by Jennifer Joy
Their futures were all the more uncertain, and it was a test to Lydia's theatrical abilities to plaster a smile on her face as they joined the others.
If she lived through this ordeal only to be killed at the end of it, she would be greatly put out.
Chapter 23
Michael convinced Constable Keene to stand guard until the men of the house returned. With one of the kidnapped ladies murdered, Michael would take no risks where Miss Darcy and her family were concerned.
He supposed she had stayed upstairs with Mrs. Tanner and the children. The news of Miss Pringle's murder was a horrible shock. He watched the clock ticking on the mantel in the parlor. How much longer would Mr. Darcy be? He needed to call on the three families and acquit Nathan of all doubt in this crime. He was not a murderer.
Minutes crawled by.
When the constable had answered all of their questions and taken his post outside Darcy House, Michael returned to the music room with Mrs. Darcy and Mr. Bennet.
Mrs. Tanner met them at the door. "I own I am a ball of nerves. What was the constable's news?" She glanced at the children who played a lively game.
Michael's head pounded. "Miss Darcy did not tell you?"
Her eyes widened. "I have not seen her since she left the room with you."
Michael nearly trampled over the housekeeper in the hall in his haste. Neither she nor the maid had seen Miss Darcy. Georgiana.
He shuffled in place, wringing his hands while Mrs. Darcy rang for the butler who said, "I am sorry. Last I saw Miss Darcy, she was with you in the parlor, ma'am."
Michael had to move. He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the entrance hall.
The footman manning the front door confirmed nobody else had been admitted. The Cook confirmed not one person had entered or departed through the kitchen door at the back of the property.
Miss Darcy had vanished.
Michael pressed his hands against his temples. He had to calm himself or he would be of no use in finding her at all.
What were the facts?
Nobody aside from Constable Keene had entered the house. No one suspicious — no man with a scar — had been noticed outside either. Therefore, it was unlikely Georgiana had been kidnapped.
Michael kicked himself for allowing himself to be distracted with the constable. Granted, what Mr. Keene had to tell them was important.
But Georgiana… What if danger befell her? Mr. Darcy and Mr. Tanner had entrusted Michael with their family. He had let them down before the passing of an hour. And Georgiana? She had entrusted him with her father's unflattering past.
He knew where she was.
He ought to have acted immediately. While Michael was not free to leave, he could have sent someone else in his stead. Then, perhaps, Georgiana would not have taken it upon herself to go. Michael was certain she had gone. He would have done the same.
There was nothing else but to brave her brothers' wrath and chase after her.
Mrs. Darcy raced to him from further down the hall. "Her bedchamber window is open. She did not leave a note, but I suspect that is how she left." She spoke as she continued down the hall, entering another room which Michael supposed was her bedchamber when he saw her cross the carpet, open an armoire, and rummage through its contents. Whatever she searched for, she did not find it.
"My stable boy disguise is gone," she said.
Footsteps clambered up the stairs. The butler was followed by a stable boy in a high state of agitation. "Brutus is gone," blurted the boy as soon as he reached the landing.
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why would she risk herself like that?" If only he had known she was intrepid and independent enough to respond without delay. He had not thought her capable of acting alone like this, but how wrong he was! It was terrifying and impressive.
Mrs. Darcy arched an eyebrow. "Why do you do it? Why do you expect Georgiana to be so different from you?"
"I need a horse," Michael said. There was no time for inward reflection. He had to find Georgiana.
"Saddle Mr. Darcy's fastest horse. Quick, now!" Mrs. Darcy told the stable boy. To Michael, she said, "Go. Bring her back. I will send for help."
Michael repeated the surnames Georgiana had shared with him before, giving Mrs. Darcy an idea of where he planned to begin his search, and then he hurried to the stables.
He would start with the Hamms.
Never before had the streets of London contained so many obstacles to slow Michael down or alter his path. Even the weather conspired to complicate his search. Fog rolled in, wet and denser with each clip clop of his borrowed horse's hooves.
His heartbeat slammed against his ribs. If anything happened to her while she was out…. Georgiana was everything good and gentle and kind. She made those in her company feel wanted and important. Lord bless her — she put the needs of her friends before her own. Michael knew that about Georgiana, but her boldness stunned him. She was not afraid to act, and he loved her the more for it.
The world stopped, slowing to a crawl as he charged through crowded streets. He loved Georgiana Darcy. He loved her with a certainty he had never before encountered. Steadfast, unshakable, trustworthy.
He could not lose her.
Michael tightened his hold on the reins and pushed his horse faster. The Hamms' residence would come into view once he rounded the corner. He leaned forward, his eyes squinting to see through the gray clouds.
There she was. Georgiana climbed onto the oversized stallion without the assistance of a mounting block or a leg up. Deftly, she stretched her foot to the stirrup and flung herself over the black stallion's side with the grace of a skilled equestrienne.
Michael vowed never to underestimate Georgiana again. She downplayed her bravery and talents under a quiet facade he had mistaken for shyness. But she was nothing of the sort. Not really.
No disguise could mask her shape or the delicate curve of her long neck with her hair hidden under a cap.
He rushed forward, a mixture of relief and fear, pride and anxious concern. So eager was he to reach her side, he nearly rammed his horse against the giant brute she controlled.
Michael wanted to embrace her, to shake her, to hold her, to scold her, to keep her close, to never lose her again.
Fortunately, Georgiana was a far better horsewoman than he was a horseman. Spinning around, she prevented them from colliding.
"I hope you are not too angry with me," she said.
How could he be when she looked at him through her dark eyelashes, her cheeks stained pink, and her breath puffing in the fog?
Michael told her the truth. It tumbled out of him faster and with greater conviction than any defense he had ever made at court. "I am proud of you. Your strong mind, accurate instincts, unhesitant response when immediate action must be taken… I have never been so anxious and elated over anyone."
She smiled at him, and Michael held himself back from leaning forward, from closing the small distance between his lips and hers.
"I think I understand why you do this. It is thrilling!" she said, pulling papers from her pocket and handing them to him with a happy glow on her face that disappeared before Michael was prepared for it. She said, "I am so sorry. You will not be so proud when you see what I have found."
He read the names the notes were addressed to: Somerson and Hamm. If they went to the Ramsays, they were certain to find another.
Michael knew in his heart she was right about Nathan. He wanted to deny the possibility, but Michael did not believe in coincidences. The facts were in his hands, and instead of rubbing her superior instincts in his old wound, she apologized for giving him proof against his lifelong friend.
"I cannot deny evidence, nor will I lessen your role in the discovery of it," he said.
"No matter how disagreeable it is?" she asked.
"Not even then." It was true, though it pained him.
Her stallion snorted, his ears pulling back.
Georgiana screamed, "M
ichael, look out!"
Michael heard the crack at the same time he heard her say his name. At the very instant he felt something crush against the back of his skull.
He reached for Georgiana, but his body pulled him backward. He fell away from her, losing her in the deepening fog.
Chapter 24
"Michael!" Georgiana screamed as he fell away from her.
She flung her leg over Brutus and slid down, her need to reach Michael greater than the danger lurking in the fog.
He was so ghastly pale against the bright red pooling under his head. She sunk to the ground, but her knees never hit the damp cobblestones. Her hands had not touched Michael's cheeks before she was pulled back with a force that knocked the air out of her lungs and snapped Brutus' reins out of her hands.
Rough fingers clamped over her mouth. She bared her teeth and bit, but she was no match for the brute pulling her away from Michael.
She kicked and squirmed, but the vice-like grip around her arms and mouth did not loosen its hold.
Michael was a blurry lump on the ground. A few paces more and she would lose sight of him.
She had to get away. She had to get to Michael. She had to stop the bleeding.
Georgiana did not see the hackney coach until her captor shoved her through its open door. She scrambled over the seat to the other side, reaching for the door and shoving it open.
He grabbed her foot and jerked her back.
She kicked at him and screamed until her ears popped and rang.
The hackney jolted forward. She screamed again, lashing out and striking the glass. Paper thin shards pierced her palms, tearing at her skin, but she struck again with a shout. Maybe someone would hear her.
Shoving herself away from her captor, she tried to get a good look at him … and was met with a wall of black that covered over her eyes and gagged her mouth.
When he grabbed her wrist, she flailed her limbs. But he was stronger than she was.
Deprived of sight, she sat quieter, trying to notice the direction they went. The coarse fabric at her mouth ripped the corners of her lips. Her eyes burned, but she kept her calm. She had to get back to Michael. If he was still alive… There had been so much blood.
Hot tears soaked the sash tied around her mouth.
Never had Georgiana admired and respected another man more than she did Michael. Never had she felt so comfortable around a man she knew she could trust. She had to get back to him. She loved him.
The strength of her passion made her purpose crystal clear. Her blood boiled in rage at the man in the carriage with her, but calculating logic cooled her. She paid attention to the smells and sounds around her — anything which might indicate where she was being taken. If she were to escape, she must keep her wits about her and be alert for the opportunity.
The carriage wheels rambled over uneven cobblestones and splashed through puddles, turning corners and moving slowly. The voices and clambering sounds indicated the streets were crowded. Dense fog only kept the gentle classes indoors. The working class could not afford such comfort.
Georgiana breathed in slowly, the stench of filth assaulting her nose. Were they near the Thames?
The coach stopped, and she was shoved forward. Her boots slipped on the ground, but the man behind her lifted her until her shoulders ached. She landed on a squeaky floor. Wooden planks shifted under her boots, and the sound of their clomping echoed. They were in a building. An empty building. A warehouse? Or an abandoned home?
A man spoke in front of her.
"What did you do?" he bellowed articulately. He smelled of tobacco smoke and spirits. Like a gentleman. Like her father.
The man behind her tightened his grip around her wrists. "I did what you would not. I followed your little friend. He led me right to her."
His voice was raspy; unrefined. Georgiana would wager the man's features were rough, too. At the least, he should have a crooked nose or an impressive scar or an eye patch.
"That was not the deal. I hired you to do as I bid, not to act on your own initiative," the gentleman said. Was he Mr. Bradford? Did he know how deeply he had disappointed Michael? Would he care if he knew? Or was he as heartless as Wickham had been?
"You hired me to make sure we got paid, and I will do what I must to make sure I get my cut. Now that we have Miss Darcy, we can demand the sum the Pringles could not secure. Her brothers have deep pockets."
The gentleman spoke crisply. "Not if your interference leads them to us. You might have ruined everything, you fool. What did you do to Michael?"
It had to be Nathan Bradford. Georgiana heard the urgency in his tone. He was concerned about Michael. He cared.
Georgiana's heart hurt all the more for Michael. This would be a horrible blow for him. If only she could get back to him, to stop the blood, to make sure he was well. He had to be well. He just had to be. Surely, she would know it if he was not. She would feel it. She persisted in hoping.
The ruffian loosened his hold around her wrists, but he did not release her. "We do not have to worry about him anymore. My aim was true."
Georgiana's limbs went limp. Michael's white face. All that blood. Her legs buckled, and she struggled to hold herself upright.
"You are certain?" Mr. Bradford asked.
"I have not known a man to survive a strike such as I gave him. He died before he hit the ground."
Georgiana cried out, gasping for breath when the air in the room disappeared.
Chapter 25
Michael opened one eye. He would have reached up to hold his head, but he had the presentiment he would regret all unnecessary movement. His whole body ached, but his head….
The big black stallion nudged him, and a man who smelled of damp earth shook Michael's shoulder. The movement hurt as bad as Michael had thought it would.
With the man's help he sat up, brushing pebbles and dirt off his coat and reaching to the back of his head despite his better judgment.
"You had best not do that," the man beside him said, looking down to the ground. The blood was still slick and wet, smudged over the stones.
Michael groaned, trying to remember. It was urgent he leave. He had to go. But where? He pressed his fingers against his temples, the extra pressure only adding to the pulsating throb. He wondered if it were possible for a head to burst, but thinking was too painful.
The man extended his hand. "Blows to the head bleed like stuck pigs. You suffered a nasty strike, but you do not appear to have any other injuries. Are you able to stand? It is not much, but if you can get to my cart, I will tie your horse to the back and take you to the surgeon." He jabbed his thumb behind him. A gray horse attached to a cart loaded with vegetables shook its head as if to make it known his burden was heavy enough without adding Michael's weight to it, thank you very much.
Accepting the farmer's hand, Michael heard the paper crumple in his pocket, and he remembered. Georgiana.
He looked about frantically as he stood, leaning heavily on the farmer's arm when the ground tilted at him and his head beat like a drum. "The young lady?" he asked.
The farmer bunched his cheeks. Shaking his head slowly, pityingly, he took Michael by the elbow. "Come, now. There's a good lad. I will take you to the surgeon. You will be right as rain in no time at all."
Michael did not follow his lead to the cart. He was not crazy. He had to get to Georgiana … who was dressed in a disguise … as a boy. "I mean the stable boy. He was taken."
"Ah, that. Yes, I saw that. A big man with a scar across his cheek — the sort one does best to avoid — took the lad. Shoved him into a hackney coach and took off that way," he said, pointing down the street. "Probably dawdling about when he had work to do and will pay for it now, I suspect. Poor lad."
The man with the scar. The man Michael had seen near Darcy House. Had he followed Michael knowing he would lead him to Georgiana? Was the man known to Nathan?
The pain in Michael's head paled in comparison to the anguish in his heart. "Did
you see anything else?"
"No, but if you will climb onto the cart, we can go to the surgeon."
Georgiana's horse pawed the ground impatiently.
Michael reached for the reins. "I thank you, but I have no time to spare."
"Pardon my interference, sir, but you are not fit to ride in your condition."
He was right, but Michael would not be stopped. Gritting his teeth, Michael mounted the equine. His own horse was nowhere to be seen, and Michael hoped it had made its way back to Darcy House.
"Sir, please allow me to help you," the farmer insisted.
"Thank you, but I must make haste," Michael said, already heading in the direction from which he had come minutes before.
Michael went as fast as the stallion could convey him through the streets back to Darcy House, trusting his mount to guide them when his vision blurred (which was often).
He wrapped his fingers around the horse's mane and held on. He had to get to Darcy House. He had to get help. He had to find Georgiana.
Michael urged his mount forward, holding his horse's mane so tightly, he could not feel his fingers. Black specks dotted his vision, but he pressed onward.
Just a little farther. Almost there.
Several men milled about in front of Darcy House. The horse they had lent Michael had returned home and was giving the stable boy a great deal of trouble.
As soon as he was close enough to be heard, Michael shouted, "They took her. They have Georgiana."
Michael remembered nothing after that.
Michael woke in the parlor inside Darcy House. His head felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton.
Rustling sounds stirred him to sit. "I must go," he said, determined to join in the search.
The housekeeper pressed down on his shoulder, ensuring his inability to go anywhere at all when she dabbed a wet linen against the back of his head, creating a burst of fireworks before Michael's eyes.
