Page 1 of Master of Himself

Prologue

A Sultry Day in August 1811

Fitzwilliam Darcy scowled at the storm clouds hovering over St James’s Street. If the oppressive heat and sweltering humidity weren’t bad enough, the day only needed rain to make it perfectly miserable. Adding to his annoyance, his carriage was nowhere in sight. After meeting for drinks with his close friend Charles Bingley, he was ready to spend a quiet evening at home with a good book.

“Are you certain you won’t attend the assembly tonight, Darcy? It promises to be a splendid affair,” Charles said with his usual inexhaustible optimism.

Darcy could think of nothing he would enjoy less. “Maybe next time,” he said.

“Ah, well, I’ll convey your regards to everyone,” Charles said as his driver approached. “Here’s Lockhart. See you soon.”

The driver promptly carried him off, leaving Darcy to cool his heels alone on the busy flagway.

Passersby scurried to and fro, attempting to reach their destinations ahead of the rain. Emerging from within the crowd, a craggy bearded man approached wearing a black hooded robe. Besides thinking the old man rather unkempt, Darcy found his odd attire vastly unsuited to the scorching temperature.

“If you value your sister, you will hie to Ramsgate.”

“How dare you speak to me,” Darcy snarled, incensed by the stranger’s presumptions.

“The wolf is at the door.”

Darcy recoiled as a loud clap of thunder resounded through the air, sending people running in every direction. In the next instant, the hooded man was gone.

“What insolence,” he said as the first drops of rain began to fall. He opened his umbrella and grasped the brim of his hat to keep it from blowing away. Fortunately, his coachman arrived with the carriage before he was soaked to the skin, and he boarded for the short ride home.

Still, that ominous message lingered. He knew he had no cause for alarm on his sister’s behalf. Georgiana was well protected with her companion, lady’s maid, and trusted footman. But he couldn’t help wondering how the old man knew she was in Ramsgate. London was thin of company at this time of year. Was her summer residence widely known? Had the bearded stranger learned of her location from some nefarious source?

By the time he arrived at Grosvenor, he had made his decision. He gave the order, and within the hour, he had changed clothes and was on the road headed east.

Hours after the sun had set, he arrived in Ramsgate.

Georgiana welcomed him with a warm embrace. “Fitzwilliam, what a lovely surprise.”

“I couldn’t stay away, sweetling.”

His dear sister was in excellent spirits, and Darcy concluded that his fears had been entirely unfounded.

Her companion, Mrs Younge, seemed less happy to see him. “Do you intend to make a long stay?” she inquired.

Darcy didn’t care for her insolent question. “My plans are not yet fixed,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

She bobbed a slight curtsy and left him alone with Georgiana.

“Are you enjoying the sea?” Darcy inquired.

Her eyes glimmered with delight. “Oh yes, the air is so invigorating. I love promenading along the coast and watching the waves.”

He led her to the sofa and sat beside her. “Is it much crowded?”

“Only sometimes, but I don’t mind the crowds. Everyone is so jolly. We all had ices today, and it was great fun.”

This gave him pause. “Did you meet someone we know from town?”

She shook her head. “Not from town, from home. Our old friend, Mr Wickham.”

A wave of revulsion coursed through him at the sound of that name on her lips. “Wickham? What’s he doing in Ramsgate?”

“It was only by the merest chance that we ran into him, but so lovely to see him again after all these years.”