Kit sighed. “General, are you acquainted with the Countess of Matlock? She has no doubt planned every detail of this already.”
Wellington nodded. “Madam, if you are Lady Frederica's mother, I must assume we are in very capable hands. It would be an excellent idea to help settle the populace, if Her Majesty is willing.”
“I... We are willing.” The girl took a deep breath and then spoke in a rush. “There is one matter which must be addressed first. In France, all power resides in the Emperor. We are not so benighted here in England where we believe power should reside in a lawfully elected government. Since we lack that government at present, it falls to us, as Queen Regnant, to command the formation of a government. We entrust this responsibility...” Her voice faltered for a moment, “... to a committee formed of Lord Wellington, Lady Frederica Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, with elections to be held within the year.”
Kit exclaimed, “Oh, well done!”
She gave him a sidelong glance. “I have had six years to plan that speech.”
Lady Matlock hurried forward to stand before her. Somehow producing a tiara from her reticule, she set it on the startled girl's head. “Now you look like a queen.”
Darcy forced his voice to work. “I am honored by your offer, but I must beg to decline.”
Georgiana – no, Charlotte – looked surprised and dismayed, but Lady Matlock was the one to respond. “We can discuss this later. Right now the people need to see they have a queen and an army. Or at least a general and a major.” She bustled all of them from the room.
As soon as they were gone, Mme. Desmarais's composure slipped. Tears began to tumble down her cheeks, and she covered her face with a handkerchief, her shoulders silently shaking.
Desmarais put his arm around her. “There, there. It will not be so terrible, ma petite. You will see.”
“Yes, it will, and you know it! Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu!”
Darcy returned to his window, staring out to give them at least the illusion of privacy. He tried not to overhear their low French conversation. It was simpler than usual to avoid it, since the ghost of Kit's voice kept echoing in his ears. It had to be done.
Elizabeth might even have agreed with Kit. Darcy could not. He rested his forehead against the gilt window frame. He hated gilt.
“Darcy, my friend,” said Desmarais. “I must ask a very great favor of you. In all likelihood, Wellington will ransom me to France where I will meet that fate the Emperor reserves for generals who fail as spectacularly as I have. Even if my wife does not share my fate, she will be left a pauper and an outcast. She would be safer in England under a false name than in France. Would you be willing to provide her with a very modest income and protect her from retribution?”
Darcy turned slowly. More duty, but he did owe Desmarais a great deal. “It may be difficult—”
Desmarais interrupted, his voice cold. “It is no matter. Pray forget I said anything.”
“No, that is not what I meant. I would be glad to arrange for a place for her to live and an income. The protection part is more difficult because I do not plan to remain in England. I will be turning Pemberley over to my brother. Still, I cannot imagine Georgiana – the Queen – would allow your wife to come to any harm.”
“Leaving England? Ah, mon frère, now I understand you completely. May I inquire where you will be going?”
Darcy shrugged. “Canada, at least at first. I have a sister there – a real one, that is, the one you have been watching for the last six years.”
“If you could see your way clear to it, Canada would be a better place for my wife than England. No one there will care about my sins.”
Could he never escape the past? “If it is your wish and hers, I would be honored to escort your wife to Canada.”
Desmarais closed his eyes. “I thank you. You have relieved the heaviest of my burdens. Heaven will reward you for your kindness.”
A deafening tumult of cheers from outside prevented Darcy from responding. Wellington must have presented Charlotte to the crowds. At least someone was happy.
A quarter of an hour later, Kit, Lady Matlock, and Charlotte returned to the sitting room. She was unquestionably Charlotte and not Georgiana this time. Georgiana would be frightened, but Charlotte was laughing, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright. She looked like a stranger.
“That was exciting!” the girl confided. “I was worried at first, but the crowd cheered every time I waved my hand or smiled. And who could not smile under these circumstances?”
Darcy might never smile again. He suspected General and Mme. Desmarais felt the same.
Kit was smiling, too. “You were perfect. No one could have done better. I, on the other hand, have just been demoted. An hour ago I was responsible for taking the entire city, but Wellington says now my only duty is to keep you safe and to form a royal guard. I think I like this job better.”
More proof that Darcy's role was at an end. He had been the one responsible for Georgiana's safety; now that she was transformed to Charlotte, he was no longer needed. She was Kit's responsibility now.
The girl looked up at Kit. “You will be perfect at it. It will keep you from running off, too.”
“I never wanted to run off.”
She seemed to be almost bursting with energy. Her feet carried her to Darcy's side. “Oh, William, I wish you had been there! You would have been proud of me.”
“I am proud of you,” he said stiffly. “I could hear the cheers, and I knew they were for you.”
Her face fell despite his efforts to disguise his feelings. “William, are you angry that I suggested you should be part of the government planning? You would do such a good job, and there is no one I trust more. And after all you have done, you deserve to be part of the victory.”
He could not bring himself to spoil her triumph. “Thank you for considering me, but I could not give it the attention it deserves. Pemberley needs my attention after all these years.”
“Cannot your steward take care of Pemberley? He has done so for years, after all. I would be much happier to have you close by.”
“I am sorry, but I cannot.” He could not even invent a good excuse for it.
Desmarais's tired voice was soft. “He cannot do it because he is planning to make a new life for himself in Canada. He intends to give Pemberley to his brother. I am sorry, Darcy, but if she is queen now, she needs to know the truth.”
Darcy could not bear to see her reaction, so instead he looked at Kit, whose dropped jaw and wide eyes were almost comical.
Small fists bunched themselves in his lapels. “No! I beg you, no! I cannot bear it!” Her breathing had gone shallow and rapid in the familiar pattern. “I cannot do it without you.”
He patted her back, glaring at Desmarais over her head. “You underestimate your own strength. For a long time, I was all you had. Now you have Lady Matlock, Kit, Frederica, Lord Wellington, and soon you will have dozens of courtiers and ladies-in-waiting. The entire population of London adores you already. You will hardly even notice my absence.” After all, she seemed not to have noticed Elizabeth's death for more than a few minutes.
“They are not the same.” She was gasping for breath now. “They will leave, just like everyone else. Even Elizabeth left, and now you want to leave, too.”
She was beginning to sag against him. With a frustrated sigh, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to a fainting couch. “Lie still now and try to breathe more slowly. You know how. In and out, slowly.”
Mme. Desmarais, even under her own terrible stress, was the first one to the girl’s side. She wiped the cold sweat from her forehead and crooned calmingly to her. “All will be well, ma petite. All will be well.”
Kit seemed frozen. “A doctor! We must send for a doctor instantly!” He sounded frantic.
Darcy spared him a disgusted look. “There is no need. This has happened many times before. Rest and reassurance are all she needs.” It had not been this bad for a
long time, but there was no point in saying so now.
Lady Matlock perched on the side of the fainting couch. Taking the girl's hand in both of her own, she said in a quiet but businesslike manner, “Now listen to me, my dear. I am about to tell you something very important, so you must listen carefully. Men are not like you and me. When a man suffers a great loss, his mind stops working and he says the most ridiculous things. In a few days, they usually come to their senses. In the meantime, you must be generous enough to offer sympathy, but clever enough to pay little attention to what they say and wait for the storm to pass.”
Georgiana's ragged breathing did not stop her from speaking. “Not William. He is not like that.”
“Hush, chérie, your aunt is quite correct,” said Mme. Desmarais. “All men are like that, including Darcy.”
“Just a minute,” said Kit. “Not all of us—”
Lady Matlock turned a look on him that would have frozen the fires of hell. “Are you disagreeing with me?”
The new Commander of the Royal Guard scuffed the edge of the carpet with his boot. “Er... no, madam. Of course not.”
The countess gave a nod of satisfaction. “Then you should make yourself useful by sitting with Her Majesty and talking to her. William, go back to Darcy House. You are not helping here, and since Kit is now protecting Her Majesty, he can protect me at the same time.”
“I want to go back to Darcy House, too,” said the girl plaintively.
“You must discuss that with Kit, but in any case, you cannot leave this place until you have sufficient guards. Darcy, I told you to go.”
Darcy strode out of the room without a word. How dare his aunt treat him like a child, especially at a moment like this? He was the one who had kept Georgiana safe. He was the one who knew what to do when she was upset. He was the one...
He was the one who had lost Elizabeth.
His anger drained away, leaving an empty pit of despair.
An odd assortment of men stood by the front door. They did not carry themselves as either servants or soldiers did. Presumably they were Kit’s men. Darcy pushed his way through them, grabbed his hat and gloves, and strode out into the courtyard.
Outside the shouting and cheering were much louder. Through the growing dusk he could see the crowd of people beyond the Carlton House gates. Another obstacle he would have to pass.
They had spotted him. Several were pointing in his direction.
Darcy stepped back inside the house. “I will have to leave through the postern gate. One of you must come to lock it behind me.”
Most of them snapped to some semblance of attention, obviously pleased to have something to do. Three trailed behind him as he marched through the state rooms and into the courtyard. How many men could it take to relock a gate?
Thankfully, the alley beyond the postern gate was quiet. Darcy made his escape, circling around the crowd on Pall Mall.
Usually the streets of London would be starting to empty by this time of day, but today was different. Even in this fine part of town, small groups of men were prowling the street, challenging all comers, lest a disguised Frenchman sneak by. The body of a French soldier in the gutter was almost covered by the refuse that had been thrown at him. Several doors, even those of fine townhouses, had been defaced with a large red T. T for traitor, Darcy supposed. How much violence would there be tomorrow as loyal citizens took revenge into their own hands? Most likely there would be a T on his own door.
It was full dark by the time he reached Darcy House. No red T on the door – that was one minor blessing. He opened the door, only to be greeted by two of his own footman holding cudgels in an obvious threat.
His butler hurried forward. “My apologies, Mr. Darcy, but there have been ruffians wandering the streets. I thought it best to be prepared.”
The hollowness inside Darcy left him nothing for polite conversation, so he only nodded tersely.
“If I may ask, sir, were you able to find Miss Darcy? We have been worried for her.”
What possible answer could he make? His staff would learn soon enough who Georgiana truly was, but he could not bear to make the explanation. “She is unhurt.” He could not say the same for himself.
Chapter 20
The banks of the Thames were disreputable enough during the day. Visiting it at night was unwise at best. At his valet’s insistence, Darcy took the precaution of leaving his valuables at Darcy House and secreting a small pistol in the pocket of his greatcoat. It would do no good if some footpad decided to slip a knife between his ribs but taking it with him was easier than explaining that he did not really care about his safety. All he cared about was getting as close as possible to the spot where Elizabeth drew her last breath.
He took Puck because the dog had loved Elizabeth, too. But he knew the truth: he needed the dog for his own comfort.
His coachman declined to leave him after dropping him by the river. “You'll not be able to hail a hackney or chair in this part of town, sir.”
“It may be some hours before I wish to return.” If he ever wished to return.
“No matter, sir. Mr. Jamieson would expect me to stay.”
Carrying a small lantern, Darcy picked his way along the riverbank until he found the rude bench he had sat upon before. The mist rising from the river was almost as much a hindrance to visibility as the darkness. Puck did not care, running in circles around Darcy and pausing to stick his nose into the river.
Darcy sank down on the bench. He could see nothing of the river. The darkness and mist hid any sign of the sunken warships. Was the Thames deep enough to cover the tall masts?
But what did any of that matter? Elizabeth was gone, the bright spark lighting her eyes quenched forever. One day someone might stumble upon her body, but if she had been trapped in a cabin, her remains would spend eternity within the shipwreck. There would not even be a grave for him to visit.
And he was the one who had led her to this spot. It had been all his doing. The worst part was remembering how much he had enjoyed having her in London, her teasing in the drawing room, their walk in Hyde Park, listening together as Georgiana played the pianoforte.
Elizabeth had paid the ultimate price for his moments of pleasure. If he had not persuaded her to remain in London, she would be safely in Scotland now. He should have considered the danger to her, but he had grown complacent after hiding Georgiana in plain sight all these years. He had been a fool.
Puck butted his head against his leg. Darcy absently scratched him behind the ears. “What are we going to do without her?” he asked the dog in despair. “Our Titania is...” He could not even say it, not even to a dog in the dead of night. The queen of the fairies was supposed to be immortal, but her magic had failed.
The dog made no answer apart from leaning his head into Darcy's hand. After a brief nuzzle, the dog stood stock still, sniffing the air, and lifted one paw.
“Oh, no.” Darcy grabbed the collar around Puck's neck. “No duck hunting for you, not tonight. And no amount of whimpering will make me change my mind. It is back to the carriage for you.”
But as Darcy stood, Puck lunged away, leaving his collar dangling in Darcy’s hand, and raced off down the riverbank. Darcy called after him, but there was no response. With a curse, he grabbed the lantern and followed the dog.
How would he ever find Puck in the dark? Fear stabbed at him. Why had he been such a fool as to bring the dog with him? First he had caused Elizabeth's death, and now he had lost her dog.
He shouted Puck's name as he clambered over piles of flotsam, scraping his hand badly on something sharp. Some hidden detritus tripped him, and he landed on his hands and knees in the filthy riverbank mud. “Damned dog,” he muttered as he scrambled for safe footing.
This was a hopeless chase. Puck could leap over obstacles Darcy could barely fight his way past. The dog could be half a mile away by now. Hopelessness warred with helplessness in him, but he could not lose Elizabeth’s dog, too.
Ju
st as he was about to give up, he heard a familiar bark. “Puck! Where are you?”
Another bark, but no nearer. Darcy wiped his muddy hands on his trousers and pressed onwards. It sounded close by when Darcy collided with a decrepit pier jutting out into the Thames, knocking the breath out of him. He bent over, hands on his knees, until he recovered enough to push his way onto the pier.
Puck barked again, this time sounding as if he were standing beside him. Darcy turned in a slow circle, holding the lantern high, but saw nothing. Where was the cursed dog?
The barking was coming from under his feet. The idiot dog must have burrowed under the pier. Darcy tried to swing himself down on the far side, but his coat sleeve caught on a nail. He attempted to free it with no success. “Puck? Are you there?”
“William?” It was a woman's voice, one he knew deep in his soul.
Darcy's sleeve ripped as he jumped down into mud up to his ankles. He did not care. “Elizabeth! Is that you?” He thrust the lantern forward into the pitch black under the pier.
She was huddled with Molly Hayes against one of the piles that supported the pier. Her hair hung down in damp, bedraggled locks, with mud smeared on her arms. He could not see the expression on her face because half of it was hidden behind Puck's head as he enthusiastically licked her. Darcy had never seen anything so beautiful.
Dropping to his hands and knees, Darcy pushed his way past Puck and pulled Elizabeth into his arms. “Dear God, Elizabeth! I thought you were dead!”
“I almost was. William, you are so very...so very...warm.” Her voice was weak, and she was icy cold in his arms.
He released her just long enough to strip off his greatcoat. “Put your arms in here.” He pulled the coat tight around her and embraced her again. “And your hands against my chest. It will warm them.”
“But Molly...”
“I am warmer than you, Lizzy, for you have been allowing me to be in the most protected spot,” said Mrs. Hayes stoutly, but she was also shivering.
This was no time to think of appearances. Darcy removed his frock coat and held it for her as she struggled into it.