The Remarkable Miss Darcy

by Jennifer Joy

  Had they more time and less urgency, they could have contrived a better plan. One certain to succeed.

  Mr. Porter whispered, "We are ready, Mr. Nelson. Just say the word."

  Seeing the building before him, knowing Georgiana was likely inside, Michael prayed for the best and gave the signal.

  Mr. Porter and his men strolled onto the street, slurring a merry tune and shoving each other. Their shouts and riotous behavior cast them as a group of angry drunks loitering by the warehouse.

  Michael watched the door. Nothing.

  Mr. Porter picked up a stone and hurled it at a window. The glass shattered, and before Michael could shout for him not to break more for fear of injuring one of the ladies inside, two men burst out of the door facing them and ran to the street along the front of the warehouse.

  Michael could not see the scar on the man's face, but he was dressed in dark colors and of the same build. He shouted insults too vulgar to repeat.

  The dock workers crowded around the two guards, swallowing them up and surrounding them with shouts and shoves.

  Tanner nudged Michael's elbow. "It is now or never."

  Michael, Tanner, and Darcy ran across the street, trusting the rowdy crowd to keep the guards from noticing. The constable remained behind to observe what he could and wait for the magistrate.

  The door was still open, and Michael slipped inside, looking around warily. The warehouse was large and open. It did not take more than a glance to see there was nobody else about.

  Nathan was not there.

  Along one side of the building was a row of doors. Michael ran to them. "Check for a locked entrance. That is where they will be," he said, ramming his shoulder against the first door. It gave, creaking open to show an empty room.

  Tanner barged through the door beside his. Nothing.

  Michael ran to the next while Darcy checked the doors at the far end of the warehouse.

  Michael's despair grew with each open door, until only one more remained. The last door. What if he was wrong? What if the ladies were hidden elsewhere?

  He rammed against it, and it stuck.

  With Darcy's help, he tried again. Two shoulders were better than one.

  Still, the door did not budge.

  Michael pressed his ear against the wood, but with the ruckus outside and his own labored breath, it was impossible to hear anything.

  "Georgiana!" he called out.

  Darcy pounded against the barrier, his deep voice booming through the building. "Is anyone there? Georgie?"

  Nothing.

  He pounded again.

  "Move, Darcy," said Tanner, pushing his brother aside to shout through the crack where the door and the wall joined. "Stand aside! I am coming through."

  Darcy stepped back, and Michael followed his lead, giving Tanner more space while they watched the other entrances.

  The drunken singing and angry shouts faded. Michael's vision blurred around the door, which he saw with acute clarity. He would have sworn he smelled the sweet scent of rosewater. Georgiana had to be on the other side. She had to be.

  Taking a deep breath, Tanner charged at the door.

  Chapter 29

  Georgiana pulled away from Lydia, wiping her cheeks and looking at the window. Not that she could see anything through the condensation trickling down the glass and seeping into the wall.

  Her eyes saw nothing, but her ears heard … men singing? Shaking her head, she inclined her ear toward the sound.

  Rising to her feet, she tripped over the bottom of Lydia's torn gown. Lydia had been overly enthusiastic in ripping a strip of her petticoat off to wrap around Georgiana's bloodied palms, taking a sizable portion of her ruined gown with it.

  Righting herself, Georgiana grabbed the tea kettle and pounded it against the plaster-covered bricks. "Help!" she shouted repeatedly.

  Miss Ramsay tried to stop her. "It is only some men in their cups. They will not help us. How could they hear over their own singing and shouting?"

  Georgiana spun to face her. "Do you not realize the position we are in?" She pointed to the door. "Those men murdered Miss Pringle. What is to keep them from slaying the rest of us once they get what they want? We must do what we can to help ourselves."

  Michael had died trying to protect her. She would not give in easily.

  Lydia added her voice to Georgiana's, shouting and pounding the wall. Lady Eleanor did the same.

  Their enthusiasm might have brought a smile to Georgiana's face had their circumstances been less perilous. Lydia would not succumb to fate easily. Not before she had married her wealthy, titled gentleman. Georgiana would help her. There was no one else for her, but she could see her friend happily wed.

  The three other ladies embraced each other in a corner, too scared to do anything other than tremble and weep. Their fear infused Georgiana with extra courage. If she survived this, she did not want to doubt if there was something else she could have done to help them. She had to give everything.

  Pausing to catch her breath for another round of throat-numbing, ear-splitting clamors, Georgiana stopped, turning to the door across the room. Had she heard a thump?

  It was impossible to discern through the melee of sounds surrounding her.

  "Quiet! Hush! Is someone at the door?" She waved her hands to silence the ladies, straining her ears as she walked over the squeaky floorboards to the door.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  "They heard us!" She beat her fist against the door, but the petticoat wrapped around her hand softened her blows. Raising her weakened voice, she said, "We are in here!" Her voice cracked and faded.

  She pressed her ear against the crack where the wall and the door joined.

  "Georgiana!" Michael cried out.

  Michael! It was Michael's voice.

  "You are alive!" she shrieked. Georgiana pressed her hands against the barrier separating them, wishing she could reach through it and touch him.

  The window in the room shattered, and the ladies huddled together squealed, running with their hands covering their heads from the glass. At least they were making themselves useful by making noise.

  Georgiana pushed against the door. Lydia joined her, stepping back a few paces and slamming their bodies into it. Blasted solid English oak, thought Georgiana.

  She heard William's voice, but she could not distinguish his words. Nothing could be heard over the cacophony of drunk men, scared ladies, and glass crunching between their feet and the squeaky floorboards.

  Safety was on the other side of that door … if they could get to Michael and her brothers. They were so close.

  Lady Eleanor gathered the others closer to them, slapping Miss Ramsay on the cheek when she swayed on her feet in a swoon.

  Lydia reared back to give it another try while Georgiana listened. If she heard Michael and William once, she might hear them again. Tanner would be near, too.

  "Out of the way, Georgie," Lydia said, leaning her weight forward and charging at her at the same time Georgiana finally heard Tanner.

  "Stand aside … coming through!"

  It was enough for Georgiana to grab Lydia's arm and wrench her to the side before she was crushed and trampled.

  Tanner burst through the door, sending splinters of wood and chunks of plaster flying.

  Miss Ramsay fainted in earnest, her limp form thudding against the planks. Lydia tripped over her skirts getting to her.

  Georgiana only had eyes for Michael. She launched herself into his arms, smothering his face with kisses wherever her lips met his warm skin. "I have to tell you," she said, rising to her toes to reach his cheek, "I am so happy you are not dead. Promise me you will never do that again."

  His eyes crinkled, and she felt his arms around her. "I will do my best," he said.

  Taking his smile as encouragement, Georgiana wrapped her arms around Michael's neck and twisted her fingers into his hair.

  Michael groaned and tensed, and Georgiana pulled back as quickly as she had
jumped into his embrace. How thoughtless of her.

  "You are hurt?" she asked, then clamped her hand over her mouth before she said anything else so stupid. Of course, he was hurt. She had heard the sickening crush of a knife handle against his skull. She had seen him fall from his horse to the ground. She had seen the blood. It was a miracle he was alive.

  Michael's wince turned to a smile. "I am well now. My heart is too full to feel any pain."

  William interrupted (as bothersome older brothers will do). "We should go."

  Then again, he did have a good point. Georgiana would save her declarations and kisses for later. What she would not yield was Michael's hand. Now that he had found her again, she was unwilling to let him go. She had to make sure she was not dreaming, that he would not fade into the fog and leave her alone.

  "Come on," Tanner said, stepping to the door.

  Lydia gathered her skirts and tried to stand only to shriek and grab her ankle as she fell to the floor in a heap again. "I must have twisted it," she said.

  Lady Eleanor slapped Miss Ramsay again, but nothing could induce her to her senses.

  Tanner heaved a sigh. "I should have positioned the carriage closer. I will get the unconscious one if you will see to your sister," he said to William.

  Lifting Miss Ramsay onto his shoulder, careful not to knock any of her extremities against the doorway, Tanner stepped out to the warehouse.

  With a cautious look from side to side, he waved for the rest to follow. "It is clear. Hurry."

  Miss Somerson and Miss Hamm followed quietly, their arms wrapped around each other. Lady Eleanor went next.

  William pulled Lydia to her feet, then lifted her into his arms when her progress was too slow.

  Ensuring Lady Eleanor was not so close to overhear, Lydia asked, "Why did you not include Lord Kendall in your rescue? I would rather him carry me than you."

  "I would rather the same," William grunted.

  Tanner led the way to the open door at the end of the warehouse, waiting for everyone to join him.

  Several times, Georgiana glanced over her shoulder expecting to see Nathan or the man who had tried to kill Michael behind them.

  This was too easy.

  She and Michael were halfway across the floor when the hair on her arms stood upright and she stifled a gasp. Something was wrong.

  Georgiana looked around again. There was nobody. Not behind them. Not on the other side of Tanner.

  Tugging on Michael's hand, she asked, "Where are the guards?"

  "They are dealing with the distraction in the street. You were not harmed by the glass, were you?"

  She ignored his question. "Where is Mr. Bradford?"

  The lump on Michael's throat bobbed up and down, but he did not slow his pace. They were so close to the door now. "I did not see him."

  That was impossible. "He was here only minutes ago."

  Michael pulled her along. Freedom was within reach.

  Through the doorway, she saw Tanner guiding the first of their group of ladies through the fog.

  A stiff breeze cut a clearing before them just as Tanner stepped outside the warehouse, briefly showing the empty street opposite them before it clouded up again.

  Georgiana shoved her anxiety aside. Clearly, she had read too many novels where the hero of the story would have one final battle to fight before the happy ending could come. Life did not follow the dramatic laws of fiction. Perhaps it would be an easy escape after all.

  Chapter 30

  Michael stepped aside, allowing Georgiana through the doorway. They had been fortunate thus far, but the wind stirring a path in the fog bode ill for them remaining unseen. And though Tanner and Darcy carried their burdens swiftly, it could not help but slow their pace to the carriage.

  Tanner disappeared down a side street, followed closely by the three terrified ladies. Darcy dashed through the clearing as well as he could.

  Michael let go of Georgiana's hand. They would have to make a dash for it.

  "You first," Michael said, waiting to ensure Georgiana's safe crossing to the other side of the street where Darcy waited.

  She made it.

  Michael stepped forward, watching as Miss Bennet launched herself out of Darcy's arms to fall against Georgiana.

  "Look out! Ivan has a knife," she screamed.

  Following the direction Miss Bennet's finger had pointed, Michael spun around.

  The man with the scar. Ivan.

  He stopped cold, his jaw wide when he saw Michael. "You are dead. I saw you."

  Michael motioned with his hand for Darcy to get the ladies out of there to the carriage, hoping Ivan's shock was too great for him to notice.

  "By your own admission, you attempted to murder me?" Michael said, lifting his chin and projecting his voice like he did in court. If the magistrate was present to hear a confession, he would ensure he heard something worthwhile. Michael did not want to waste precious time in court on the murderous lowlife if he could help it. He would make certain no jury could find Ivan without fault either. He would pay for his crimes — of which Michael was convinced there were many. London would be safer for it.

  Mr. Porter and his men came up from behind Ivan. They had tied the hands of the other guard.

  Ivan was trapped.

  "Michael!" a voice called from the side of the warehouse.

  Nathan.

  Lord forgive him — because Michael could not — it was Nathan.

  He looked penitent as he walked closer.

  "Why?" Michael demanded.

  No answer.

  "Good God, Nathan, why?" Michael insisted. He did not lose sight of Ivan, but he needed answers.

  Nathan's head drooped. "You were right to warn me. I should have listened, but I could not let it go."

  "So you kidnapped the daughters of those men? You made them pay for the sins of their fathers? That is justice to you? To harm the innocent?" Michael trembled with the flood of emotion coursing through him.

  "I wanted them to feel as I have these past fifteen years. To understand what it does to a man when he loses everything. To have no option but to watch helplessly as it tears their families apart."

  "Miss Pringle?" Michael asked.

  Nathan held up his hands. "I never meant to harm any of them. I swear it on the grave of my father, Michael. You have to believe me." His voice shook.

  Michael believed him. "Hand yourself over. I will make sure you get the best defense. Whatever the consequences are, you will get a fair trial."

  Nathan shook his head. "I have gone too far for even you to attempt to save me."

  "It is never too late to change."

  Nathan wavered. He might be won over yet. His only hope rested in cooperation. He might be transported, but he might escape the hangman's noose if he told the full truth and gained the sympathy of a jury. He could not expect more mercy than to be granted his life.

  Michael continued, "It is over. There is nothing else to be done now but to go to the magistrate and confess what you have done in its entirety."

  Nathan took a step forward but stopped when Ivan spoke.

  "After everything I have done for you, you would leave me to hang while you save your own neck? Stick with me, and I will get us on the first ship out of here. You go with him, I am a dead man." Ivan waved his knife around him, warding off anyone who attempted to near him.

  Michael watched the knife. He saw how Ivan's grip loosened around the handle until he held the blade against the inside of his hand. Michael had seen too many tavern fights not to know what that meant.

  He dared not glance away from Ivan to see if Darcy had gotten Miss Bennet and Georgiana to the carriage. Michael trusted he had. His obligation was to his family, not to Michael.

  "Be weak if you choose, but I will not," Ivan shouted, raising his hand.

  Michael lunged at Ivan before he could throw the knife.

  But he was too late. Too late to redirect his course, he watched in horror as Ivan pulled hi
s other hand away from his waist. He held a pistol.

  Nathan leapt between them as the pistol fired, the smoke stinging Michael's eyes and burning his nose. Ears ringing, he landed hard on the muddy stones.

  Footsteps scurried past him. A large figure roared up to Ivan, dropping him with one blow. Thank you, Tanner.

  Blurry and deaf, Michael crawled over to Nathan.

  A gust ruffled his hair.

  He did not move.

  Chapter 31

  Mr. Porter and his men swarmed around Ivan, holding him down until the constable put irons around his hands. He had not so much as flinched since Tanner knocked him to the ground.

  Michael took off his coat, carefully rolling Nathan onto his back and placing the broadcloth under his friend's head.

  Darcy sent for a surgeon.

  A surgeon could not help Nathan. Blood spread over his waistcoat, staining his cravat. His breath rattled.

  Tears choked Michael's throat, grief tearing at his chest. Nathan had surrendered his life to save Michael's, but it was not a fair trade. He would be missed. Michael was losing a brother.

  Nathan grabbed Michael's hand, his grip surprisingly firm. "Finally … I have … done something … worthwhile."

  Georgiana dropped to her knees beside Michael. She rested her hand on top of his and Nathan's. Her gentle touch and sympathetic look made the pressure building inside of Michael bearable.

  Nathan looked at her. "I … am … sorry." He tried to smile. "Take … care … of him. Make him … go to … the … tailor."

  He was slipping away. Nathan's grip loosened with each gurgle of labored breath.

  Bereavement strangled him, so Michael whispered, "I will always remember you kindly."

  The light in Nathan's eyes faded.

  Michael shouted for the surgeon, his chest hollow, his tears salty.

  A heavy greatcoat settled over Michael's shoulders, and Darcy knelt on the ground next to him just as Georgiana did on his other side. Their presence warmed him more than the coat.