Page 190 of A Question of Character

“Immediately.”

Darcy folded Georgiana’s letter with clumsy haste and thrust it into his coat. His hat was in his hand before Fletcher approached with his gloves. He took them without memory of doing so, descended the stairs at a pace that brought a footman half-running from the hall, and was mounted within minutes.

The road to Longbourn had never felt so long.

He rode hard enough that the horse’s breath steamed in the cool morning air. Hedges blurred. A cart pulled aside hastily. Somewhere a woman cried out in alarm as he passed. Darcy did not slow until Longbourn’s chimneys came into view.

A groom ran to take his horse when he reached the house. Darcy dismounted before the animal had fully halted and strode to the door.

Hill opened it with surprise that became concern.

“Mr. Darcy—”

“Is Mr. Wickham here?”

Hill’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. In the drawing room.”

He did not wait to be announced.

The drawing room contained nearly everyone.

Mrs. Bennet sat near the fire, Mr. Bennet by the window with a newspaper he was not reading, Jane beside a table of work, Kitty and Mary on opposite sides of the room, Lydia seated with flushed happiness near Mr. Wickham. Elizabeth stood beside the pianoforte with a sheet of music in her hand.

Every individual’s attention was focused on him.

He must have looked wild.

Wickham rose first.

“Good heavens, man, what is the matter?”

Darcy shut the door behind him. His breathing was uneven, his riding coat damp from exertion, his hands not quite steady. He looked from Wickham to Elizabeth, then to Mr. Bennet.

“I must speak with Mr. Wickham.”

Lydia rose. “Why?”

“Lydia,” Mr. Bennet said.

Darcy forced himself to speak less abruptly. “Miss Elizabeth, I must ask you to hear this as well.”

Elizabeth moved toward him. The anger of yesterday vanished from her face, replaced by alarm. “What has happened?”

He drew Georgiana’s letter from his coat.

“My sister has eloped.”

The room broke into sound.

Mrs. Bennet gasped. Kitty cried, “Eloped?” Mary whispered something about rash actions and ruin. Lydia clapped a hand over her mouth.

Wickham’s face transformed so completely that Darcy, even in panic, noticed it. Shock. Then horror. Not guilt.

“Miss Darcy?” Wickham said.

Darcy nodded once.

“With whom?”