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T he duke looked up from his solitary dinner as his butler entered the dining room and bowed. “The post, Your Grace.”

Osborne nodded his thanks and glanced at the direction, his heart twisting as he recognised Darcy’s hand. Would the man never give up?

He broke the seal. It would be a further expression of regret on the anniversary of Althea’s loss. Every year he wrote, and every year Osborne ignored it. Without a reply, he’d always hoped the man would give up. And this letter — unusually — was several days late.

He opened it, and frowned slightly. The headed notepaper was not of Pemberley, or Darcy House.

He glanced at it, and sat bolt upright, dinner forgotten. Hertfordshire!

He forced his grip to loosen, and lifted his glass. He would take his time to read it, and not act hastily.

Your Grace,

I am writing to express my heartfelt regrets and sympathy at the loss of Her Grace, the Lady Althea. Although it was so many years ago, I can understand that your sorrow and heartache will never go away, and it must be difficult when the rest of society seems to forget and life moves on.

I understand your sorrow, sir, and wished to send my condolences once more.

This past year, I have continued, as always, to ensure the resting place of Her Grace at Lambton is maintained perfectly, in the same loving and respectful way I maintain that of my mother. I remember they were each other’s greatest friend.

I visit both every week when I am in the north, and continue to pray for their peaceful rest.

I understand you will not wish to visit Pemberley, but should you be inclined to visit your wife’s memorial, I have other properties nearby which will always be readily available for you if you need them. You have only to ask.

Respectfully,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Osborne sighed. Ever since his father’s death, Darcy had written each year, and the duke wanted to be angry at the reminder. But in one small corner of his mind, he was gratified the young man hadn’t forgotten what had happened.

He blinked the moisture from his eyes; the knowledge that Darcy visited her grave each week had touched him, even though he didn’t want to admit it.

But why was the man in Hertfordshire? Near Meryton! How did he know where Elizabeth was? And what was his reason for finding her?

He pushed the plate away, his appetite gone. He would arrange that his daughter was nowhere near the man.

He rose to his feet. He would write to Gardiner. He nodded to the footman. “Arrange for coffee in the library, please.”

He stood, staring out of the window at the London plane trees in the garden.

They weren’t yet as tall as the oaks, but their leaves were already turning the rich orange-yellow of autumn.

He smiled slightly. They would be handsome trees, once they were more mature, and he was happy his gardens here in London were large enough to support the new plantings.

Then he scowled; he wasn’t here to dream, and crossed to his desk just as the knock on the door heralded a servant with his fresh coffee.

Deliberately he drew a sheet of paper towards him, knowing a sense of satisfaction at the heading. Osborne House. He was glad his London establishment had kept the Osborne name. It was more ancient than the Lancaster title, and Berkeley Square was one of the best addresses in Town.

Gardiner

I’m writing in haste to request that you and Mrs. Gardiner arrange to bring Elizabeth to London as soon as possible.

I cannot explain why in writing, but I am concerned that she does not remain at Longbourn at this moment, and, in truth, I am anxious to see her again.

Perhaps the time is close when she ought to begin to move in society.

Please inform me the instant she is safely with you in town.

He stopped writing and put down his pen. What was Elizabeth doing now? Would she be pleased to come to town, be able to dress as befitted her station, and attend events in society?

Osborne smiled wryly. He didn’t know how young ladies thought, Elizabeth in particular.

Perhaps this needed to change. He had never wished to be with her as she celebrated her birthday, surrounded as it was by the most painful of memories; however, to be fair to her, this too would have to change.

She was twenty years old now, and on his last visit to her when she had been staying with the Gardiners, the lady of the house had spoken to him quietly as he prepared to board his coach.

“Your Grace, I wish to speak to you of the future. Elizabeth hasn’t spoken to me of it openly, but I believe she is rather dismayed by continuing to be hidden away from society. She is afraid you might be ashamed of her.”

Mrs. Gardiner’s words had occupied his thoughts for a few days, but business of the estate had taken his attention at the time, and he had not thought of them since.

Now her remark returned to his mind, and he sighed, rather chagrined that he had pushed it to one side.

In truth, his delaying bringing her to town had been more because of the reminder of his wife’s loss than really needing to hide her away, but now young Darcy was in the country, Elizabeth must certainly have all the protection in town that he could afford her. Why was he looking for her?

Osborne hoped he could get her away before they met.

He hastily finished his note, and summoned a footman. Gardiner would send the coach at dawn, he was sure.