Prologue

Early Summer 1811

M r. Darcy arrived at his sister's lodgings in Ramsgate after several days of travel. He was very much looking forward to spending a week at the seaside with Georgiana.

Calling out, "Georgiana! Surprise!" he walked into the entryway. He was met there by one of the servants he had hired for her.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy! We were not expecting you, sir!"

"No, I had intended to surprise my sister. Where is she? Out shopping, I would guess," he chuckled.

"No, she is not – that is to say – " The woman was stuttering and looking at her feet.

Mr. Darcy frowned. Something was clearly wrong.

"What is it? Tell me at once! Is she ill?"

"Ill? No, not at all. No, when I last saw her –"

"When you last saw her? What can you possibly mean?"

She was silent, still not looking at him.

Finally, he roared at her. "Where is my sister??"

The woman finally looked him full in the face. "She is gone, Mr. Darcy. She eloped with Mr. Wickham, and they are headed to Gretna Green."

His face turned ashen, and he stared at the woman for a long moment. Then he said, "Wickham? Could you possibly mean George Wickham?"

"I believe that is his given name, yes."

George Wickham! The very name set Mr. Darcy's teeth on edge. Childhood friend, companion of many youthful adventures, but in manhood a slothful, lying, conniving, seducer of young women – with Georgiana?!

Impossible!

He turned and ran from the house as if a devil was after him. The servant, relieved not to have been chastised, stared after him.