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D arcy entered the ballroom at the Johnson’s townhouse, his gaze at once searching the room for Lady Elizabeth. He could no more avoid searching her out than he could stay away. And she was always there at the start.

His lips turned up; she would not have the desire for the fashionable late entrance beloved of society, and perhaps might begin a new fashion of her own. And the duke was not known as a tardy person.

He was barely aware of the clutch of debutantes and their mothers standing nearby and tittering excitedly.

She wasn’t there. His heart sank, the keen anticipation with which he’d arrived turning to ash within him. He took out his pocket watch —perhaps he was a little early — and he crossed the room towards the nearest servant bearing a tray.

Holding his wine glass, he began circling the room carefully, determined to search out every place where she might be. But there was no sign of her, or the duke, or her aunt.

He observed the rest of the guests as they arrived. No sign of her cousin, the viscount, and his lips tightened, and his sense of foreboding increased.

It had been growing within him, these last three days, a sense that Wickham was not to be trusted in Hertfordshire. But Darcy had been convinced that Elizabeth would not go to the country until after this ball at least.

If she wasn’t here, perhaps she was already at Longbourn? And Wickham was there.

Darcy glanced at his pocket watch again. He would wait another ten minutes to be certain. Then he must move forward with his plans.

If he was now to leave at dawn, then he must leave a note for his steward with everything he’d been going to speak to him about on the morrow. He must be free to remain in Hertfordshire as long as he might be needed.

He’d write a note to Richard, as well. He stood silent, against the wall, his mind busy about what still needed to be done. All the while dread was crawling within him. What was that reprobate up to?

Once home early, to the bewilderment of his staff, he crossed into his library, happy that Georgiana had decided to spend the night at Matlock House with their aunt and uncle.

First things first. He turned to the butler. “Please ensure my trunks are packed ready for me to go to the country. My servant can go with the coach directly to Netherfield. He can leave at ten o’clock.”

He glanced at the clock. “Good, it’s not too late. Be ready to send a note round to Matlock House in a moment, and I’ll also want a post horse — no, two horses — fetched at dawn, so we can make good time early.” If he changed horses every five miles, he could make very good time.

He turned back to his desk as the man bowed and left the room. Perhaps he ought to send a note to Georgiana as well as to Richard — and his aunt, asking that Georgiana stay with them while he was in the country with his cousin.

He dropped into the chair and drew a sheet of notepaper towards him. Richard first, he supposed, and sat for a moment, thinking what he ought to say.

The next morning, Richard hesitated at the second post stop. “We need to stop and take breakfast, Darcy. We must plan what we are going to do and be clear on it before we get into Wickham’s sights.”

Darcy acknowledged the sense in his words. “But we must not be too long about it.” He’d had little sleep last night, wondering what was happening at Longbourn.

She would take care, wouldn’t she? She’d already seemed not to trust Wickham even before he’d warned her about him.

And the youngest girls were out of the way.

He wondered if Miss Mary would be open to flattery and charm.

Wickham might find her easy prey, and then he’d be able to play on Elizabeth’s feelings of guilt for her sister.

He frowned; surely Wickham wouldn’t wish to be saddled with Miss Mary? She was far too sanctimonious for his tastes. His heart twisted in pain again. No. Wickham would go for Elizabeth. He would enjoy forcing his attentions upon her.

The food turned to lead in his mouth. “We must hurry, Richard. There is no time for this.”

His cousin looked at him. “Very well, we will depart. I’ll see the landlord.”

Darcy’s horse could sense his tension, and fretted under the saddle until Richard hurried out and mounted, and they could clatter out of the yard and turn for Meryton.

“So we’re going round over the hill from Shenley, you said?” Richard called.

“Yes,” Darcy drew his horse closer for a moment. “I think we’ll be able to get to see this Colonel Forster without alerting the town.”

“What’s the man like?”

Darcy shrugged. “Hurst, Bingley and I dined with the officers once while I was staying at Netherfield. Forster seems like all the militia officers. Bone-headed and a drunkard.”

Richard laughed. “They’re not all like that, by any means. But I will take it upon myself to frighten him enough to give us a detachment to apprehend Wickham.”

“I’m happy you were available to accompany me, Cousin.” And Darcy was, too. But he didn’t like this delay. “Let us press on.”

He reined the horse onto the verge at the side and spurred it to a canter while it was yet fresh. Two more stops, and then they would be close.