A Note from the Author

My decision not to include this scene in the novel was a calculated one.

First, in including all of the details so early in the story, I felt like I was playing poker with the cards facing outward. In knowing all of the characters’ key motivations before the story had a chance to begin, you’d be denied the pleasure of sharing Elizabeth’s surprise and understanding when Darcy finally confided in her. I didn’t want to cheat you out of that moment.

Second, it is very sad. If it made me cry as I wrote it, then you might cry, too, and I would much rather provoke smiles and laughter in my readers than tears and runny noses.

However, I know that some of you yearn for a little extra angst, and so, for you, I have included the original, uncut scene in all of its raw truth. I hope you enjoy it.

The Promise

Fitzwilliam Darcy paced in the hall outside his sister’s bedchamber.

Georgiana was too quiet.

Turning to return in the direction from whence he had come, his eyes never leaving her door, Darcy forced his mind to dwell on possible explanations. Perhaps the pain was not so great. Perhaps the walls were thicker than he had thought them. Perhaps his hearing was failing. Perhaps this was all a horrible nightmare.

Darcy’s stomach churned; bile stung his throat. His body knew what his mind desperately wished not to believe.

Memories flooded Darcy, stinging his eyes and choking his throat.

His mother had been quiet.

What he would give to hear her voice once more. What he would give to hear Georgiana right then. Even a scream would be better than this eternal silence. This anxious waiting.

Still, the door did not open.

Darcy continued down the hall, keeping within three steps of the door. He dared not go farther. What if she slipped away, and he could not reach her in time?

His father had done the same the night Georgiana had been born. She had been a survivor from the start, and Darcy prayed from the depths of his soul that she would survive this yet. She had to. She just had to.

Darcy stopped in front of the door, leaning against the oak to listen.

Nothing.

Shoving his hand through his hair, Darcy resumed pacing again. If only he could do some‐ thing. He needed to do something. Anything. Anything except desert his post. He would not leave her. He would be constant even if she…

God, let her survive. She is too young and has suffered too much already. Let her live. She must live. I need her to live.

Darcy paused in front of the door again, his heart leaping into his throat when he heard a hearty

smack and the wailing of a babe. Rushed footsteps padded about the room.

Holding his breath, Darcy waited, his feet rooted in front of the door. He would not have been able to leave had he been lashed to his stallion.

Minutes passed, and while he heard water trick‐ ling into a basin, linen rustling, and baby cries, he did not hear his sister. Was she gone already?

Darcy clutched his cravat, pulling it away from his throat.

No! Cling to hope. Georgie is stronger than mother was — strong enough to endure Wickham. Strong enough to leave him though she was with child. She is only tired. Tired and quiet.

Feeling heavier than normal, Darcy leaned against the wall, his eyes ever vigilant on the door.

Finally, mercifully, Mrs. Reynolds opened the door, peeking through the narrow crack. Darcy could see nothing beyond her.

“Miss Darcy wishes to see you,” she said.

Had she not stepped aside, Darcy would have shoved the dear housekeeper out of his path to get to Georgiana. She was alive. She was well.

She was as white as her sheets.

A hand touched Darcy’s shoulder, and he paused, his eyes riveted on Georgiana. He had never seen her look so small.

Mrs. Reynolds whispered, “She is slipping away. I am sorry.” She squeezed his shoulder, her hand shaking when she released her hold.

“William,” Georgiana said, patting the sheet with her fingers.

Darcy dropped to his knees beside her. Taking her hand, he held it up to his cheek to warm it. She was so cold.

Her eyes seemed larger than her face.

With a firmness that surprised Darcy, Georgiana squeezed his hand. “You must promise you will take care of her, William. You must raise my daughter as your own. Promise me, William. Promise me.”

His chest ached, the words choking in his throat and making speech impossible.

“Promise me,” she repeated, her large eyes growing with alarm.

“I swear it,” he cried unevenly.

Her grip loosened. “I knew you would. I trust her with you. If her father…” Georgiana’s voice faded.

Darcy stiffened. If Wickham dared show his face, Darcy would not be able to control his rage. “He will pay for—”

“No!” she interrupted. “You must not revenge me, William. Promise me you will do him no harm. You would hate yourself for it, and you must be the guardian to my little girl. My little angel. I want to hold her.” She tried to sit up in her bed, growing more and more agitated by the second.

“Hush, Georgie,” he said, smoothing back her sweat-soaked hair.

The nurse holding the babe looked up at the midwife, who shook her head. “Miss Darcy is too delicate. She must rest.”

“My baby. I want my baby,” Georgiana cried, her head rocking from side to side on her pillow.

Without a thought, Darcy leapt to his feet and crossed the room to Mrs. Bamber with his arms out.

“Please, Mr. Darcy—” the midwife started. Darcy silenced her with a glare.

Mrs. Bamber handed the child over to Darcy. The babe felt just as Georgiana had in his arms so many years ago. More than that Darcy could not say, for his aim was to please his sister. It would be the last time.

Gently, Darcy sat beside Georgiana on the bed, placing the tightly wrapped bundle in her arms when she reached out.

He had to support her arms with his own, but the transformation to come over Georgiana gave Darcy hope. Her eyes sparkled brightly, and her cheeks blushed with color. Never before had he seen her so beautiful as she was at that moment, holding her daughter, kissing her baby and wiping her cheeks dry when Georgiana’s tears splattered against her newborn.

“She is perfect. Like Father said our mother was. Anne. Have you ever loved anyone so completely?” Georgiana whispered.

Darcy did not know how the baby had wiggled free of her blanket, but when he felt her tiny fingers scratch at his hand until she grasped his finger, he would have promised his life to protect her from all harm. Devotion struck him like a bolt of lightning with its intensity, filling Darcy with awe at the power of this tiny creature.

“William,” Georgiana mumbled, so feeble, Darcy lifted the baby from her, cradling her in his arms. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he swore.

A faint smile crossed her lips, and Georgiana’s fingers reached to caress her baby’s head as her final raspy breath left her.

Darcy clutched Georgiana’s child to him, pressing her over his heart lest it rip from his chest.

“Mr. Darcy, allow me to take the child to the nursery,” someone said.

“No.” Nobody would take the baby away from him. He had made a promise, and he would keep it.

Baby Anne seemed to agree. She held fast to his finger, her hold firm on Darcy’s heart.