Grosvenor Square was extremely busy even for the height of the season. Fitz looked out onto the street below, each side of the road was packed full of carriages carrying pretty ladies with fancifully trimmed bonnets, and smart gentlemen with pitch-black beaver top hats and well-trimmed jackets. The noise was clattering across the square and he looked down, a cup of coffee in his hand, feeling almost like a god watching the machinations of man in miniature below him.

"Excuse me, sir," said Thorpe.

The under-butler was stepping up to the main job whilst Mr Edwards was away with Miss Georgiana and still a little nervous in the role, despite being trained by Mr Staughton at Pemberley. He held the card in his hand before he remembered that it should be on a platter, disappearing into the hallway and returning with the card in its correct position.

"Mr Thorpe, please stop panicking," Fitz said with a reassuring smile. "I never did care for silver platters."

He took the card and read the name: Edmund Godwin, Esq.

"You can show the gentleman in," Fitz began to straighten his jacket, "and arrange for Mrs Boyle to send up refreshments."

"Very well, sir," said Thorpe as he edged out of the room.

"And Thorpe…"

"Yes, Mr Darcy sir?"

"Do I look presentable?"

Thorpe looked over at his master, they were of a similar age, he wondered why he needed to look presentable for this gentleman caller, but he knew that if it were this important, he should help him straighten his cravat, and maybe brush off his jacket a little.

"There you go, sir," he said, as Fitz readjusted his waistcoat, before disappearing into the hallway to find the Darcy's redoubtable London housekeeper.

"Yes, I think I will do," Fitz checked his appearance in the pier-glass that stood between the two large windows. He wondered if it would be too much to take a posy from the vase and tuck it into his buttonhole. Yes, it would, he agreed with himself, putting the flower back into its place.

Mr Edward Godwin was, as his name suggested, a god-fearing gentleman. His reputation preceded him, as did the rumours for his visit. Fitz had spent enough time with the gentleman's ward, Miss Jemima, to know that the family had been hopeful that an offer of marriage was to be made. If the decision alone was his, he would have thrown down his suit right here and now for the promise of Miss Godwin's love and affection. But she needed to meet his sister first. He had sworn that he was not going to make an offer until the approval of Georgiana had been obtained, and he was not in the habit of breaking promises. Mr Godwin strode into the drawing room of the house in Grosvenor Square, his newly heeled shoes making a decided click-clack on the marble floor. He was shorter than Fitz imagined he would be and had a white moustache and thick fuzzy sideburns.

"Mr Darcy of Pemberley, I presume," he said, proffering his hand.

"Yes," Fitz said, reaching to shake it. "I have been expecting your visit, Mr Godwin."

Godwin took a seat, Fitz sat opposite, and then there was an uneasy silence, broken by Thorpe arriving to serve the tea. Fitz eyed the gentleman as Thorpe busied himself offering sugar and milk, then small tiny cakes, then a biscuit. Tea was always a complicated ritual, no wonder it was oft left to ladies who had time for this kind of nonsense, he thought. As Thorpe was dismissed, the two men were left alone in the richly decorated room, faces of Darcy patriarchs and wives peering down sternly from the walls.

"I'm not going to be delicate about this, Mr Darcy," began Mr Godwin, "I know that you have intentions towards Jemima. I was simply wondering what you would expect in return."

Fitz felt a little confused, "expect in return? I'm sorry, sir, I misunderstand your meaning."

"Her marriage portion," he said offhand, "you must know that she comes with absolutely nothing."

"Mr Godwin, I understand the reason for your visit, however, I feel that we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves."

"But you hold my niece in high regard, do you not?"

"Aye, sir," Fitz nodded.

"Do you realise that the whole of Belgravia is expecting a wedding before the end of the season" The gentleman rustled in his seat, "I find this all very unbecoming of a gentleman like yourself, Mr Darcy of Pemberley. You cannot expect to pay all this attention to my niece and not imagine that it will raise certain expectations within our household."

Fitz himself was expecting a wedding before the end of the season, but no proposal would be made before Georgiana's return from Ramsgate.

"Yes, Mr Godwin, I do." Fitz rose to his feet, "and once an offer is made then the whole of Belgravia will be satisfied. Will they not?"

Mr Godwin processed the statement, and then he began to smile and laugh with a deep baritone, which was ill at ease with his short stature. "Very well," he said, finally biting the millefruit biscuit on his plate. "I can see why my niece likes you."

The carriage bumped over the cobbles, inside the gentleman was rocked back and forth. He hadn't travelled far but had gone to great lengths to make it look as though he had ventured a great distance. Ruffling his cravat, unbuttoning his waistcoat, he called the driver to stop outside the house on Nelson Crescent. He checked the number on the carefully folded piece of paper in his pocket. Number four. The house towered above him, the gaslights along the crescent casting a warm glow onto the paving slabs. It was just after ten, in the distance he could hear the faint chimes of church bells ending their reverie. There was the faint laughter from down on the harbour, the sound of the waves hitting the walls… And then, breathing in, like an actor preparing for a role, George Wickham disembarked from the carriage and ran up the steps, banging on the dark blue door with a firm and impatient knock.

Louisa Hurst felt that marriage agreed with her a great deal. Her husband, who was much older and of sometimes disagreeable temper kept an appropriate distance and, this being his second marriage, there was no impatience for the arrival of a child which suited his new bride most admirably. The house on Grosvenor Street was reasonably new, and there was little that she found to do to improve it, so she busied herself with friends and amusements, and writing long missives of friendship and advice to Miss Darcy, who she viewed to some degree as almost a sister. Her own sister had travelled back to the north to visit their mother, who had taken ill and requested the presence of one or other of them. Caroline had returned to their house in Cheshire with a dour expression and a bitter disappointment, after all, said she, Louisa already had a husband, whereas she alone was still actively seeking a suitable mate within the shallow pool of eligible gentlemen. Mrs Hurst sighed as she finished the rondo on the pianoforte, it was often best to spend an idle hour lost in the music she played, but today even that held no joy.

Templeton entered, his features disappearing in the red livery, a letter in his hand, which she took from him. The hand was that of Georgiana, written most hastily. She could always surmise when Miss Darcy was excited or distracted or not in the mood for letter writing as her beautiful hand began to slip clumsily across the paper as it had done here.

"Mr Darcy is also here to see you, Madame."

Louisa looked up, she had not seen Fitz for over a week, "oh, please show him in, Templeton. We will take some coffee in the drawing room."

"Very well, Madame," he bowed, as Fitz appeared behind him.

"Louisa," he said, a smile dancing across his lips, "how the devil are you?" He bounced down the settee, smiling all the while.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of this sudden change in Fitzwilliam Darcy's general demeanour. He was usually so restrained, in fact, she spent the first three months of their acquaintance thinking that he was the most disagreeable man she had ever met, and she had no wish to know him at all. But here he was, all smiles and delight. She suspected she knew the reason, had already heard the rumours of his impending engagement to Miss Godwin and whilst she was happy for him, she wasn't entirely sure if she approved. After Charles' recent disappointment she felt as if Fitz had fallen too quickly for Jemima, who was merely meant to be a casual amusement to flatter and flirt with, rather than a serious marriage prospect. Whilst she felt for herself that marriage was merely an agreement between two adults, she was firmly under the impression that Fitzwilliam Darcy, with all his brooding emotions, was actually a fairly romantic soul, wanting to marry for love rather than a business arrangement, and she wasn't entirely convinced that Jemima Godwin was of the same mind.

"You are looking very much like the cat that got the cream, Fitz," she said, sitting across from him on the settee, "are you feeling quite well?"

"As well as one can when a bright future is within their grasp," he sat up straight, "you have heard the gossip around town, I am sure."

"News travels fast when you are almost as indiscreet as my brother…"

He gave her a wry smile, "how is Charles? We are due to leave for Hertfordshire within the month, although I may not have a need to venture into that county now."

"You are that certain she will accept you?"

"Her guardian has as much guaranteed it."

"But you have not asked the lady herself, are you sure that she is of the same mind as her guardian?" Louisa gestured to Templeton to serve the coffee, passing Fitz one of the gilt-edged teacups. "You cannot have the arrogance to assume that she will accept your suit simply because you are Fitzwilliam Darcy and you own half of Derbyshire."

He laughed, "of course not, but it definitely helps." Taking a quick sip of the coffee he rose and wandered over to the small table where she had placed Georgiana's letter, "I see my sister has written to you, although judging by her hand I have no idea how it reached you."

"Indeed! She has been telling me all about Ramsgate, although I have yet to read this newest epistle…" she took the letter, sliding her finger under Georgiana Darcy's small wax seal and opening the three pages of paper. "Oh, she is very well…"

"I am glad to hear it…" Fitz looked out of the window onto the street below, for the first time in a long time he felt hopeful and happy for the future. "Has she told you about wanting to go sea-bathing?"

Louisa laughed, "aye, she wondered if I could recommend a modiste who would make her a bathing suit, and I advised that she would need to consult with you first before commissioning such a piece!" Fitz laughed again, as she continued to read the letter, searching through Georgiana's scrawl for any piece of interest. "I have no idea where she has chosen to write this letter, but some of this is completely indecipherable."

"Really?" His interest was piqued, away from his dreamy reverie of Jemima Godwin in her pale pink muslin gown with flowers in her hair and a silk gloved hand in his. "Pass me the letter, I can usually deduce her meaning…"

He reached over for the letter, but Louisa look up at him ashen-faced, "Fitz… I cannot…"

"Louisa? What is it?"

She slumped on the settee, placed her head in her hands, the letter scrunched up, "Fitzwilliam, this is the worst news."

"What? A little sea-bathing is surely permissible," he took a seat next to her, trying to assuage her fears with humour as was often his way. "The season is quite over in Ramsgate; Georgiana will not have done anything too scandalous."

Louisa looked up at him, "Fitz. The letter is all of a concern for you, that your fortune is lost, and you are on your way to debtors' prison. She asks that I care for you and visit you there."

He looked confused, "I'm sorry, I do not understand your meaning."

"Georgiana writes that her dear friend Georgie arrived in the night with an urgent message from her dearest brother, explaining the situation above…"

"Georgie?" The colour drained from Fitz's face, "George Wickham has been to Ramsgate? But what can be his reason? I saw him not but a few weeks ago and he was -"

" – he has taken Georgiana."

Fitz was momentarily speechless, it was as if every ounce of blood had drained from his body and he instantly felt lightheaded. "Taken her where?" The words tumbled out of him, he could not think, could not process what was happening.

"She writes 'dear Georgie has a banker friend in London who says that my fortune and the estates can be transferred to me if I am wed. It sounds very complicated, but we are travelling directly to London so that I can see my brother and reassure him of my willingness, and then onwards to Gretna Green where we are to be married…"

"Married to George Wickham?"

Louisa held out the paper, "this cannot be Fitz, he will not marry her, he will ruin her…let me get the carriage ready… where will they be now? This letter is dated two days ago. They should have been in London by now…" her voice was frantic, rushed, as she calculated in her head where the devil Wickham had absconded to with her friend. "Templeton, ready the carriage at once!" She shouted into the hallway, as the two footmen jumped to attention and the butler took his order and disappeared to fulfil his orders.

"He will have taken her straight to Gretna, they will be heading North now," Fitz was pacing up and down the drawing room now, his brow furrowed, his expression one of concentration. "I will need to try and cut them off before they – oh god, Louisa, what have I done? How will I resolve this?"

"Fitz," she stood in front of him, looking up at him with watery eyes. "This is my fault, all of this."

"How can that be, Louisa?"

She took a deep breath, took his hand in hers, "I had a friend. She was a most beloved friend to me, we had known each other from our days in the nursery and she was as devoted to me as I to her. A year ago she was charmed by a young gentleman, even though she was not generally of the disposition to accept flattery from a gentleman not of her acquaintance." Louisa felt herself struggle with the words, it felt too soon to betray this secret, but it was necessary because Fitz needed to know the tricks of his enemy. "But this gentleman had words that fell like quicksilver, and before she knew it, my dearest Flora was under his spell. She had a considerable fortune of her own, and an income that allowed her to entertain him, and he… he borrowed substantial amounts of money from her with no intention to repay. I warned her, but she was oblivious to his deceit." Fitz held her hands tightly now as the words fell out of her, the distress evident on her face. "He took advantage of her, Fitzwilliam, in the most basest way possible, with no intention of making it honourable, and he didn't care who knew. She was ruined completely."

"Completely? You mean…" He visibly blanched.

"She could not face the shame, Fitz," he pulled her into a firm embrace, "my darling Flora, who I loved like a sister…she… she threw herself and the babe in her belly into the river."

"Flora died?"

"She would rather face the unholy torment of purgatory than the disgrace," Louisa composed herself. As much as she missed Flora, this was not the primary issue here. She needed to prevent another lady from suffering the same fate. "The gentleman in question was George Wickham, Fitz."

He had already known the name she was going to say.

"The carriage is ready, madame," Templeton announced with casual solemnity.

"Mrs Hurst, you should stay here," Fitz said, taking his hat and outdoor jacket from the butler.

"Maybe I should, Mr Darcy," she said firmly, "but I will not. Templeton, when my husband returns from the club, please tell him that I am on a vital errand for Mr Darcy. He will understand."

The butler raised an eyebrow but nodded. He was still unsure of this new mistress as she disappeared out of the door with the handsome gentleman from Derbyshire.

Inside the carriage, Louisa Hurst and Fitzwilliam Darcy found themselves rocked back and forth, holding hands for comfort, terrified of what misfortunes lay ahead.