PROLOGUE
It was typical August weather, and it was hot and stuffy in the carriage. Thankfully, the rain was slowing from a downpour to a light warm drizzle. Darcy stared out dolefully, hoping it would peter out entirely. He disliked being cooped up in the carriage, especially since the only person determined to converse with him was Miss Caroline Bingley. His friend – Charles Bingley – was slumped in his seat, sound asleep.
Darcy had closed his eyes and attempted to drift into an unconscious state where Miss Bingley’s voice did not batter his ears, but to no avail. She had an uncanny ability to catch him out. The moment he showed the smallest signs of being awake, Miss Bingley’s voice resumed its chatter.
“How delightful it will be to see Georgiana again!”
“I am well aware of it,” he said, dryly. “You have expressed your enthusiasm multiple times throughout our journey.”
“Have I?” she said, pretending to be surprised.
If only Miss Bingley’s conversation was more varied! Darcy was growing convinced that the education of young ladies in expensive seminaries involved draining them of the ability to say anything significant. Most of their training must be dedicated to the art of flattery, because Miss Bingley seemed relentless in pursuit of that purpose. Did these schools really believe that the only way to capture a young gentleman’s heart was to appeal to his vanity?
“That is because it is true,” she added, then yawned. As she raised her hand politely to cover her mouth, her attention was drawn to her bracelet. For the next few minutes, she occupied herself with changing its placement and extending her arm to judge the effect. Darcy watched from under drooped eyelids. He could only suppose she wanted him to admire the curve of her arm, but it could also be that she wanted to show off her expensive bauble. Darcy did not understand the vagaries of fashion, and he certainly knew very little about bracelets. However, Miss Bingley had assured him that no young lady’s outfit was complete these days without an armlet, worn high up at the edge of the sleeves. She had asked him how many Georgiana possessed, then, when it was apparent he did not know, she had dragged him to Thomas Gray’s to help him choose one.
He hoped Georgiana would like it.
“Are we far from Pemberley?” she asked, as if she had never made the voyage to Pemberley before. “When will we arrive?”
“I suppose in an hour, barring any incidents along the way.”
He took up the book at his side and made a heroic effort to distract himself by reading, but the carriage was swaying from side to side, and it was not long before he began to feel dizzy.
He put the book down.
Miss Bingley, who had also been reading, put down her book in response. Darcy tried not to roll his eyes. He looked longingly at the gray sky and wondered if there was any possibility of riding the rest of the way, but the prospect of damp trousers and a wet overcoat held him in check.
There was nothing to do but be stoic and endure. If only Miss Bingley did not defer to his opinions so often, her company would not be bad. She had always been like that, much like her brother – too eager to please, and inclined to accept his opinion as truth. Sometimes he was tempted to say something outrageous to see how she would react, but it was beneath his dignity to do so. After all, it was hardly surprising that both she and her brother looked up to him. They had only recently left the world of trade behind them and were moving towards establishing themselves in Society. It was no surprise that they held the master of Pemberley in great esteem. Darcy had taken Charles Bingley under his wing and provided guidance as he navigated the hazards of the upper class ballrooms. In return, Bingley had offered him something he was in sore need of – a genuine friendship, free from artifice, where each of them could be himself.
When all was said and done, Bingley was his friend, and it was difficult – if not impossible— to find good friends. Because of that, he always made certain Miss Bingley was welcome. Unlike Bingley, she was full of artifice, thanks to that wonderful academy of hers. However, she was Bingley’s dependent, and Darcy would never want her to feel left out, nor would he want to drive a wedge between sister and brother. That meant he had to put up with her silliness, though sometimes his patience wore thin.
In any case, this time, Miss Bingley’s presence was of the essence. He needed her. Georgiana was despondent. MissBingley may not be the best companion in the world, but at least she was someone familiar. He did not think Georgiana would welcome the company of a stranger. At this point, if Miss Bingley achieved only one thing -- propelling Georgie into practicing on the piano – then that would be a huge achievement. And, of course, Caroline was needed as a chaperone, with a single bachelor staying in the house.
The fact was, he had no one he could fully trust to deal with his sister, other than his cousin Richard Fitzwilliam, who was her guardian and therefore equally concerned about her well-being.
If he had a more extensive group of friends to draw on, he would have preferred not to invite Miss Bingley to Pemberley. But he was not someone who trusted easily, which made his mistake with Mrs. Younge all the more egregious. He still could not believe that he had sent Georgiana away in the sole care of an unknown woman. His only excuse was that her references had been superb. Lady Cavendish had been effusive in her praise.
He had never asked Lady Cavendish if there had ever been a Mrs. Younge in her employ. It would have required an introduction through his uncle, and a deliberate attempt to seek her out. He now suspected the answer would be no. Wickham had put his education to excellent use by penning a forged letter and signing it in Lady Cavendish’s name. Looking back, Darcy was ashamed he had failed to ask himself why someone as unremarkable in her background as Mrs. Younge had been in the employ of such an illustrious person. Of course, Wickham knew that Darcy was not acquainted with Lady Cavendish, accurately predicting that Darcy would not contact her to check the veracity of the letter.
What galled him is how easily he had been hoodwinked. It turned out that Mrs. Younge was a stage actress – quite a good one, to judge by how well she had played the role of a genteel widow fallen upon hard times. Her manner of speechhad been impeccable. He only realized how impeccable it was when she gave up all pretense and started to speak like a Cockney. It was truly impressive. He had to admire her ear. He also had to admire the way she quickly rallied when he had given her a choice between being thrown in jail for forgery or sent to America. She had been delighted to take the opportunity, announcing her intention to make a fortune on the stage in New York. Darcy didn’t put it beyond her to succeed.
Meanwhile, it was essential for him not to reveal that anything was amiss. He had taken great care to frame his return to Pemberley in a way that accounted for Georgiana’s low spirits, explaining that Georgiana was feeling lonely after leaving school and would welcome some company.
London, of course, would have been a much livelier place for a young lady, but at this point, Darcy would rather err on the side of caution by keeping Georgiana isolated in Derbyshire. After all, Pemberley was her childhood home. She had often expressed that it was the only place where she felt free and happy. He hoped, with time, Pemberley would help her heal.
A sense of guilt stung him. He had been away for more than three weeks. He had intended to come sooner, but there was a delay when Mrs. Hurst had thought herself to be increasing. This was followed by distress when she discovered she was not. In the end, she had decided she was too tired to undertake such a long journey. It was the right decision. She needed to recover. Still, he could not help feeling disappointed. Darcy had counted on the two ladies giving Georgiana the attention she desperately needed, but for now, Miss Bingley would have to do.
He could hardly wait to reach Pemberley and see for himself how she was doing. During his absence, Mrs. Reynolds kept a close eye on Georgiana, writing to him daily with updates. He had received her last letter just before he left London. It was not reassuring. Georgiana was still eating very little, and shestill spent most of her time wandering aimlessly through the house and their mother’s old rose-garden, sometimes venturing further around the grounds. She had not ridden a single time. It worried him terribly.
George Wickham’s betrayal had hit her very hard.
If only she had not overheard Darcy’s conversation with Wickham! When Darcy had arrived at Ramsgate for a surprise visit, Georgiana had told him at once about the planned elopement. Darcy had seen red. His sister was an heiress, and Wickham had taken advantage of her innocent and trusting nature to steal her fortune. If the marriage had gone through, all her property would have been his. Even now, Darcy’s blood boiled at the consequences to Georgiana if he had arrived just one day later.
He had gone immediately to Wickham’s lodgings to confront him. Darcy could never have imagined that his sister had followed him and was listening through the open window.
He still shuddered to think of Wickham’s callous words and the impact they must have had on a girl who had grown up without a mother’s love, who had lost her father when she was young, and who now knew Wickham’s proclamations of love were false. Darcy did not know if Wickham had spoken out of spite, knowing Georgiana was listening, or if he had simply meant to hit back at Darcy for thwarting his plans.
“You deprived me of the funds your father would have given me. I almost had my revenge. But, of course, you had to show up and ruin it all!”
