by Jennifer Joy
Ivan opened the door, his voice booming and echoing off the empty walls. "Shut up or I will give you something to cry about!"
Before Lydia thought to spring to her feet, Ivan tossed a tin on the floor, the bread bouncing off it to land on the dusty planks. She did not need to take a bite to know it was stale and dry.
"What is to become of us?" she demanded, rising to her feet and angling her body toward the door. If he gave her enough room, she would run for it.
Ivan leveled his sinister eyes on her. They were as dark as gunpowder and as dangerous. She shivered, but she did not look away.
"You were a great deal more trouble than I was told you would be," he said.
"Thank you. I am pleased to have exceeded your expectations," Lydia said, lifting her chin and meaning every word.
Ivan turned to leave, but Lydia would have none of it. Not until he answered her question.
Raising her voice and doing her best imitation of the haughtiest person she knew (Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself), Lydia said, "I have not dismissed you. You have yet to answer my question, and I forbid you to leave until you do."
It was a fine line Lydia found easy to cross, from snobbish lady to acting the part of a Queen. Oh, but it was fun!
The evil man bowed mockingly. "The ransom notes were delivered. If your families love you more than their fortunes, you will be returned to them three days hence. Does that answer your question, Your Majesty?"
Lydia gasped, grasping enthusiastically at the opening he had presented her. "You mean to return us to our families nothing more than bags of bones? No, sir! We demand better food or you will have our irate families to deal with!"
Lady Eleanor added, "And for heaven's sake, bring us a chamber pot."
Ivan spoke through clenched teeth. "Your comfort is not my concern."
Lydia raised her nose and huffed. "Then do not expect the full amount from our families. If you return only half of us, you cannot expect more than half of the ransom."
Ivan turned to leave, but Lydia had only now gained her momentum. Three days of stale bread would do nothing to improve their spirits, and she was tired of hearing her companions weep. "You are not the man in charge. I suggest you tell him of our demands as well as the implications to him if he does not acquiesce." She blamed her exalted vocabulary on Georgiana. Never in her life had Lydia resorted to such fine speech, but it seemed to fit the occasion.
And her words hit their mark. Ivan stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
The hope they would receive the few comforts they needed to make the next three days endurable was stronger now than when he had first entered the room. If she made herself troublesome enough, he might concede to her demands just to keep her quiet. It was a tactic Lydia had used many times with great success before. Why should it not prove effective now?
Three days. She could endure anything for three days. Especially when this ordeal promised to gain her the attention she craved. Lydia imagined the invitations and calls she would receive from eager hostesses curious to hear the shocking details of her capture. She would ensure she had a glorious tale to tell.
Dwelling on her forthcoming social success cheered Lydia immensely.
She did not realize the other heiresses stared at her with their mouths gaping wide like codfish until Lady Eleanor spoke. "You do not know the meaning of fear, do you? I admire your courage in speaking up as you did. If our situation improves at all, we have you to credit for it."
Miss Pringle jutted her nose into the air and huffed loudly. She clearly wished to contradict Lady Eleanor, but she dared not offend a peer.
Lydia puffed up a bit at her foe's discomfort. It was nice to be called courageous when she was so often referred to as the silly Bennet sister. Maybe it was not entirely true anymore. Maybe she had finally matured enough to be taken seriously.
"My mama taught me always to see the advantage in every situation. Why should this be any different? If we survive this ordeal, I aim to benefit from it," Lydia said.
Lady Eleanor chuckled. "You sound like my brother. He, too, sees opportunity in everything."
Finally! A topic of interest. Lydia smiled, sitting on the floor beside Lady Eleanor. "The single one? Tell me about him," she said.
Chapter 17
Michael was worried. He had failed to reach Miss Morton in time, and that had hardly been a matter of life and death. This was.
Despite his persistent questionings and inquiries to multiple resources, he had learned nothing at the taverns other than to observe the hard swallows, wringing hands, and shifty eyes from the barkeepers whenever he attempted to extract information. Whoever was in charge inspired real fear — so much so Michael knew he would be wasting his breath trying to learn more at the taverns. One point was clear: the criminal was not someone you would want to provoke. His threats were not in vain.
To make matters worse, Michael had learned from a reliable source that the Pringles were unable to pay. Everything they had was bought on credit. Their only salvation lay in Miss Pringle marrying into a fortune. Her father had mortgaged his London house to give her another season.
Still, Mr. Pringle had property in the country to sell. Even if he sold at a loss, it would bring his daughter home safely and thus serve his purpose. Michael only prayed the man did not delay long. Only two days remained until the exchange.
How was it possible for two days to both span an eternity and pass by in a blink?
Michael wished he could talk to Nathan, but he understood his friend's sudden departure from London for business. He had read the engagement announcement in the paper. Miss Gladden was to marry The Right Honorable Lord Lansdowne. Miss Gladden would become a baroness. If she married a title over love, she did not deserve Nathan. Though her choice would sting, Michael was convinced his friend had ultimately been saved from an unhappy union.
Mr. Darcy had invited Michael to join them for luncheon. Mr. Bennet had arrived from Hertfordshire, and they had much to discuss.
However, before Michael made his way to Darcy House, he had to call briefly on Mr. Pringle. Michael had already sent a message to Lord Kendall, who was kind enough to send a footman to retrieve the information Michael had prepared for him. The same could not be said of Mr. Pringle, who had sent no one.
A hackney coach shortened the time it took Michael to arrive at Pringle Palace (or so Michael called the impressive structure in his own mind.) The building was a study in pretension with its exaggerated proportions and plenitude of taxable windows. Towering columns imposed on the gray. Glowering gargoyles looked down from their turrets as if to remind every caller that their position was loftier than theirs.
The butler admitted Michael into the yellow parlor which offered a pleasant view of the garden. He preferred the view out of the window to the perfectly decorated room, which would have fitted nicely in a museum display for all the welcome and comfort it lacked. It was nothing like the yellow parlor at Darcy House.
Mr. Pringle did not make him wait long. He entered the room saying, "Where is she, then, Mr. Nelson? Is today the day we storm the castle, so to speak?"
Michael braced himself. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities—"
"It is why I hired you," Mr. Pringle interrupted.
If Michael had learned anything at all, it was not to inspire hope before it was time. He said, "I have not found Miss Pringle or the others yet."
Mr. Pringle waved his hands. "The others can fend for themselves. I did not hire you to find them. You must center your attention solely on the recovery of my daughter."
Selfish man. Michael took care to prevent the disgust he felt from creeping into his voice. "I made no secret of my intention to find all three ladies. It is likely they are together as their families all received similar ransom notes."
Mr. Pringle did not take care to control his voice at all. There was no mistaking his anger. "Then find them!" he shouted.
"I am doing my best," Michael replied cal
mly. He often heard harsh words stemming from raw emotions in his profession. Mr. Pringle's concern for his daughter must be great, and Michael would be understanding.
"Good. I do not want to have to sell one of my properties," Mr. Pringle said.
Michael's jaw dropped. Had the gentleman not already taken measures to secure his daughter, aside from seeking out his assistance? Michael did not want to believe it. "Mr. Pringle, for the safety of your daughter, you must sell unless you are able to secure the money from another source in two days' time."
Mr. Pringle's face deepened a shade; he visibly shook. "If you do what you have been hired to do, Mr. Nelson, then there will be no need. You must find my daughter before the proposed exchange."
Was the man mad? Did he care so little for his daughter, he was unwilling to make any effort at all to ensure her return home? "And if I fail?" Michael asked.
"Then do not expect to receive payment from me."
He spoke of money when his daughter's life was in danger? "But she is your daughter!"
"I will not allow these villains to undermine everything I hold dear. Find her and no harm is done."
Everything he held dear evidently did not include Miss Pringle. Michael could not have hidden his disgust had he wanted to.
Michael departed as soon as he could politely extract himself from Pringle Palace, a bitter taste in his mouth all the way to Darcy House.
Georgiana was relieved Arabella did not ask her about Mr. Nelson. What would she say? Her stomach fluttered every time she saw him. When his gray-green eyes danced like waves crashing in the ocean, she struggled not to get lost in them and stare.
The passion Mr. Nelson displayed inspired Georgiana. And it terrified her.
She looked across the table at him. He spent more time pushing his food around his plate than he did eating it. His jaw was clenched, and Georgiana feared he might bend the silverware with the strength of his grip around the utensil.
Was he disappointed in her? Had she done something wrong? She instantly stopped herself before she took on the weight of his changed mood. That path was destructive. She was not responsible for Mr. Nelson's humor … especially when she did not know the reason behind it. A little more patience, and she would find out, she knew. He was not like her. He did not choose to suffer in silence, releasing his frustration on the page when he could discuss it with the people who could most help him. Georgiana wished she could be bolder like Mr. Nelson. He made her want to be.
"I am concerned for Miss Pringle. Her father has not yet taken measures to meet the demand placed upon him by her kidnapper, and I am no closer to discovering the fiend's identity than I was yesterday," he said.
There it was. He felt like a failure, and Georgiana knew Mr. Pringle well enough to know he would cast the blame on Mr. Nelson rather than accept responsibility for his own lack of action. Just as his father had done before him.
Georgiana felt silly for thinking Mr. Nelson had been disappointed in her when she had not been in his thoughts at all. What a silly creature she was.
Mr. Bennet pushed his plate away, forgoing all pretense of eating. "There remain two days to gather thirty thousand pounds? I do not possess such a sum, but I am willing to mortgage Longbourn for it. Perhaps I can secure the funds if my sons-in-law are willing to vouch for me at the bank."
Elizabeth looked lovingly at her father.
William said, "We will do anything to get Lydia home safely. Tanner and I are willing to lend you the sum. There is insufficient time to deal with the bank."
Georgiana burst with pride. Her brothers were the best of men.
Mr. Bennet's chin quivered. "Mrs. Bennet would have been overjoyed to know the quality of the men her daughters have married. I do not doubt the others would make the same generous offer had I troubled them with the matter." He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I regret ever calling Lydia a silly creature. I would give anything to see her here where she belongs. With us."
Elizabeth leaned against his shaking shoulder, patting his sleeve and muttering what comfort she could.
His misery provoked Georgiana's wretchedness. If only she had not lost sight of Lydia.
Nobody had an appetite, so when William suggested they retire to the music room, everyone was quick to agree.
The children joined them. Their addition to the party ensured no one could wallow in despair.
Taking Baby Angus from the nurse, Arabella settled beside Tanner. "Pray play something soothing for us, Georgiana," she implored, adding, "Perhaps Mr. Nelson would be so kind as to turn the pages for you. My hands are quite full."
Everyone's laps were full. Georgiana looked. But with Ben, Johnny, Marianne, Rose, and Angus in the room, she and Mr. Nelson were the only ones free to move about.
Georgiana's heart pulsed in her ears. She often performed for her family, but she was nervous to play in front of Mr. Nelson. She did not wish for him to think her vulnerable and weak when she wished to show herself strong and intelligent — or she would never convince him to allow her to help him find Lydia.
Arabella knew this. Why did she ask Georgiana to expose herself in front of their company?
Georgiana's silent inquiry was met by Arabella with a nod and a devilish smile. Unless Georgiana wanted to make a scene (which she never did), she would have to follow along. The only way out was through.
Mr. Nelson stood beside the instrument.
Squaring her shoulders and casting one final look of displeasure at Arabella, Georgiana joined him. She would play the shortest piece she knew and be done with it. Something lively and superficial; fit for an impromptu dance in a small parlor.
Mr. Nelson leaned closer to her, filling her senses with coffee, lye soap, ink…. He smelled of books! Was there any aroma more divine than that?
"Do you know Mozart's Fifth Sonata?" he asked.
Her heart skipped. Whether it was from his intoxicating nearness or the mention of a piece so dear to her (every pleasant memory in her possession was attached to it), she could not ascertain. "It is my favorite."
She blushed at the sound of her breathy voice.
"Mine too." He grinned.
He had a lovely smile. Straight, white teeth. Full lips.
Georgiana pulled her vision away from him before she was caught staring, her face aflame. She riffled through her collection of written music, restraining herself from fanning herself with the pages, until she found the piece. She did not need it. She knew the notes by heart. What she did need, however, was to occupy herself in something which would distract attention from her while she regained her composure.
So, Mr. Nelson had excellent taste in music. It meant nothing. It only felt important. But she would not be deceived by her foolish heart. She would not give more significance to a preference they shared.
It was only music.
Music that stirred her soul … but nothing of consequence.
Georgiana took a deep breath and placed her fingers over the ivory keys. Their cool touch soothed her with their familiarity.
She began to play.
Her hands glided over the instrument. She knew the sonata so well, the feel of the keys under her fingertips so intimate, Georgiana soon closed her eyes and let the music flow through her.
The tension in her neck and shoulders melted as she swayed back and forth over the pianoforte, floating on the air like a feather in the breeze.
All too soon, the sonata neared its end.
Georgiana slowed the tempo of the last notes, not ready to return to reality yet. But the final note dimmed, and when she opened her eyes, Mr. Nelson's hazel eyes were fixed on her. Strange she had not noticed the golden flecks in them before. They flickered like dancing candle flames.
Georgiana wiped her cheeks. What must he think of her?
Before her fears overwhelmed her, he smiled. And with a vigorous clap that echoed through the music room he showed Georgiana what he thought of her performance.
Her family joined him, smiling in pri
de and approval. They always did.
Mr. Nelson liked her performance!
The freedom and vivacity Georgiana felt when she played returned to her. It was glorious, and until that moment, she had never thought it possible to feel such bliss after the music had ended. If it were tangible, she would have grasped onto it with both hands and held it tightly to her, never to release her hold on it again.
Georgiana recalled Elizabeth's words from William's study the day before. For too long, Georgiana had restrained herself for fear her passion would lead to pain once again.
But there was no pain in the music room. Only joy and love and acceptance.
And Mr. Nelson.
Chapter 18
Michael had heard many young ladies exhibit their skills on the pianoforte, but her performance had made him lose his bearings. He had to blink several times to remember where he was.
In panic, he looked at the sheets of music. He had one job. To turn the pages. And he had forgotten to turn even one.
But Miss Darcy had not needed him to. She must know the piece by heart. Remarkable.
Nature had blessed Miss Darcy with serene beauty, but the power of her performance belied a passion that drew Michael to her like a moth to a flame. She looked like how he felt in court. And with each graceful note, his frustration had flowed away from him until he was at peace. Miss Darcy had done that in the space of one sonata.
Michael opened his mouth to add his praise to the compliments abounding from her appreciative audience, but the unexpected entrance of the nanny into the music room quieted everyone.
She wore gloves, a thick shawl, and a travel bonnet. She set a case down on the floor at her feet. "I apologize for troubling you, but I have reached my limit. I cannot remain here another day."
All eyes turned to young Master Darcy, who appeared as shocked as his mother and father did.
One stern look from Mr. Darcy drew the child to the center of the floor where he was encouraged to plead his case before his attentive jury.