Page 4 of Honor Requires

The prison air had grown colder. Or perhaps exhaustion was finally overtaking him. His body ached with deepening insistence. Somewhere down the corridor another prisoner shouted incoherently before falling silent again.

Darcy drew one knee upward and rested his arm across it, staring into the darkness beyond the cell door.

He tried to imagine Elizabeth reading in the Gardiners’ sitting room. Tried to picture her walking along the cliffs above the sea with wind catching at her skirts. Ordinary moments. Simple ones.

The effort hurt more than his injuries.

Because the world beyond these walls still existed unchanged while he remained buried beneath stone like a man already half erased.

Darcy lowered his head.

Fear pressed fully through him—not fear of pain or imprisonment, but of absence. Of becoming unreachable. Lost somewhere beyond the reach of those who knew him best.

Of Elizabeth believing he had abandoned her without word or explanation.

His hand closed tightly against the rough fabric at his knee.

“No,” he said aloud into the darkness, though whether he spoke to the prison, to fate, or merely to himself he could not have said.

The sea maintained its endless assault beyond the walls.

Darcy leaned his head back against the stone and fixed his thoughts stubbornly upon Elizabeth Bennet—her voice, her wit, the warmth in her eyes when she forgot to guard it—and held there through the long hours before dawn.

Chapter One

“It is pleasant to finally be out of London and by the sea.” Miss Georgiana Darcy sighed, her gaze fixed upon the passing scenery outside the carriage.

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the young lady’s elder brother by some years, chuckled affectionately. “We have scarcely entered Ramsgate. Our lodgings are still thirty minutes away.”

“But can you not feel the change? Breathe the cleaner air, my dear brother, and taste the saltiness of the sea.” Georgiana grinned as Darcy complied.

“Yes, there is a distinct lack of…something…in the air, is there not?” Indeed, the air smelled cleaner—one of the reasons Darcy preferred the country to town.

He had planned this holiday after a particularly trying winter. Georgiana had fallen ill and nearly succumbed to fever in December. After a slow recovery that spring, which required his sister to remain at Pemberley rather than return to school, Georgiana was finally well. She was weak, however, and her usual vibrancy seemed dulled by the long convalescence. Their family physician had suggested a summer by the sea.

Ramsgate was the obvious choice. After Darcy finished his yearly assessment of his aunt’s estate, which was also located in Kent, he and Georgiana had departed for a summer at the shore.

If he were honest, Georgiana was not the only one in need of a reprieve. The last year had been a sore trial. He had been plagued incessantly by letters from one Winston Hargrave, a tradesman of some fortune and reputation. The man wished for Pemberley’s mining rights. Darcy knew his land had iron, but like his ancestors before him, he wished to keep the land in an unaltered state. The natural beauty of his property would not be marred by extracting minerals from the ground.

Hargrave’s letters had grown increasingly insistent and desperate, until Darcy had finally stopped replying. The letters had dwindled, and the last few had been cast into the fire unread.

I mean to enjoy myself this summer. Yes, he deserved it. And in the autumn, he had promised his good friend, Mr. Charles Bingley, his help locating a suitable estate to lease. Bingley’s fortune came from trade. Unlike Hargrave, however, his friend was a true gentleman.

Darcy had nothing against tradesmen. In fact, he admired their mettle. It took an intrepid sort of man to make his fortune, especially when the world seemed determined to keep those not born to privilege from achieving greatness.

“Will the house be in readiness?” Georgiana’s words brought Darcy out of his musings and back to the present.

“Mrs. Younge came two weeks ago, so I imagine all will be prepared.” Mrs. Younge was Georgiana’s companion. She had been in his employ for only a few months, but had already proved to be invaluable to Georgiana. She had impeccable references, and her connections had aided Darcy in finding a house to let in Ramsgate for the summer.

“What shall we do first, Poppet?” Darcy smiled indulgently at his sister. Georgiana bounced with childlike enthusiasm. She was but fifteen—her sixteenth birthday being in August. It was hard to believe she only had a short time before she would come out in society.

“I wish to try sea bathing. Oh, my dear friend, Miss Cromley, says there is a delightful teashop near the beach. Mrs. Peacock is the proprietor—she serves the most delicious ices and pastries.”

“I see your sweet tooth has returned.” That pleased Darcy. Georgiana had lost a stone while sick—too much on an already thin frame. I will ensure we visit the teashop daily. Perhaps then her round, rosy cheeks would return.

The carriage came to a stop in front of an elegant house. The red door stood out. The others on the row were blue or green. There was a small garden in the front and Darcy could see it extended around the back of the house.

The carriage door opened, and Darcy stepped down, turning to assist his sister. “Oh, it is very pretty!” Georgiana grinned as she looked up at the house.