“Georgiana.” His voice carried a mixture of fury and disbelief. “What the devil do you think you are doing? You were expressly forbidden to attend tonight’s assembly.”
“Fitzwilliam, I had to come,” Georgiana whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the crowded ballroom. “Something terrible is happening.”
“Your disobedience is what is happening.” Darcy struggled to keep his voice low despite his anger. “Do you have any idea of the danger you’ve placed yourself in? Wickham is here, and in your current attire?—”
“That’s why I emulated Elizabeth’s costume,” Georgiana interrupted. “No one would recognize me, and I needed to speak with you urgently.”
“We will discuss this at once,” Darcy decided. “Come, a dancewill afford you your disguise. But you must return to your chambers afterwards.”
“But there is no time,” Georgiana started to protest as Darcy led her through the opening steps. “I overheard Mrs. Wickham and Mrs. Bingley arguing in the ladies’ retiring room. They were discussing… horrible things, Fitzwilliam. Mrs. Bingley accused Mrs. Wickham of killing Uncle John and Aunt Rose.”
Darcy nearly missed a step, earning a sharp look from the couple beside them. “I had my suspicions. This is troubling.”
“Mrs. Wickham didn’t deny it. She laughed and said Mrs. Bingley had no proof, and that after twenty years, none would ever be found.” Georgiana’s voice trembled slightly. “She also claimed Elizabeth would marry George tonight, whether she wished to or not.”
The dance figures separated them momentarily, giving Darcy precious seconds to process this revelation. If Martha was the killer and if Mrs. Bingley could be believed… He again looked for Blythewood. The magistrate had to be called.
“There’s more,” Georgiana continued when they came together again. “Mrs. Bingley said she saw Martha take Aunt Rose’s locket. She threatened to tell you everything unless Martha stepped aside and allowed Elizabeth to marry Charles. Mrs. Wickham laughed and said their deal was that Elizabeth would marry George, not Charles. I didn’t hear the rest because I came immediately to tell you.”
Darcy’s mind raced through the implications. If Martha Wickham was indeed the killer, then Elizabeth was not merely threatened with an unwanted marriage—she was in the hands of a woman who had already murdered twice to protect her interests.
“We need to find Elizabeth right away.” Darcy’s head whipped around, scanning every couple in the set. “She’s not here.”
Without regard for propriety or the astonished expressions of the other dancers, Darcy seized Georgiana’s arm and pulled her from the quadrille.
“Have you seen Miss Bennet?” he demanded of the gentlemen near him.
“I believe you were just dancing with her, sir,” the man replied, gesturing toward the abandoned set.
“No, that was—” Darcy caught himself, realizing he couldn’t let anyone know about Georgiana’s presence. “Another lady. I’m looking for Miss Bennet specifically.”
He pushed through the crowd, Georgiana struggling to keep pace beside him as he questioned guest after guest.
A group of militia officers chuckled as he approached. “Lost your dance partner already, Darcy?” one called. “She’s the one in white—can’t miss her!”
“She’s been right beside you all evening,” another added, raising his glass in sloppy salute. “Though I can’t blame a man for losing his head around such a beauty.”
Their laughter grated against his growing fear. Elizabeth had been missing far longer than he’d realized, her absence concealed by Georgiana’s unwitting masquerade.
He spotted Blythewood near the card room, still in his judge’s robes, observing the festivities with judicial detachment.
“Blythewood!” Darcy called, pulling Georgiana through the press of bodies. “I must speak with you immediately.”
The solicitor turned, his expression shifting from mild interest to concern as he noted Darcy’s evident distress.
“What’s happened?” he asked, drawing them into a quieter alcove.
“Martha Wickham has taken Elizabeth,” Darcy said without preamble. “Georgiana overheard her confessing to the murders of John and Rose Darcy. She intends to force Elizabeth into marriage with George tonight, after midnight, when she is of legal age.”
“These are extraordinary accusations,” Blythewood protested.
“They are true,” Georgiana insisted. “I heard everything. Mrs. Bingley confronted Mrs. Wickham about poisoning Uncle John’s tea. Martha didn’t deny it—she laughed and said it didn’t matter what Mrs. Bingley claimed as long as George Wickham married Elizabeth.”
“We need the magistrate and constables immediately,” Darcy said. “Elizabeth is in grave danger.”
Blythewood nodded, his expression grim. “I shall send for them at once, if they can be roused.”
As Blythewood moved to speak to a footman, a shrill scream tore through the ballroom, stopping the orchestra flat as the musicians gawked. The dancers turned in disarray toward Caroline Bingley, standing near the punch bowl.
