The look of surprised horror on the face of the middle-aged woman who opened the door was, to the gentlemen, promising. They pushed their way into the front parlor before she could protest, and closed the door behind them. “Mrs. Younge,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I trust you know why we have come.”

In addition to being Georgiana’s former governess, Mrs. Younge held the notoriety of being a trusted associate of George Wickham. As such, she had been little inclined to talk, and several hours later, Darcy wanted nothing more than to have her out of his sight. It had taken close to thirty pounds of his money to finally coax her to reveal that both miscreants had been granted admittance to her home, but had been turned out several hours later after their boisterous interlude abovestairs escalated into a heated argument, in which several personal effects of some value were destroyed. She admitted that Lydia, who she claimed Wickham had referred to as Lizzy in a moment of fury, had initially seemed willing—even happy—to be with him, but, upon quitting the establishment, had appeared utterly terrified. Darcy left the house in a foul temper and promised Mrs. Younge further payment should she discover any information regarding either party’s whereabouts. That the woman had been most adamant Wickham had referred to Lydia by his wife’s name brought him nothing but unease.

The next several days passed slowly and uneventfully, both to the relief and frustration of those involved. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a constant visitor at Darcy House—dropping in at all hours of the day and night to meet privately with Darcy and Mr. Bennet in Darcy’s study and, oftentimes, with Mr. Gardiner, when that gentleman’s business would allow it. Though Elizabeth was kept abreast of nearly all of their dealings, she could not help feeling that her husband was keeping something pertinent from her, though she could not imagine precisely what. On top of that was the added hardship of being left to her own devices day after day while the gentlemen conferred and came and went as required. Though she had come to accept this probability in theory before she had left Hertfordshire, upon arriving in London, Elizabeth soon found she was not in the least prepared to be alone with her troubling thoughts and wrenching worries for the majority of the day.

After the visit to Mrs. Younge’s, Darcy had decided against sending for Georgiana. He could not trust the woman to refrain from showing up on his doorstep, and though Mrs. Gardiner visited Darcy House as often as her time would allow, she still had a household to run and several young children to care for, which left little time to devote to her niece. Elizabeth tried to hide her disappointment as best she could, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to do when, on most days, she found very little reprieve from the inner turmoil of her active mind.

In an effort to divert her focus from dark thoughts, Elizabeth immersed herself in learning the management of her new household. Though she had some limited experience assisting her mother in the task, she was not prepared for the large amounts of money and the wide disbursement of funds she suddenly found at her disposal. She devoted many tedious hours to poring over the books with Mrs. Hildebrandt, struggling to perfect her understanding of the operation of her husband’s London household. Under the housekeeper’s instruction, Elizabeth persevered in her endeavor until satisfied she had finally acquired enough knowledge of the management of Darcy House to do an effective job without supervision.

In the moments when she was not working closely with Mrs. Hildebrandt or attempting to conceal her anxiety behind a book while awaiting some word or scrap of news, however small and insignificant, regarding her sister’s whereabouts, Elizabeth took to wandering the cold, empty courtyard of Darcy House. It was the only form of exercise out-of-doors Darcy would permit her, even accompanied by him. She had been walking for some time amongst the barren beds, dry fountains, and statues; her thoughts turned toward the disreputable situation her youngest sister had brought upon herself—and all her family—with Wickham.

During their last days at Longbourn, there had been several painful instances where Lydia had accused Elizabeth of behaving in very much the same disgraceful manner, regarding her own conduct with Darcy. It disturbed her, so much so, that she could not stop herself from thinking back, time and again, to her relationship with the man who was now her beloved husband.

She recalled the past events since she and Darcy had met and, with a sudden epiphany, realized that, though she could not, in all honesty, discount Lydia’s accusations, there still remained one very significant difference in their circumstances: Darcy had been in love with her—ardently, passionately, unfailingly in love with her—and that, Elizabeth was finally forced to concede, made all the difference in their situations, at least where it mattered most—to her.

She was lost in her own thoughts, so much so, that she failed to hear the soft click of the French doors to the courtyard, nor the sound of purposeful footfalls.

Not wishing to startle her, Darcy stopped several feet away before calling her name. Elizabeth turned to face him, and he noticed the troubled look in her eyes. He was about to speak, to ask her why she appeared to be in such a state of wretchedness, but then thought better of it. Instead, he closed the distance between them and embraced her. Finally, without removing from his arms, Elizabeth said, “Thank you for loving me so, Fitzwilliam, despite every obstacle we have been forced to overcome.”

Darcy knew the last few weeks had been difficult for her, and for this reason in particular, it pained him that they had yet to find Lydia. They had been in London for nearly a week, and still, there was no sign of her, no word, nor any leads to follow. He was fast losing hope for her recovery, as were Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner. He answered her not with words but by holding her more tightly. Elizabeth sighed and, after a time, pulled away and busied herself with adjusting her pelisse.

Darcy cleared his throat and said, “My aunt and uncle have extended an invitation to dine in Berkeley Square tomorrow evening. It seems they are no longer ignorant of our presence in Town. I took the liberty of accepting the invitation, but I have not shared with them any information regarding your sister’s alleged elopement. I believe we could both use an evening in the company of family. My sister, I hear, is desirous to see you.” He dropped his voice. “You should never have been made to suffer this alone, Elizabeth. I fear I have not done my duty by you these last few days. Can you ever forgive me for neglecting you so?”

Elizabeth stared at him before lowering her gaze. “There is nothing for me to forgive. I did not expect you to be constantly by my side, Fitzwilliam. You are here to search for my sister. Of course her untenable situation must have first claim on you. I would not have it any other way.”

“But I would,” he said. “It should not be so. You should not have been left to your own devices at such a time as this. You have endured more in the last few weeks than should be expected of a gently bred woman, and I feel as though I have abandoned you in favor of one whom I can hardly esteem. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I do not mean to pain you further, but neither can I lie to you.”

Elizabeth shook her head and took several steps from him, pressing her fingers to her eyes. “No. If only Lydia had not run away from home. If only my mother had not been so indulgent. If only my father would have taken the trouble to check her wild behavior, rather than contenting himself to simply laugh at it, then, perhaps we would have been spared such worry and humiliation, but it was not to be.”

Darcy extended his hand to her and pulled her close. “If you wish, I will send word to my aunt that we are unable to attend her dinner. I understand that her dear friends, Lady Malcolm and Lady Sowersby, are to be present, as well. They are both very kind, but I can understand if you do not wish to go through such an ordeal at present.”

“No, Fitzwilliam. You are correct in thinking some familial society will do us both good. Are my father and the Gardiners invited, as well?”

“Yes, though your father has declined. I believe he will remove to Gracechurch Street for the evening. I am not yet certain whether the Gardiners will attend, but I can only assume that, under the circumstances, they may decline, as well. Richard and my other cousins will, of course, be in attendance, as will Georgiana. My uncle has informed me that Lady Catherine and my cousin Anne have since returned to Rosings and do not plan to return to Town for some time.”

She nodded. At least I will not have to bear that woman’s scorn and disapprobation, she thought with some relief.

Darcy guided her to the house, and they retired to the privacy of their apartment. He rested with his wife, stroking her back until he was certain she had finally fallen asleep; then he rose and returned to his study, where he found Colonel Fitzwilliam frowning over a note that had only recently arrived from one of his men. Darcy looked at him with anticipation, but Richard only shook his head. “There is no news. I have only been informed that Mrs. Younge has been out now for several hours. Three of my men are following her at a discreet distance. She appears to be making calls. They will send word if they discover anything.”

Darcy cursed under his breath. “We must find them. I can no longer countenance seeing Elizabeth in such low spirits. This is supposed to be a happy time for her; she should be enjoying her new position as my wife and the prospect of motherhood, yet she is close to tears each hour of the day and separated from me because of this business with her sister. I will not have it. Discover them. Do whatever you must, promise whatever you must; I will pay for it, but Lydia must be found. Elizabeth and I cannot live as we wish until she is recovered. After that, I shall remove both Elizabeth and Georgiana to Pemberley, the Season be hanged. I can no longer abide this insufferable situation.”