Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

  Elizabeth shook her head. “You are welcome to join us.” Her voice trembled.

  “I thank you,” said Desmarais. “I have taken the liberty of bringing the Lord Mayor, Sir Matthew Hayes, to perform the ceremony instead of the man you brought. Usually he delegates the duty to his magistrates, but I thought he might be willing to make an exception on this occasion.”

  Mme. Desmarais added, “And because you are an old romantic.”

  What did it matter who married them as long as they were married? But if Desmarais wished them to be married by Sir Matthew, Darcy had no objection. “Sir Matthew, I am honored.”

  Elizabeth’s friend, the one whose name he was not permitted to know, took several hesitant steps forward, her gaze not on Desmarais, but on Sir Matthew. Suddenly Darcy realized where he had seen her before: on Drury Lane. It had been a great scandal when the Lord Mayor had become besotted of a beautiful actress and married her despite her past. Then, after less than a year, he had started attending events without her. The gossipmongers whispered that she must have run off with a handsome footman. Apparently they had been wrong.

  Sir Matthew, evidently experienced with the process, showed his empty hands to the lieutenant before approaching his wife.

  Yes, Desmarais was definitely an old romantic. And Darcy wished they would all leave so he could be alone with Elizabeth.

  Chapter 17

  Elizabeth rested her fingers on the paper she had just signed. Elizabeth Darcy. That was her name now.

  Darcy – her husband! – slipped his arm around her waist. “How much time is there before I must leave?” he asked the lieutenant.

  “Ten minutes. And there is to be hand holding only, none of that.” The lieutenant gestured towards Darcy’s arm.

  Only ten minutes and then another fortnight before she could see him again? The thought made Elizabeth’s throat ache.

  “Come, they are newlyweds!” admonished General Desmarais. “It is a special occasion.”

  “The rules have no exceptions, sir,” said the lieutenant stiffly.

  Desmarais’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed? And who made these rules?”

  “Monsieur Lamarque, sir.”

  Darcy once more held her hand, but took full advantage of the lieutenant’s distraction to brush his lips on the inside of her wrist.

  A pleasurable tingling rushed up her arm. “I still cannot believe we are truly married,” murmured Elizabeth.

  “Indelibly, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. Till death do us part.” He watched her intently.

  “It is just a surprise. You have had time to accustom yourself to the idea of our marriage.” Her tongue felt oddly thick as she said the words.

  “You will have many years to grow accustomed to it.” Darcy traced his finger along the lines of her palm. Apparently if all he was permitted to do was to hold her hand, he intended to make the most of it.

  General Desmarais asked the lieutenant, “Who is in command of this vessel?”

  The poor young man looked like he wished to sink through the deck. “Captain Rigaud, sir.”

  “And I believe Captain Rigaud and the Neptune have been seconded to my command. Is that not so?”

  “Yes, sir. Exactly so.”

  Desmarais nodded. “Is Monsieur Lamarque in your chain of command?”

  “No, sir,” the lieutenant squeaked.

  “Then why do you insist upon following his orders over mine?” Desmarais sounded as if this were no more than a discussion over the dinner table. “You may speak freely, Lieutenant.”

  The boy licked his lips. “Monsieur Lamarque, he is... frightening.”

  “Ah, now we come to it. Did he threaten you?”

  The lieutenant stared at his feet and said nothing.

  “Of course he did,” said Desmarais genially. “Lamarque is constitutionally incapable of giving an order without making a threat. Nonetheless, he is aware he cannot touch any man under my command. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Then let us consider why we keep these ladies as our guests. It is because we wish their husbands to cooperate with us, yes? All these ridiculous rules of Lamarque’s – no embraces, no kissing, no moments alone together – do you suppose these rules make their husbands more eager to be more cooperative with us?”

  “N...No, sir.”

  “Correct. We wish to make them happy. They should be treated as honored guests. As long as it does not endanger the ship or interfere overly with its operations, there is no reason to deny their requests.”

  Elizabeth whispered to Darcy, “Does he always give orders in the form of lessons?”

  “Whenever he can. He says men are better about obeying orders they understand, but I think he simply enjoys it.”

  “The poor boy is going to have nightmares tonight.”

  Darcy surreptitiously nibbled her ear. “If it allows me more time with you, it will be well worth it.”

  Desmarais continued, “Now that we have determined there is no reason our guests must be supervised at every minute, perhaps you and I may continue this discussion on deck.” He strode from the stateroom trailed by the lieutenant.

  Molly darted across the room and closed the door. Her eyes dancing with mischief, she announced, “I have an idea. I think we should all close our eyes and keep them closed.”

  Darcy’s face almost split from the width of his smile. “Mrs. Hayes, that is a truly inspired idea, and I intend to put it into action straight away. And should I forget and open my eyes for a moment, I am certain I will be blind to everything but my lovely wife.” He ostentatiously squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Hear, hear,” murmured the mayor appreciatively.

  “I suppose I did promise to obey,” said Elizabeth archly as she closed her eyes.

  A warm hand tenderly cradled her cheek, tipping her face up. Her lips began to tingle even before she felt the pressure of his against them.

  Darcy’s masculine scent of spice and pine wafted over her, taking her back to the memory of his intoxicating kisses the day they had walked in the park. Once again his tongue teased her lips apart. A jolt of pure need made the world recede, everything but the sweet pressure and taste of him, leaving her longing for more.

  Her hands crept around his neck as he began to explore her mouth, probing and tormenting her with increasing ardency until she could not hold back her own response. Each dancing thrust added to the ache building within her, and she strained her body against his as if that might somehow ease it.

  Now his arm was around her, his hand exploring her back before settling tantalizingly at her neckline. The explosion of sensation as his fingertips caressed her exposed skin made her gasp.

  With a low growl of satisfaction, Darcy drew her onto his lap. The new pressure of his strong thighs against hers made her shudder with need and longing.

  Now his lips were tracing the lines of her jaw, nibbling at her earlobe, brushing her neck until settling on the tender spot between her collarbones. Oh, this was sheer torment! Exquisite, agonizing torment, and she hoped it would never stop. Her head fell back, giving him the freedom to nibble, to taste, to torture her with overpowering desire.

  A crash of thunder dragged her back to reality. No, it was not thunder, just thunderous pounding at the door.

  She scrambled off Darcy’s lap and touched her hands to her hot cheeks. What must she look like?

  Darcy, his eyes dark with desire, tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. After a last quick kiss, he strolled to the door and opened it to reveal Desmarais. “Why, General,” Darcy drawled. “You should have knocked more loudly. I could barely hear you.”

  Desmarais clapped Darcy on the shoulder. “I am certain you did not! Now, gentlemen, might I request a few moments of your time?”

  “Of course.” With a regretful glance back at Elizabeth, Darcy followed Demarais and Molly’s husband.

  “Well, that was an unexpected pleasure, if shorter than I would prefer.” Molly ploppe
d down beside her. The neck of her dress had somehow slipped completely off her shoulder, and one side of her hair had come down.

  To think she had worried about her own appearance! Firmly shutting her mind to what Molly and her husband might have been doing, Elizabeth straightened her friend’s dress. “Turn around and I will see if I can salvage something from your hair.”

  Molly obeyed. “What do you suppose the general is telling them? I hope they are not in trouble.”

  Elizabeth pulled the few remaining pins from Molly’s hair. “I doubt it. General Desmarais seems to enjoy giving pleasant surprises. At least he does to Darcy, but it must be more general than that or he would not have troubled to bring your husband today. I cannot see that he benefitted from it otherwise.”

  “I certainly did,” said Molly with a sigh. “I thought he would not be allowed to visit for another week. And now you are married, too! It is a shame you cannot consummate it, but at least you will have something if they continue to allow this much privacy.”

  “Yes.” Her body still ached with desire, but she would not have given up those few minutes in his arms for anything.

  She had just managed to make Molly’s hair remotely presentable when the gentlemen returned. Their husbands. The sight of Darcy made the fires in her burn hotter.

  Apparently it had not been bad news, for the mayor was beaming and Darcy – well, he was not precisely beaming. He looked more like a hungry tiger who had been promised a particularly tasty gazelle for dinner. Elizabeth smiled. Perhaps she should write Darcy as a tiger in one of her silly stories for Georgiana.

  Molly’s husband whispered something in her ear that made her give an unladylike whoop and throw her arms around his neck.

  Elizabeth turned raised eyebrows on Darcy. “Has something happened?”

  Looking suddenly shy, he cradled her hand in both of his. “Desmarais has ordered a change in the rules for visiting you. Now I can come here once a week instead of once a fortnight, and instead of being limited to an hour, I can...” He paused, his cheeks flushing. “I can stay until the next morning. If you are agreeable to it, of course. I know it was not what you expected when you agreed to marry me today, and there is no reason—”

  Perhaps Molly had the right idea. Elizabeth cut off Darcy’s stream of words in the most efficient way possible.

  ***

  “Propriety is well enough for lovers who are free to spend every evening together, but I do not care to waste my few precious hours with my dear husband following foolish rules for propriety,” Mrs. Hayes declared to the two gentlemen at dinnertime. “Instead I propose we dine in a Shakespearean tavern.”

  “A Shakespearean tavern?” asked Darcy blankly. It was odd enough sharing the stateroom with the other couple, but Desmarais had made clear they were not to retire until the watch changed at eight bells, since otherwise the sailors would be too interested in what was occurring behind closed doors. The other hostages had eaten already in what was mysteriously called the first dog watch. Ships seemed to have a language of their own. But how did a tavern come into it?

  “Yes. Imagine, if you will, that Sir John Falstaff is sitting over there, a buxom barmaid on his knee, enduring a ribbing about his exaggerations from Prince Hal. In the other corner some knavish looking fellows are singing a drunken song. Now it will be totally fitting if I sit on my husband’s knee and kiss his cheek.” She suited her actions to her words. Her husband’s arm snaked around her waist as he returned her kiss – on the mouth.

  Darcy’s lips quirked. “I can see the appeal, but I do not know if Elizabeth—”

  “Lizzy thinks it is an excellent idea, as you will see if you turn around.” Molly gestured to the door.

  His jaw dropped. The neckline on Elizabeth’s dress had not been that low before, had it? And her hair had definitely not been dressed in that alluring manner, with a long twist of chestnut hair loose over her shoulders, tempting him to run his fingers through it. And the arch turn of her lips sent a shock of desire straight to his groin.

  “Very fetching, Mrs. Darcy.” He allowed his voice to drop on the last words.

  Her smile widened. “I hope you do not mind a tavern setting. It could have been worse. Molly might have insisted on the witches in Macbeth rather than tavern wenches.”

  “I am perfectly happy with this choice.” Happy, shocked, astonished, charmed, and very, very desperate to touch her. How far would she allow this to go? He patted his knee invitingly.

  To his utter delight, she perched on it and laid her arm around his neck. She might not be quite as relaxed as her friend appeared to be, but her eyes were alight with pleasure. It was completely inevitable that he would have to press his lips against her delectable neck.

  “Well?” asked Molly.

  “Very well indeed,” said Darcy. “It seems you have many excellent ideas.” Any idea that allowed him to touch Elizabeth qualified as brilliant in his mind.

  Sir Matthew chuckled. “She does indeed.”

  “You astonish me, Sir Matthew,” Darcy said. “I was under the impression you were a poker-faced prig and a high stickler.” Somehow the insult seemed completely benign in this setting.

  “Only in public,” said Sir Matthew austerely. “And before I met a woman who taught me to take pleasure in life. But if you should ever mention any of this, I will deny every word of it. And I was under the impression you were a French sympathizer.”

  “Like you, only in public. It helps protect my many Loyalist relations. But then the French arrested the woman who taught me about happiness.” He pressed his lips against Elizabeth’s. Oh, the pleasure of it!

  “He is both,” said Elizabeth in an unwontedly serious voice. “A Loyalist at heart, but a sympathizer with everyone, French or English. Until I learned better, I thought him a traitor. Even once I knew his sympathies, I could not understand it until I was here on the Neptune. He has the ability to look at his enemy and see not a monster, but a human being like himself. I am trying to learn some of his philosophy.”

  Sir Matthew’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed. And in honor of sympathizing with our enemies, I will propose a toast that surprises even me.” He picked up his wine glass. “To General Desmarais, long may he rule – over the Neptune!”

  For some reason it seemed outrageously amusing. After they all drank, Darcy added, “And to his views on how to keep us cooperative.”

  “Especially those,” said Molly emphatically.

  Darcy pulled Elizabeth even closer as he drank. It gave him a most enticing view, but more importantly it held her close to his heart.

  Sir Matthew set down his wine glass. “Speaking of false impressions, Darcy, would you be offended if I offered some unsolicited advice about having a wife aboard the Neptune?”

  “Not at all.” Perhaps he might know ways to arrange for more communication.

  “Assuming you have not yet done so, I would advise you to delay announcing your marriage. Keep it a secret for now.”

  Darcy stiffened. “Why is that?”

  Sir Matthew grimaced. “Because otherwise every old biddy in society will call on you, solicitously asking when she can meet your lovely wife, and since we are forbidden from telling anyone where our wives are, you will have no answer. Then they will make up their own answers, and they will not be pretty. You will be the subject of gossip columns, and everyone will think the worst of your wife. Secrecy would protect her good name as well as your own.”

  Darcy looked at Elizabeth. At her slow nod, he said, “That is sound advice. I thank you.”

  Molly stretched languorously. “It has been quite unpleasant for my husband, but less of an issue for me since I had no reputation to be harmed if everyone believed I ran off with a footman. You should take care, Lizzy.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “If I ever am fortunate enough to leave this ship, I will tell the gossips I spent all my time acting out scenes from Shakespeare, writing wicked stories, and pretending to be a tavern wench.”

  Their din
ner arrived then and Elizabeth moved to sit beside him. But it was still a delight to be able to stroke her cheek or kiss her whenever he chose. The wine flowed freely, adding to the warm haze.

  How odd it was that he could be both anxiously anticipating his wedding night, yet feeling more relaxed and content than he could recall being for years. Elizabeth’s presence accounted for much of it, of course, but there was something more. It was not Molly’s tales of her days on the stage or even the occasional Shakespearean monologue she performed for their pleasure, nor was it Sir Matthew’s obvious pride in his wife and the sly jabs he made about their French overlords. It was not even Elizabeth’s easy laughter as she teased him about Kit’s sulky resentment until he found himself telling tales of his clashes with Kit, redone as amusing tales of dealing with a wayward younger brother. He even poked fun at himself by relating how he had attempted to deal with Georgiana’s first episode of nerves, frantically racing about trying one remedy after another until it finally occurred to him to simply talk to her. And the others had laughed, just like friends.

  That was it. He was among friends and not playing a role. Sharing the experience of the hostage situation created a bond, and Molly’s antics had stripped down the reserve customary to meetings with strangers. He could just be himself, his one secret set to the side, no false face, no requirement to maintain a positive connection as there was with Desmarais.

  This is what he had hoped to experience at Netherfield with Bingley, but while Bingley accepted him easily, Darcy still had to play the role of French sympathizer, and he had been too caught up in worry about Georgiana to relax his guard.

  Yet here he was with Elizabeth, the daughter of a poor country gentleman, Sir Matthew, a goldsmith who had been elevated to his current position, and Molly who had grown up on the docks and graced the stage. All people he would once have considered beneath him. True, the stigma of trade connections had been wiped out by the invasion when the French had upended English society with their égalité and fraternité, but he still could not have pictured this scene before tonight.