The man’s lips pressed into a grim line, and then he spoke. “Wickham. He has taken Tommy.”
Darcy’s breath stopped.
“What?” The word left him hoarse and raw. Darcy felt as though the ground beneath him had tilted. A hot flash of fury and fear rose in his chest, threatening to explode. But he forced himself to stay still. To think. The boy had not wandered off. He had been taken.
Mr Bennet’s distress was evident—not the measured, wry detachment he so often wore, but a naked, gutting panic. His eyes were red-rimmed,his hands shook. The anguish in his face was not feigned. It was not about inheritance or security or estate. It was love.
The boy was trulyhis.
“We must act,” Darcy said, striding forwards. “Come. Let us confer with Bingley. He will gather his men. Wickham will not escape.”
They hurried down the corridor, and Darcy flung open the door to Bingley’s study. “Charles!”
Bingley looked up, startled at the intrusion. “Darcy?”
“Tommy did not wander off. He was taken,” Darcy said, voice like ice over a flame. “We have no time to lose. We must continue the search immediately.”
Bingley’s reaction was instant. He dropped the lantern in his hands and stood, shouting for his butler before the door had even closed. “Marshall! Send for the grooms! Ready the horses! I want every man available and armed.”
Servants scattered. Doors opened. Boots pounded. The entire household sprang into action as Bingley took charge with a calm urgency Darcy had heard about from Richard's tales of the battlefield.
“We will search the woods first,” Bingley said. “If Wickham has not gone far, we can intercept him before he vanishes.”
It had been hours. Wickham likely had the child hidden by now. If only Richard were here!
The front door opened again. “Darcy?” called a familiar voice. “What on earth is happening?”
It was as if his cousin was summoned by Darcy’s thoughts. He turned just as Richard entered the hall, Georgiana a step behind him. Both carried the dust of travel, and neither expected the chaos that met them. Georgiana looked from face to face, her smile faltering.
“Where is everyone going? Why all the shouting?”
Darcy opened his mouth to speak, but the words stuck in his throat. He turned to his cousin with a grim face. “Tommy has been taken. By Wickham. We have been searching all afternoon.”
Richard froze.
Georgiana went pale. “No…” she whispered.
And then she crumpled to the floor.
Darcy caught her before she hit the flagstones, cradling her gently in his arms. She was unconscious, her breathing shallow, her limbs limp. “Call for Mrs Nicholls!” he bellowed. “Bring smelling salts—hurry!”
A maid scurried forwards, and with Bingley’s help, Georgiana was carried to a nearby sitting room. The door was closed behind them as a footman was sent to summon the physician.
Darcy stood just outside, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. The sight of Georgiana collapsed—his sister—hischarge—broke something inside him. A fresh wave of guilt swept over him. He and Richard spent time ascertaining her welfare, ensuring she was settled with Mrs Annesley before they departed.
A groom brought his and Richard’s horses, and they mounted.
Richard gripped the reins and addressed Darcy. “Did you know?”
Darcy nodded slowly, ashamed.
“And you said nothing?”
“I asked myself the same question when I woke this morning,” Darcy replied, his voice hollow. “I thought I could control the situation—that we could confront Wickham quietly, without involving others. Clearly, I was incorrect.” He turned his horse towards the woods, intending to begin a search of his own.
Richard cursed under his breath and dragged a hand through his hair. “You should have told me the moment you knew he was here. You should have toldsomeone. Good heavens, was he at the ball?”
Darcy met his cousin’s eyes, pain etched across his face. “Yes. I saw him only for a moment—and from a distance. He avoided detection until he wished for me to see.”
