Numerous times he shook his head, forcing the vision to evaporate, but it kept returning.
Unlike his wife, Darcy had experienced no prescient dreams or inclinations with either pregnancy. Lizzy had known, each time, that the baby she carried was male. With Michael it was merely a “feeling,” partially based, she admitted, on the fact that her body carried the infant precisely the same as Alexander. She did not have a crystalline dream as with her first pregnancy, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would be presenting her husband with his second son.
He did not believe the image that plagued his mind today was a premonition, but rather a divine message. As the afternoon progressed, he renounced the worst of his anxiety and cautiously allowed the possibility of further happiness to creep in. It was difficult to focus on business or manly pursuits while sensing a strange need to rush back to Darcy House and make amends with his wife now, not later.
He shook his head to dispel the disquiet and dipped the damp cloth into the cool water filling the porcelain bowl. He wrung the excess away, wiping over his neck, shoulders, back, and underarms. He did not have time to return to Darcy House for a complete wash prior to his appointment at White’s, but like most gentlemen who frequented Angelo’s Fencing Academy, he toted a clean shirt and cravat, as well as a bottle of his preferred cologne, to freshen up after a vigorous workout.
He splashed a palm-full of the musky concoction that Samuel provided onto his chest, forcing his thoughts away from holding Elizabeth in his arms while assuring her of his love and supreme joy in accepting the God-given gift of as many children as He chose to entrust to them. His concentration turned to the upcoming session with his business partners, rigid intellectual calculations snapping firmly into place, and he began pulling the crisply ironed linen shirt over his shoulders when the door burst open.
“Darcy,” Richard flatly pronounced. “You are needed at Darcy House immediately!”
It was a nightmare. It had to be. There was no other explanation. It even felt like a nightmare with the racing heartbeat and fogged mind sensations typical of a horrific dream. Only usually she was able to wake herself when the terror grew too extreme. Upon waking, the negative effects would stop with the comforting familiarity of her bed restoring her wits. And then the dream itself would fade, the images once so disturbing quickly losing clarity.
This nightmare was not following that pattern.
Georgiana exited the nursery, the heaviness of her heart weighting her body down as surely as an oxen’s yoke, and her vision dimming to the point where she was forced to lean against the wall and grasp onto a narrow table or fall to the floor.
She inhaled deeply, willing the tears away. After all, it had to be a nightmare, an especially vivid one but a nightmare nevertheless. It could not be real and any second now she would wake and the scenes would shatter into dust.
She pressed her fingertips against her burning eyes, realizing with increased dismay that closing her eyes only brought the dream into greater focus…
At slightly before three-thirty the doorbell had rung unexpectedly, Georgiana’s heart lurching with the thought that it might be Sebastian as she jumped up from the pianoforte and dashed into the foyer. Her disappointment at discovering Lady Simone being greeted by Mr. Travers rather than Mr. Butler was smothered, and she embraced her cousin with true delight.
“Forgive me for disturbing your quiet afternoon, Georgiana dear, but I wanted to bring these books to Elizabeth before I forgot. Also, my painting of the stone pines in the Villa Doria Pamphili that she loved has been framed and I wished to give it to her right away.”
“Never apologize, Simone. You are always welcome and Lizzy will be thrilled. She has an abiding love for wooded places, we have discovered. Come, she and Alexander are in the garden up to their ankles in dirt I imagine. I am sure they would both benefit from some cooled juice, if you could provide some, Mr. Travers?”
He bowed, heading toward the kitchen while Simone and Georgiana walked across the tiled entryway to the wide glass-paned doors that opened onto the garden courtyard. It was strange how, in retrospect, traversing the airy hall seemed a walk of doom lasting an eternity. Yet she and Simone barely noticed their steps as they chatted and laughed all the way to the far corner where Lizzy and Alexander were supposed to be planting sunflowers. And then the painfully long seconds as they puzzled over a scene that made no sense.
Gardening tools and unplanted seedlings sat unattended but undisturbed, the dirt holes and misplaced rocks a normal expectation when gardening. It was the utter silence that struck them first. Then the absence of the two who should have been digging and who did not appear, no matter how often they both scanned the bush encircled glade expecting them to jump out and yell, “Surprise!” Still, they would likely have assumed that Lizzy and Alexander were in the house if not for the random clumps of grass gouged from the ground, the crumpled cloth discarded beside a human-shaped depression, the gray rabbit lying in a heap next to the cloth, and the folded parchment nearby.
Georgiana shivered and opened her eyes. The hallway was empty and silent. Michael was finally asleep, rocked in his aunt’s arms after the efforts of Mrs. Hanford to placate him with warm porridge and cow’s milk proved successful. The infant’s vocalized unhappiness at not having his mother’s breast and gentle touch was an emotion they empathized with, but neither spoke openly about the calamity that had befallen Darcy House. Miss Lisa had stood by the dresser silently crying as she folded and refolded a pile of Alexander’s freshly washed clothes.
Pushing herself away from the wall, Georgiana shuffled down the corridor wishing she could give in to her grief as Miss Lisa did. But then one should not cry over a nightmare, should they?
The period following the shocking garden revelation was identical to a dream. Someone screamed and Georgiana was still unsure whether it was she or Simone. She remembers bending to touch the poor rabbit, the warm fur and flutter of a heartbeat bizarrely relieving as if his life assured the survival of Lizzy and Alexander, wherever they were. Then there were shouts, running feet, and a blurred onset of commands and activity.
Simone scribbled a note, sending a groomsman to Angelo’s where she knew her husband and Darcy were. Another message was dispatched to the hospital for Dr. Darcy. Mr. Travers took charge, although there was nothing to do but wait.
Georgiana clutched on to the note, afraid to read it after the look on the butler’s face when he had, delivering it into her brother’s hands when he stormed in less than twenty minutes later. She had no time to marvel at how quickly he and Richard managed to travel from Angelo’s Academy in Soho to Grosvenor Square, her hand’s shaking and heart breaking as he silently read. Then she shrank away from the fury suffusing his face as he turned to Richard, who was reading the letter over his shoulder.
“Wickham has taken my wife and son.”
“Wickham?” Georgiana blurted, beyond stunned.
But Darcy ignored her, his eyes locked with Richard’s. “It is not his handwriting,” Richard began, holding his palm up to stay the scathing retort Darcy was about to deliver, “but I would agree it the logical conclusion. With no reason to deduce otherwise, we have the upper hand, as we know where to find him.”
“We waited too long,” Darcy interrupted, his voice shaking with rage and fear. “We should have… I should have…”
“It does not matter,” Richard snapped, his voice commanding and in control. “All that matters is getting them back. Wait here and…”