Chapter 1
London,
1811
Ameager sun hung over Hyde Park, barely visible in the pale winter sky. At this time of the day, the park was nearly empty. A few riders were galloping, taking advantage of the limited hours when they were allowed to do so. Normally,a sedate pace was strictly enforced for the public’s safety. Otherwise, only a few nursemaids and governesses were braving the cold, their young charges muffled in shawls and mittens.
“Are you certain you wish to do this, Georgie?” said Fitzwilliam Darcy to his sister. “Your nose is already turning red.”
He touched the tip of her nose affectionately.
“It is not that cold, William,” she replied, with a laugh. “I am still warm from the bricks and the blankets in the carriage. Besides, how could I abandon the poor ducks and swans? We need to keep up Mama’s tradition.”
Like her sister Catherine, Anne Darcy liked to be the center of attention. When in London, she was always occupied with attending some social event or the other. She rarely took the time to spend with Darcy. That was why coming to Hyde Park was so special for him. Mama loved walking along the Serpentine, with Darcy proudly carrying the tied bundle of dry bread. It was the only time Darcy saw her completely at ease. She would laugh at the honking of the geese and she would squeal when a seagull swooped in over her head to pluck a piece of bread from her hand.
“Poor little dears,” she would say. “Someone has to feed them when it is cold and there is not enough food for them in the lake.”
As an adult, Darcy now knew that they were unlikely to perish. The current from the River Westbourne fed the lake, and although the water was cold, the lake rarely froze solid, evenduring a severe frost. But at the time, it seemed crucial for Darcy to help his mother in this mission of keeping the birds alive. He would wake up at the crack of dawn and dress quickly, worried about what would happen if they failed to show up. He especially loved the frosty mornings, when the trees and the reeds seemed to twinkle around them as his mother held his hand and they walked together.
It saddened him that Georgiana had no recollection of their mother. Darcy tried to keep her memory alive through little rituals like these, for Georgiana’s sake, even if they were just small things. Georgiana had barely started walking when they had come here all together for the last time. How could Darcy forget it? Georgiana had tripped over a tree root as she was running after one of the geese to give it bread, and they were forced to go back home soon after because Georgiana’s knee was scraped. That moment was etched into his mind like a painting.
It was the last time Mama had come with him to feed the waterfowl, and in his mind somehow it became one of his last memories of her. Over time, Darcy had established his own ritual with Georgiana. They had their favorite spot where they liked to stand, right by the lake. They did not come often, because Georgiana was still at school and they did not always spend the whole winter in London.
As they approached the Serpentine, Georgiana’s steps quickened. She was still very much a child, though she was growing fast. Fourteen, already! In a year, she would be out of the schoolroom. In four more years, she would be presented to Society, and would begin her search for a husband. It was terrifying. Where had the years gone?
Darcy dismissed the thought. There was no need to think about the future. She was here now, with him, and she was still at school. They were spending time together. That was what mattered. He watched Georgiana affectionately as she started to untie the bundle of bread, feeling a surge of pride at how kind and gentle she had turned out to be.
Georgiana stopped abruptly, and Darcy did the same. There was someone there before them, a young woman with a child, standing in the exact same spot he and Georgiana liked to stand. The woman’s green spencer was too well tailored for her to be a nursemaid, so she had to be a mother, here with her daughter on the same mission. As Darcy watched, she handed a fistful of bread to the little girl. The child pointed towards a graceful swan navigating the water near the bank and began to run towards, giggling loudly. The mother ran after her, loose curls fluttering on her shoulders, her shawl flowing behind her like wings.
He was captivated by her natural manner, the brightness of her face, and her warm tinkling laughter.
“Well, Georgie, it looks like we will have to find a different spot this time,” he said.
He was about to turn away when the laughter on the mother’s face suddenly died, replaced by a look of horror. His heart pounding, his gaze followed hers. The child was teetering at the edge of the bank. Behind him, he heard Georgiana cry out. Time slowed down as the child swung her arms in a desperate attempt to maintain her balance. The mother ran desperately, trying to catch her.
The sound of the splash filled Darcy’s ears. A startled mallard squawked loudly and flew off, and the little girl screamed.
He did not hesitate. The woman’s long skirts would hinder her. His longer legs might make it, but there was not a second to lose.
Running, he threw off his hat, then his overcoat. He struggled out of his tight superfine coat, the fabric ripping, and tossed it to the ground. There was no time to pull off his boots. His focus was on the tragedy unfolding in front of him.
He jumped in. The shock of the icy impact took his breath away and he went under. The water was deeper than he had expected, and for a moment he was afraid he would not be able to breathe. Somehow, he managed to surface and to draw air into his lungs. He turned around and spotted the child close by. A few strokes and he was with her. She was hitting the water, trying to swim, but she was too panicked. He tried to catch her, but she eluded him, thrashing and kicking in agitation. Her hands struck out at him, knocking him away. He tried again, but she slithered out of his reach.
“Please calm down,” he said, speaking firmly. “Hold onto me so I can get you out.”
Another splash had him turning around. The mother was swimming with terrible slowness towards them, encumbered by her long skirts. What on earth did she hope to achieve? If anything, she was a hindrance. Now he would have to rescue two people, not one.
He focused his attention on the child.Shewas his priority. He tried to take hold of her, but she slithered around like a fish. He gritted his teeth, muttering under his breath about children who did not know what was best for them.
“Let me deal with it,” said the woman, at his shoulder, reaching him more quickly than he had anticipated. Or perhaps he had spent more time than he thought trying to rescue the girl.
“There was no need for you to jump in, madam,” he remarked. “You had better turn back. I have the situation under control.”
The mother looked obstinate. “She is too terrified. I need to reassure her first. She is not thinking clearly. We need to get her out of the water before she freezes.”
“I am well aware of that,” he replied shortly. They needed to get out before all three of them froze. He resumed his efforts as the little girl flailed in the water, going under, then bobbing back to the surface. How could a small child prove so elusive? He was starting to feel alarmed himself. There was a real possibility she might drown.
“I do not need distractions. I can handle this alone. Kindly return to the riverbank and wrap yourself in a blanket.”
