The Remarkable Miss Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  Laughter pressed around Georgiana, and she started every time she heard a woman giggle. She would turn to see the source of merriment only to be disappointed. Lydia was nowhere to be found.

  The music hurt Georgiana's pounding head. If Lydia hid on purpose; if this was one of her ill-planned games….

  She examined the gardens along with the now-weeping Mrs. Wiggins. They peeked around every leafy plant and strategically placed bush. But Lydia was not there.

  The crush of revelers wearing disguises was another hindrance. Searching for one lady amid a houseful of people who thought their inquiries were nothing more than an amusement was like trying to find one loose pearl in Aunt Catherine's collection of jewels.

  Still, the need for discretion was necessary both for the sake of their hosts and for Lydia's reputation. For all they knew, she might be conversing quietly in a corner with a perfectly respectable gentleman. In Lydia's endeavor to imitate Georgiana, anything was possible.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Georgiana saw a flurry of white feathers and glistening pearls.

  Lydia!

  Georgiana rushed across the room, keeping her eyes fixed on the feathers before they were swallowed up in the crowd. Politeness slowed her down, but she wound her way through the throngs to see the feathers that had caught her attention … along with the red tendrils of hair they covered.

  It was not Lydia.

  Discouragement clouded Georgiana's eyes, but she refused to give in to tears. Crying was a waste of time when she now feared for her friend.

  What had happened? Where was she?

  Mrs. Wiggins caught up with her, grasping Georgiana's elbow for support. "Is it Miss Bennet?" she asked expectantly, her eyes watery and her nose red.

  Georgiana hated to disappoint her, but there was nothing else to be done.

  Mrs. Wiggins' head drooped. "She was there one second and gone the next. I was near her side all evening just as Mrs. Darcy said. I do not know how this has happened."

  "Tell me again, where did you last see her? Show me precisely where she was."

  "Right here under the chandelier in the entrance hall. She joined a group of ladies who were taking a turn about the rooms. They turned toward the ballroom, and I only lost sight of her for a moment." Mrs. Wiggins led Georgiana to the spot and pointed in the direction in which she had last seen Lydia walk.

  There were many people milling about. But no Lydia.

  Stiffening her spine, Georgiana said, "We are not done searching yet, Mrs. Wiggins. We must keep our wits about us."

  Mr. Nelson weaved his way through the masses, and Georgiana saw in his expression that he had met with no more success than she and Mrs. Wiggins had. William and Elizabeth followed closely behind, their faces grim.

  Once they were all assembled, Mr. Nelson suggested they inquire at the post coaches and carriages for hire. He offered to send messages to two of his most trustworthy sources, explaining to William how they could get information far quicker than either of them could were they to run about town and ask themselves.

  How had it come to this? Five years ago, Georgiana would have thought Lydia capable of eloping as Miss Morton had done. But she had matured since then … enough to see the disadvantages of an elopement. Lydia would never agree to a secret engagement when she stood to gain far more attention by making it public.

  After another turn around the ballroom, Georgiana paused. She was going about this all wrong. She should not search where she thought Lydia might be when Lydia was trying to act like her. Where would Lydia think Georgiana would go?

  Grabbing Mrs. Wiggins' hand, Georgiana said, "Come, let us go to the library!"

  Mr. Nelson was already there, stooping behind a couch. He stood when he saw them, saying, "I thought perhaps Miss Bennet might have taken her assumed role so seriously, she might have retreated to the library. It seems like a room in which you would seek refuge."

  "It is my favorite room in any home … besides the music room," Georgiana owned, flattered Mr. Nelson had drawn the same conclusion she had. Between them, he had much more experience searching for lost ladies.

  Together, they searched the library, careful not to disturb the fathers snoring with newspapers draped over their stomachs.

  Lydia was not in the library.

  Mr. Nelson ran his hand through his hair. His black mask lay on a table beside an empty glass.

  Georgiana had been so preoccupied, she had forgotten about her peacock feathers. She took off the mask, removing the pins holding it in place, and set it on a table. Her hair would be crushed and her curls disheveled, but she did not care. Only Lydia would chastise her appearance. And she was not there.

  "It is far-fetched, but could she be hiding behind the curtains in the ballroom?" Mr. Nelson asked, his hazel eyes stormy gray in the dim candlelight.

  "It is worth looking." Georgiana could count on one hand the number of times she had been forced to retreat behind the draperies, but Lydia loved to torment her about it.

  Without another word, she, Mrs. Wiggins, and Mr. Nelson filed out to the hall.

  So intent was Georgiana in her search, she did not see the three sporting gentlemen until they had surrounded her, blocking her path. They were like hounds on the hunt, closing in tighter around her and Mrs. Wiggins.

  Mr. Nelson was invisible to them. He was not their prey.

  The largest of the three said, "Miss Darcy, are you so eager to be found, you have shed your mask before the ball is done?"

  "Have you seen Miss Bennet?" Georgiana asked. She had no patience for their games.

  The gentleman smirked. "Who would seek out Miss Bennet when Miss Darcy is in the room?"

  The rake to her left extended his arm to her with a bow. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance, Miss Darcy?"

  Georgiana gritted her teeth. The hunters would see any attempts of hers to extract information as encouragement. Not bothering to calm the snap in her tone, she said, "Unless you can produce Miss Bennet immediately, I have neither the time, the patience, nor the inclination to dance with any of you. Not tonight. Not ever. Excuse me." She pushed through them, pulling Mrs. Wiggins along behind her.

  Mrs. Wiggins huffed at the gentlemen as they passed, and had Georgiana not been in such an ill humor, she would have appreciated the elderly woman's gesture more.

  Mr. Nelson appeared at her side. "You handled them extremely well for a lady who hides behind curtains. You are full of surprises, Miss Darcy."

  She spun to face him, her finger jabbing him in the center of his necktie before she could stop herself. "Three times. I have hidden behind a curtain three times in three seasons. Am I to forever be the lady who shies away from adversity?"

  He leaned forward, looking at her askance. "You do not?"

  Georgiana's ire cooled enough for her to realize how inappropriate it was for her to inflict her anger on Mr. Nelson. What a spineless ninny he must believe her to be. "While I generally make it a point to avoid trouble where I can, I am not afraid to speak up when it is necessary." At least, that was what she had determined to do. Beginning now.

  She watched his expression carefully. Did he believe her? Or did he think her full of false bravado? Why did he not say something? She hardly believed herself.

  He grinned. "Remarkable," he muttered.

  It was not at all the reaction she had expected, and when she felt a blush crawl up her neck and invade her cheeks, she redirected her attention back to the urgent matter at hand — the search for Lydia.

  Barreling down the hall to the ballroom, Georgiana saw William and Elizabeth coming from the opposite direction. Her brother was easy to see in a crowd; he was so tall.

  "It is nearly two in the morning. The housekeeper assures me every room has been searched twice. Have you heard anything from your informants, Mr. Nelson?" William asked.

  Mr. Nelson shook his head. "I only have one more man to hear from, but the other was able to confirm that nobody of Miss Bennet's name or description has hire
d a coach from the section of town where he inquired."

  They continued into the ballroom, trying not to call attention to themselves while peeking behind curtains and behind bushy potted ferns.

  Mrs. Wiggins' concern lent her vigor. She searched tirelessly without complaint.

  Finally, they reached the last curtain. It was at the back of the room behind the refreshment table. Open doors behind it led out to a small balcony. The cooling breeze floated in, cooling Georgiana's cheeks. She leaned into it, closing her eyes, knowing that whatever they found (or did not find) behind the last drapery they had left to inspect was of the utmost importance.

  She went to the curtain, pulled the fabric aside, and her heart froze. Elizabeth gasped, stooping to pick up the mangled mass of feathers crushed on the floor.

  Elizabeth's eyes brimmed with tears as she cradled the swan mask to her chest.

  William's deep voice cut through the chatter surrounding them. "We must return to Darcy House this instant." Turning to Mr. Nelson, he added, "If it is agreeable to you, I should like for you to accompany us. I will send for my man of business as soon as I can write him a message, but you already know the situation and have a reputation for acquiring difficult information. It seems we might need your assistance in finding Miss Bennet. Will you come with us?"

  "I would have offered myself freely had you not requested my help," Mr. Nelson replied.

  Knowing their predicament, the housekeeper was instrumental in getting them out of the house and into their carriage in short time. The distance to Darcy House was not great, and for that Georgiana was grateful.

  She suspected she knew why William suggested they return home.

  Elizabeth looked blankly out of the glass, voicing the reason for their haste aloud. "Lydia would never leave Chloe behind. She loves her too much. It could very well be she simply returned home. Sometimes Lydia is thoughtless. She may not have thought to tell us she suffered from a headache, a slight, or some such malady."

  William wrapped his hands around his wife's.

  Georgiana held her breath as they alighted from the carriage and walked up the steps.

  The door opened, and this time, Georgiana could not stop the tears strangling her throat and stuffing her nose.

  Despite the footman's attempts to control her, Chloe jumped on them, frantically sniffing and hopping. She whined when she did not see Lydia. Her sad, brown eyes did not understand where her mistress had gone.

  Elizabeth dropped to her knees, wrapping the distraught dog in her arms and burying her face in Chloe's fur. William knelt beside her, cradling Elizabeth in his arms, offering his support as he always did.

  Mr. Nelson clasped his hands behind his back, his head bowed. Georgiana knew her thoughts were improper, but she wondered how his arms would feel around her. She longed for someone to comfort her. Instead, she turned to Mrs. Wiggins, taking her to the nearest chair when she feared the companion would faint. Georgiana petted her hand and spoke the words she would have liked to hear.

  Finally, Elizabeth let Chloe loose, and William helped her to her feet. "I must write to my father without delay," she said.

  "Is your uncle Gardiner in town?" he asked.

  "He is away on business. I know not where."

  Guilt and regret burned Georgiana's eyes. Why had she lost sight of Lydia?

  Chapter 12

  Lydia tensed against the back-and-forth sway of the coach, panic heightening her senses. Fetid air, acrid cushions, and unwashed skin assaulted her nose.

  Where was she being taken?

  She had fought like a badger, but her attacker had stuffed her mouth with some sort of fabric until she gagged. She prayed it was clean.

  Using her fingernails, she had struck like a feral cat at his face until he had forced her hands behind her. Her skin chafed under the rope. Had he any decency at all, he would have used a softer rope with which to tie her. He was decidedly not a gentleman.

  Speech and movement denied her, Lydia had tried to see the man who had sneaked up behind her from the open balcony doors. But it was dark, and he had covered her head before she saw anything more than the large scar cut across his right cheek. The only other notable detail was his strength. He was much stronger than she was.

  Lydia had stomped her feet, wishing her heels were pointier. She could tell from the grunts of the man that she had hit her mark a few times, but his hold had not loosened. Not once. Not even a little.

  She was alone in a carriage with a strange man — a kidnapper. Her reputation was compromised, but this was perhaps the one man in England she would never agree to marry. Not even if he had a title. If he had marriage in mind at all… She trembled. What did he have in mind?

  Had she not been pretending to be Georgiana all night, Lydia would have panicked beyond all ability to think logically. As it was, Georgiana's influence lent Lydia a calm she clung to for dear life.

  What did the horrible man mean to do with her? Of all the ladies he could have taken from the ball, why had he chosen her? Oh, why had she thought it would be fun to hide behind that blasted curtain?

  Having thought enough on the subject to refuel her anger and regain a measure of strength, Lydia lashed out again with her heels, her screams muffled (which only added to her fury. Who knew where that awful rag had been before it was stuffed in her mouth?)

  Hot breath seeped through the fabric covering her cheek. It reeked of spirits, but the man did not sound drunk. His voice was low and gravelly. "Stop making trouble for me, or you will soon regret it."

  Lydia had no doubt he would carry out his threat. Her immediate reaction was to howl and despair, but she was not Georgiana Darcy that night for nothing. Lifting her chin, she did her best to look down at the man through her blindfold. It was the look a haughty heiress ought to give a smelly criminal — not that she had ever observed Georgiana give such a look, but that was beside the point.

  It was not until some time later Lydia realized the futility of her haughty posture. Her captor could not see it in the dark.

  The coach finally stopped. The man shoved Lydia, his rough hands holding her up when he would have sent her lurching forward. Her complaint came out as a garbled yelp.

  Slippery cobblestones turned to creaky wood under her feet, and the wind calmed. They were inside a building. Where was she?

  The man pushed against her back, moving her straight, straight, straight, and then sharply to the right. A door squeaked on its hinges, then in one swift motion, the blindfold lifted and the gag was pulled from her mouth just before she was shoved forward. What a horrible, pushy man!

  Oh, it felt good to breathe! Filling her lungs and whirling around, Lydia said, "Unhand me, immediately!" Her hands were still bound, but she could scream. And scream she did. She hoped it pierced his ears and left him deaf.

  The door slammed in front of her, fanning her hair away from her face with its force. Her hair must be a sight. And she just knew her gown was ruined. Wicked man.

  Hands grabbed at her wrists, and Lydia lashed out in instinct.

  Behind her, a woman's voice said, "Hush, now. You are safe with us … for now, anyway."

  Lydia had been so intent screaming, she had not looked around her. Not much could be seen in the moonlight glowing through the window, but it was enough. She was in a room the size of her bedchamber at Longbourn. Five other ladies, all in various states of dishevelment, looked at her with round, terrified eyes. Lydia recognized a few of them. One was a lady whom she would rather avoid. They had gone to finishing school together … and Lydia had been quite finished with Miss Pringle in no time at all.

  The other ladies were merely vague acquaintances she had met during previous visits to Darcy House. Lydia could no sooner recall their names than they could hers. They must not have had older brothers.

  "Who are you? Do you know why we are here?" asked the lady who had helped untie Lydia's hands. She was older than the others.

  Lydia sighed. She, too, wanted to know where
they were and why, and clearly, she would not get any answers. She rubbed her wrists. "Thank you. Tonight, I am Miss Georgiana Darcy."

  The lady before her arched an eyebrow, but her eyes smiled. "Only tonight? And might I ask who you are on the other nights?"

  "Ask me again on the morrow, and I might tell you," Lydia replied. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Miss Pringle with her upturned nose (like a pig's) said, "You dare to take Miss Darcy's name when you are nothing more than—"

  Lydia ran across the room and slapped her hand over the girl's mouth faster than Miss Pringle could back away. "I will call myself the Queen of Sheba if I wish. We are all stuck in a room together with no indication as to why we are here, and I see no harm in pretending to be someone whom I know would handle herself in a much more dignified manner than I would otherwise."

  Georgiana would never have slapped her hand across a lady's face to silence her. Not in a hundred years.

  Lydia shrugged, removing her hand before Miss Pringle could bite her. She would have slapped the backbiter much harder without Georgiana's influence. Lydia had wanted to so many times during finishing school.

  Miss Pringle was the odious viper who had attempted to make Lydia miserable by flaunting her finery and bragging about her beaus; by referring to Lydia as the poor relation no gentleman would ever condescend to marry unless he were blind, deaf, and desperate. To add insult to her many injuries, she had called Lydia "silly." It might be true — her own father called her silly often enough — but coming from Miss Pringle, the insult was a battle cry.

  Rubbing her lips as if Lydia's touch had soiled them, Miss Pringle said, "You always did give yourself airs."

  Lydia did not care for Miss Pringle's opinions. She had not asked for them. From a young age, Lydia had learned to ignore anything which did not bring her pleasure.

  Miss Pringle clearly was not the lady in charge, so why should Lydia waste her time making a useless ally?

  Turning back to the other lady who had helped her earlier, Lydia asked, "Who are you?"

  With a mischievous grin, the lady replied, "Yesterday, today, and every other day, my name is Lady Eleanor Radcliffe. So droll, is it not? To have only one name?"