These Three Remain

only at the very last moment.

“Darcy!” the rider gasped, his eyes wild and hard.

“Good God, Dy, what do you think you are doing?” Darcy shouted angrily.

“No time for that! Where is Trenholme? Do you know where he is?”

“On a ship bound for America! Why? What is this?” A cold fear clutched at his vitals.

“When did you see him last? Did he say anything about Lady Monmouth’s whereabouts?” The horse under Brougham danced, putting into motion the desperation in his voice.

“Last night, and no, he did not say where she was. Only that he wished her dead and warned me to watch for her. What is it, Dy? What has happened?”

“The Prime Minister…Perceval.” Brougham looked beyond him, seeking Georgiana’s eyes. Darcy knew the moment Dy found them, for they softened, but in less than a breath he withdrew back into himself and looked again at Darcy. “The Prime Minister was shot dead not fifteen minutes ago in the halls of Parliament.”

Darcy barely heard Georgiana’s cry for the force of his own shocked “No!”

“It is true.” Dy pulled at the reins, his mount’s agitation increasing. “We have the assassin, but there are others.”

“Sylvanie?” Darcy breathed, “You believe Sylvanie to be involved?”

“The murderer is John Bellingham, Fitz, the man who insulted you, who kept so near Sylvanie at her soiree. Her Ladyship must be found!”

“What can I do?” Darcy caught at the reins and drew Brougham closer. “Anything!”

Dy shook his head. “Nothing directly. I must be off and can give you no assurance of my quick return. Take care of Miss Darcy, Fitz! I know you shall, but do so for my sake as well? It could be quite some time.”

“Of course, without question! Take care, and Godspeed, my friend!”

“And you.” Dy looked down on him with a wistful smile. “Miss Darcy.” He nodded to her and was gone.

Georgiana was in his arms in an instant. “Oh, Fitzwilliam. What has happened? Where is Lord Brougham going?”

“The world has turned upside down,” he whispered against her hair, “and Dy has gone to fix it.”

Chapter 7 An Unperfect Actor

“I assure you, I shall manage perfectly.” Darcy looked past his long-faced valet to nod his acknowledgment to the serving man who had appeared at the inn door with the information that his horse was ready at the mounting block. “You are merely hours behind, a day at most.”

“Yes, sir,” Fletcher answered, a sigh all but audible in his voice. The heat of August had not quite rendered the journey from London unbearable, but the addition of Mr. Hurst’s new valet to the servant’s carriage had set all of Darcy’s people, particularly Fletcher, on edge. “A sneaksby and a mushroom!” Fletcher had pronounced Hurst’s man as he attended Darcy their first night out of Town, and his reports worsened at each stop along their way. Darcy was not without sympathy for his valet’s complaints, for the company of Miss Bingley also grew increasingly tedious in direct proportion to the hours spent confined with her in the coach. Her brother’s conversation offered some respite, as did Georgiana’s attempts to interest her in a book or the scenery, but Darcy could only thank Heaven when, upon arriving at the last coaching inn before Derbyshire, he had found waiting for him an urgent note from Sherrill, his steward, requesting his immediate presence at Pemberley. The call of duty could hardly have been sweeter, its siren tone reaching Fletcher’s ear as well, but it was impossible that Darcy’s valet should accompany him. Nor did he desire any company. These last miles before home he wished to spend alone, with only his thoughts for companions, before he entered into the incessant demands of master and host of his great ancestral estate.

A knock at his door brought Darcy around to see his sister poised at the threshold, a somewhat strained look upon her face. “Sweetling,” he sighed as he strode to her, “I am sorry to leave you so!”

“Not so very sorry.” She sent him a rueful but understanding smile. “I wish we were near enough that I might ride ahead as well.”

He bent and bussed her forehead. “When you get to Pemberley —”

“It will be better, I know,” she finished. “We will not be in each other’s pockets, especially when Aunt and Uncle Matlock arrive with D’Arcy and his new fiancee and family. I hope —” She stopped then and bit her lower lip.

“What, dearest?” He looked down tenderly into her wistful eyes.

“That I shall find a friend among these new relations D’Arcy brings us.” She rested her head upon his shoulder. “My own friend.”

“As do I.” He embraced her and then, gently setting her from him, chucked her under her chin. “I must go, but I promise you, we shall look into this business. Perhaps Aunt Matlock may have some suggestions.”

Pulling on his gloves and gathering his hat, saddlebag, and crop, Darcy saluted his sister and made for the door, his stride becoming a run down the steps when he heard a door behind him open to the sound of women’s voices. Turning the corner at the base of the stairs, he quickly passed through the public rooms and out into the sunlight of what promised to be a warm Derbyshire day.

“Darcy!” Bingley’s cry from behind him brought him to a halt. He turned and, smiling at the figure of his friend, waited for him to catch up. The last three months had not only brought Darcy peace from his crushing rejection at Rosings Park but had wrought significant changes in the manner of his friendship with Bingley, but also, Darcy was convinced, in Bingley himself. The man striding purposefully toward him was not the same Bingley of a year or even three months ago. There was more confidence in his carriage and assurance in his lineaments.

“Bingley!” He grinned at the look of reproach his friend freely cast him. “Your pardon for leaving without saying farewell, but I truly must be off if I am to reach Pemberley in good time.”

“Say no more.” Bingley grasped his hand and, falling into step with him, accompanied Darcy to the mounting block and his waiting horse. “I did not expect it; I just wish I could accompany you.” He peered down the road and, with a frown, turned back and addressed him. “Is it wise to go alone?”

“I expect to catch up with the baggage coaches in an hour and will have them release Trafalgar. The two of us should pass relatively unnoticed through the backcountry of Derbyshire.” Darcy patted the pistol in his saddlebag. “If not, we are not without resources should we be ascosted.”

“Well then, I shan’t detain you except to wish you Godspeed and to promise to deliver Miss Darcy and all my relations upon your doorstep tomorrow.” Bingley grinned and shook Darcy’s hand once more but solemnly. “Take care, Darcy.”

“And you, my friend,” Darcy replied and swung up into the saddle. “Until tomorrow!”

The mount beneath him was not Nelson but rather a less unpredictable cousin dutifully sent forward from Pemberley by Darcy’s steward. Nevertheless, the animal’s bloodlines ran true, and the ground between the inn and the coaches was eaten up in less time than Darcy had thought. Even so, Trafalgar’s affronted bark, alternating with a beseeching whine, reached him before he had even sighted the coaches. Upon being released and restored to his master’s side, the hound first trembled from nose to tail with undisguised joy, then with equal enthusiasm, rolled in the dust of the road, ran around Darcy’s horse in circles, attempted to leap up, and pawed ecstatically at his boot.

“Down, Monster!” Darcy thundered, then winced at the deep scratch that now transected his right boot. Fletcher would not be pleased. The hound sat dutifully, but his twitching tail beat out the quickly passing moments that might have been expected to contain such strenuous obedience. Nodding to Trafalgar’s keeper, Darcy urged his horse on, issuing a curt “Come!” to his erstwhile devotee. With an explosion of compliance, Trafalgar raced ahead, circled back, repeated the maneuver, and finally fell into a trot beside him, his happiness so complete that Darcy could only laugh and marvel at how very good it felt to be exactly where he was.

Now that the Monster accompanied him, Darcy slowed his pace to a steady, comfortable one, which he judged would bring them home to Pemberley by late morning. Pemberley! On the one hand, he was impatient to be there, to sluice away the pervasive dust of summer travel and breathe in all the familiar tranquillities of his beloved