by Lane Cossett
“There is only one thing that I would ask?” said Elizabeth quietly gently easing herself out of his arms.
Her husband frowned and took her hand. “Tell me.”
Elizabeth tried not to smile. “Only that you will not be disappointed if our first child is a daughter.”
It took a moment for Mr. Darcy to understand what she had said and when he did he planted a passionate kiss on his wife’s lips.
Elizabeth laughed. “Mr. Darcy - you should be gone. What if Mrs Reynolds should come in?”
“She will not,” said Darcy swooping in to capture another kiss.
Eventually Elizabeth gently pushed him away. “You are pleased Darcy, are you not?”
His eyes looked naturally bright. “I am delighted. A daughter or a son it does not matter. I only hope they will have your looks and your nature.”
“I thought if it was a girl, we would call her Frances Anne,” said Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy wrapped her in her arms and held her tightly. “I would like that very much indeed.”
Elizabeth snuggled against him. It was time her husband returned to his own room, but she could not resist spending a few more minutes in his arms. Her married life had turned out to be better than she had ever dreamed of.
THE END
Preview - The Lost Letters
“Mr. Darcy! What are you doing here?”
Mr. Darcy’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Mrs. Younge, his sister’s companion. He had never warmed to her and he found the question impertinent. “I’m here to see my sister.”
Mrs. Younge’s eyes darted away from his and she closed the door slightly.
He was immediately suspicious, and he looked over her head to the room beyond. A table, two chairs, a spinet in the corner, a chaise lounge along one wall. The room was clean and tidy, but of his sister there was no sign. “I would like to see Georgiana now.”
With one hand Mrs. Younge pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, while she stood half hidden behind the door. Her tone was belligerent. “She’s not here. She’s gone.”
Darcy’s heart thumped painfully in his chest. He could barely contain his anger. His sister would not just up and leave. He’d written telling her of his arrival. “What nonsense is this? Tell me at once?”
A smirk tugged at Mrs. Younge’s lips. “What I say. She’s gone. Left yesterday and I don’t know where.” She tried to push the door shut, but Darcy was too quick for her, and he put his boot against the door and forced it open with one hand.
Mrs. Younge stumbled back into the room protesting loudly. “How dare you. Get out of here.”
Her raised voice caused a maidservant to appear from a back room. She looked at Mr. Darcy nervously, her cheeks bright red, her hands nervously smoothing down her apron.
Darcy glared at her. He needed no witnesses to the conversation between himself and Mrs. Younge. “Leave us.”
The young girl glanced fearfully at her mistress, who nodded, and she bobbed a curtsey before disappearing from whence she had come.
Darcy took off his hat and placed it on the table along with his cane. He had no intention of leaving until he knew where his sister was. “Now, Mrs. Younge, I will ask you again. Where is Georgiana?”
Mrs. Younge walked around the other side of the table putting some distance between them. She still would not meet his eye. “She’s eloped.”
Darcy felt as if he had been hit with a mallet around the head and for a moment he could hear nothing but a ringing in his ears. Eloped. What madness was this? He must have misheard. Georgiana would not have eloped. She was but fifteen years of age.
He stared at Mrs. Younge, who was playing with the edge of her shawl. The small gesture angered him. Did she not realise the seriousness of what she was saying? She was supposed to be Georgiana’s companion. How could she have let this happen?
“I do not believe it.”
The woman’s dark eyes narrowed as she jeered at him. “Don’t you, sir? Well, it’s true. She’s gone. She left with George Wickham.”
Mr. Darcy gripped onto the back of the chair in front of him. George Wickham. His legs felt suddenly weak. The pain in his chest increased as he tried to take in what Mrs. Younge had said. George Wickham, the son of his late father’s steward. He could not believe it. The man was a scoundrel.
His voice did not sound like his own as he struggled to speak. “Where are they?”
Mrs. Younge smirked. “I do not know. He didn’t tell me.”
Her voice did not falter, but he was not deceived by her nonchalant air. She knew more than she was telling him. He had never shown violence to anyone, but Mrs. Young’s contemptuous behaviour aroused in him anger such as he had never experienced.
“You’re lying.”
The sound of her laughter grated on his sensibilities and his fingers tightened on the chair.
“No, I’m not, sir.” Her lip curled in contempt. “It happens to be true. He didn’t tell me, because he’s not a fool. They knew you wouldn’t like it, so they did not tell me where they were heading.”
“They?” Darcy’s voice shook. “This was not her doing. I know it wasn’t. He must have forced her.”
She stared back at him, a pitying look upon her face. “There was no force. Your precious sister is in love with him.”
Love? The word jarred. She was lying again. He was certain of it. Georgiana was young, too young to be in love.
“I don’t believe it and if you refuse to tell me the truth I shall summon a constable and see that you are arrested for fraud.”
Mrs. Younge appeared unmoved by this threat and turning, she went to the spinet and picked something up from under some music sheets. When she turned back, she was holding a letter. “She left this for you.”
His anger was increasing by the minute. She should have given him the letter at once. He reached out to take it from her, but she quickly tucked it down the front of the dress.
With three long strides Mr. Darcy was by her side, towering over her.
Mrs. Younge quickly tried to back away. “Don’t you touch me,” she snarled at him.
Mr. Darcy did not move, nor did he raise his voice. “Give me the letter.”
She shook her head. “No.”
Her mask was slipping. He was so close, he could smell the cloying stench of her fear. “If you do not give it to me, I will fetch a constable.”
“And what about your precious sister? What about her reputation? Everyone will know Miss Darcy is no better than a whore.”
Even though it was ludicrous to think of Georgiana in those terms, the words hurt as they were meant to. His sister was an innocent and had the sweetest nature of any woman he knew. She was not capable of being the type of woman Mrs. Younge implied. He could see the letter peeping out from the neck of her dress. He was stronger than her and he would have no difficult in retrieving it, but he would not attack her.
“The letter, Mrs. Younge.”
He held out his hand, but she misunderstood the gesture and suddenly struck out at him. She caught one blow on his chest, but he easily deflected a second, catching her wrist and gripping it so tightly she dropped her arm.
“Let go of me,” she spat at him.
He let go of her and she angrily rubbed her arm. “How dare you! You had no right.”
He had no intention of arguing with her. She had struck first. “The letter, Mrs. Younge.”
Shaking, she retrieved it from the front of her dress and handed it to him.
He took it, thankful that he had not been forced to seek out a constable. He didn’t even know if there were any in Ramsgate. He placed the letter in the inside pocket of his jacket. He urgently wanted to know the contents, but he would not read it in front of Mrs. Younge. He picked up his cane and hat and headed for the door.
“What about my money?” she asked. “I’m still owed some.”
Mr. Darcy made no effort to hide his contempt as he looked back at her. “We owe you nothing. Goodbye, Mr
s. Younge.”
He left, leaving the door open as he hurried down the path to his waiting carriage. He could hear her shouting obscenities after him, but he didn’t look back. He cared nothing for Mrs. Younge. His only concern was for Georgiana. He had not a moment to lose. He had to find her.
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