCIL OF WAR
LIZZY
Mary led us briskly down a servants’stair, out a plain pine door, and onto a narrow and chilly side street. Mr. Knightley came also, talking with Georgiana and carrying a beautiful instrument case of lustrous cherrywood—a violin, from the scrollwork designs. He tucked the case under his arm and jogged to the corner to hail a coach.
I stepped close to Darcy, who was so composed one would think gentlemen regularly strolled through London with ladies draped in their arms.
“You and I cannot accompany them,” I whispered. “Our other engagement…”
“Of course.” He grimaced. “I had forgotten.”
Forgotten a meeting with the Secretary of War?
Mr. Knightley returned leading a large hackney coach, the horses prancing skittishly in the tight space. Darcy and Harriet settled Emma into a seat. Emma did not answer when Harriet spoke to her.
Darcy jumped down so Mary could step in. He stopped Georgiana before she followed, and said to Mr. Knightley, “Sir, I have another engagement. Would you accompany my sister to ensure that Miss Woodhouse and Miss Smith remain safe at Chathford?”
Mr. Knightley nodded. “I would be honored.”
“Safe?” Georgiana’s brunette brows arched over her ocean eyes. “I thought to offer them tea and summon a doctor. Is that safe enough?”
“Call it ‘private,’ then,” Darcy replied. “I do not recommend a doctor if Miss Woodhouse recovers soon. I think she will. I hope to speak with her then. Convey that, please.”
Georgiana considered him. For a reed-thin girl of seventeen, she had a tough spine. Georgiana had her own extraordinary abilities with draca, so she had been pressed into difficult situations before. Last year, and against Darcy’s advice, the military had attempted to use bound draca in battle. Georgiana had been called by her brother to settle maddened draca in the disastrous aftermath.
The driver of a smaller coach caught behind ours shouted to clear the street. Georgiana gave a rushed, unsatisfied nod to her brother, then accepted Mr. Knightley’s hand to take her seat.
