Chapter Four

A MUGGY LONDON morning greeted Fitzwilliam Darcy as he sat in the breakfast parlor, the clatter of his servants carrying various belongings in the hall the only sound he could focus upon. He waited patiently for his carriage to be loaded. A heavy, dread feeling gripped his stomach as he took another sip of his coffee. He couldn’t eat food and knew he’d regret imbibing his cook’s strong coffee on an empty stomach in a few hours.

Checking the watch fob in his vest, he doubted his decision to abdicate the search for Georgiana. His sister was but fifteen years old and Lord only knew where, and in what sort of state, that derelict Wickham was keeping her. Three weeks had passed since he traveled to Ramsgate to surprise her. Three long weeks of weary travel on road after road between Ramsgate and London, up towards Gretna Green only to learn no one of either George or Georgiana’s description had been seen.

“Mr. Darcy? The carriage is ready, sir.”

Darcy took one last drink from his coffee before wiping his mouth and settling his napkin on the table. “Thank you, Simmons, please ask Mrs. Potter to meet me in my study,” he said as he exited the breakfast parlor.

“Yes, sir.”

Darcy swept his study one last time for any documents or letters of business he might need. He employed a steward at Pemberley but would have to rely on his butler, Mr. Arthur, to forward any important correspondence. One last glance at his neat and tidy desk made him pause at one of the few things he changed since his father passed away, the group of miniatures in the right corner. Gone were the two of him and Wickham his father had sitting in a group with his mother and Georgiana. With a heavy heart, Darcy grabbed the miniature of his sister, who couldn’t be more than seven years old in the painting, and held it in his hand.

“Sir? You wished to see me?”

Tucking the miniature into his coat pocket, Darcy turned to face his housekeeper.

“Please allow Colonel Fitzwilliam full rein over the house while I am away.”

“Of course, sir.” Mrs. Potter’s forehead creased as she responded to her employer, confused about the redundancy of such an order. Colonel Fitzwilliam always had free rein over the town house when he was in London, with or without Mister or Miss Darcy’s presence.

“He may bring unfamiliar men into my study, please do your best to keep as much of the staff away as possible when that happens.”

The housekeeper nodded, understanding there was more afoot than her young master was revealing. “I shall serve Colonel Fitzwilliam and any guests he may bring myself, sir.”

Mr. Darcy flashed Mrs. Potter a small smile before resuming his stern gaze. Mrs. Potter wasn’t acquainted with Mr. Darcy since boyhood in the fashion of Pemberley’s housekeeper, but she did remember the young lad visiting London with his father when she first took on her post.

“Thank you, Mrs. Potter. That will be all.”

Shaking her head, Mrs. Potter left the study as the master made his way to his stables. As she supervised the clearing of the breakfast parlor she heard the familiar sounds of the carriage leaving the drive to the side of the house. Quickly she closed her eyes and said a soft prayer for Mr. Darcy, his safe travels, and for the Almighty to relieve any burden on the young man’s shoulders.