“That is unfortunate,” said Darcy blandly. He could see where this was going.
“Some time ago, an old friend mentioned your name as someone who might be aware of how to reach the government-in-exile. When I heard you were visiting here, I decided to ask you directly.”
Darcy attempted to look surprised. “I cannot imagine why anyone would think I have some special knowledge. I am sorry to disappoint you, but your old friend was misinformed.”
“Precisely what I would expect you to say. But I am willing to prove my bona fides and the value of my information. In addition to what I know, I now have a contact in the occupying army who is giving me information about their weaknesses. He is apparently an old acquaintance of yours.”
Darcy sat up straighter, dread filling him. “Are you perchance referring to George Wickham?”
“The very man!”
An image of Wickham's smug smile rose before him. “Wickham is not to be trusted. He is a traitor and for sale to the highest bidder. If he is giving you information, it is because he hopes to earn a reward when he turns you in.”
Tomlin leaned forward with a frown. “You are certain of this?”
“Quite certain. He was the one who betrayed my father to the French; he has admitted as much to me.” It was reckless talk on his part. A day ago he would not have said it, knowing there was a good chance he would be signing Wickham’s death certificate. Today he did not care.
“You are quite, quite sure?”
“Yes. It might be wise for you to leave the vicinity in case he has already passed along your name to the authorities.”
Tomlin gestured to his man, another soldier by his stance. Darcy's suspicion was confirmed when the man saluted Tomlin, nodded and left the room without a word.
Darcy would not feel sorry for Wickham. He had brought this down upon himself. But how could he feel nothing when they had played together as children? At least his father had not lived to see this day or to know his beloved Wickham had betrayed him without a second thought.
Tomlin's lips were twisted in an expression of distaste, one Darcy recognized because he saw it in the mirror all too often. The man was loyal and honest; Darcy would bet on that. The remarkable thing was that he had survived this long.
After a swallow of port, Tomlin said, “It will be back into hiding for me, then, at least until the scent is cold. Darcy, I am obliged to you for the warning.”
It was too much. Elizabeth’s distaste for what she saw as his treason. Georgiana's fear of abandonment. Wickham's implied threats and smirks. Worst of all, knowing he would be forced to abandon Elizabeth to her fate. And now this.
For six years he had kept Georgiana safe by dint of staying silent while the French ransacked England, never even sharing the little he knew that could help the rebels. There had been no choice, but by God, he was sick of it!
He had to do something. When the gentlemen left to join the ladies in the drawing room, Darcy took a quick detour to Bingley’s study. He found a blank paper in a desk drawer and wrote a few words. After tearing off a small section of the paper with the words, he secreted it in his hand and left the study.
In the drawing room Bingley was involved in a lively discourse with Mr. and Mrs. Goulding while Georgiana sorted through sheet music at the pianoforte. Off to one side Tomlin wore a brooding look.
Darcy sidled up to Tomlin and said in a low voice, “You wanted something earlier.” He opened his hand so the words were visible, if slightly smudged.
Tomlin's eyes widened. “That is it?”
“Look closely. You see the tiny crown drawn above the letter N? You must include that. You have it?”
Tomlin gave a sharp nod. “I thank you.”
“Tell no one.” Darcy crumpled the paper in his hand.
“Wait! In case my letter does not reach them, this is the message: they must contact the harbormaster in Milford Haven. It is very important.”
Darcy shook his head. “Do not depend upon me. I am not in contact with them.”
“If you ever are, remember that. The harbormaster at Milford Haven.”
It was easiest just to nod. As Darcy crossed the room towards Georgiana, he unobtrusively tossed the scrap of paper in the fire.
It was an unspeakable relief to finally do something after all these years of waiting.
Now he just had to find a way to save Elizabeth.
Chapter 5
Elizabeth studied the sheet of fine notepaper. “It is from Miss Darcy. She is unwell and will not be able to walk with me today, but invites me to spend the day with her at Netherfield. She has sent the carriage for me in the hope I will join her.” Odd. Had Mr. Darcy refused to bring his sister to Longbourn because of their quarrel on his last visit? Her stomach twisted into a knot.
Mrs. Bennet patted her hair. “You must go, of course. You cannot miss an opportunity to catch the eye of Mr. Bingley or Mr. Darcy!”
“Of course not,” said Elizabeth dryly. More importantly, she needed to know if Mr. Darcy would still receive her. Otherwise she would face another sleepless night of self-recriminations.
Her heart was racing when she finally reached Netherfield and asked for Miss Darcy.
The butler bowed and said, “This way, Miss Bennet.” He showed her to a book-filled study.
Miss Darcy was not there. Her brother sat behind an imposing desk, his face drawn as if he had not slept either.
Elizabeth took an involuntary step backwards. “Forgive me. Your sister sent me an invitation to visit her. I did not mean to interrupt you.”
Mr. Darcy waved the butler away and closed the study door. “I know. I asked her to do so. I could not think of another way to arrange a private meeting with you.”
What could he be thinking? If they were found alone together in a closed room... “Well, here I am,” she said with more lightness in her voice than she felt.
“Yes.” He frowned at a pile of books as if they had personally offended him. “Georgiana and I will be leaving Netherfield tomorrow morning.”
She had not expected that, and it felt like a blow. “Will you be returning at some point?”
“No.” He continued avoiding her gaze.
Her mouth was dry. “Does this have something to do with our disagreement the last time we met?”
“What? Oh, that. No, nothing at all. This is something quite separate and urgent.”
“I see,” she said, although she did not.
“Unfortunately this leaves you in a difficult position regarding Captain Reynard. In my absence it is likely he will renew his demands on you.”
Her throat seemed to have turned to stone. Of course he would. It was only Mr. Darcy's presence that kept the captain away. She squeezed her eyes closed before sudden tears could escape. “I am grateful to you for giving me a reprieve.” There. Her voice had hardly shaken at all.
“I cannot tell you how sorry I am to leave you in this position. If I could, I would offer to take you with us, but that is impossible. The only thing in my power is to give you this.” He held out a small pouch.
She did not reach for it. “What is it?”
“Money enough to see you to Scotland, and the name and direction of a contact in Newcastle who can help you across the border safely. Please memorize it and then burn the paper; it is not safe to have it in writing.” He tucked the pouch into her hand.
The warmth of his hand still clung to the leather bag, and the touch of his long fingers seemed to leave an imprint on her hand. This was a final goodbye, not just to him but eventually to her life in Meryton. Somehow she lifted her eyes to his face. “Why are you doing this? How do you know someone who can help me escape?”
“I cannot tell you that. I am sorry.” His voice was rough.
A movement beyond him caught her eye and she turned to the window. “Does it have anything to do with that?” She held out a trembling finger to point at the troop of French soldiers marching towards the house.
He hurried to the w
indow. “No. Hell and damnation, no. I am a fool. We should have left yesterday. May God forgive me.” It was the voice of complete despair.
“What is the matter?” Now she was truly afraid.
He turned back to her, took a deep breath, and grasped her shoulders. His eyes were haunted. “There may not be much time, and you must listen to me. Everything depends upon it. If they are here to arrest me, I must ask you to care for Georgiana and take her away from here.”
“Of course, if you wish. She will be welcome at Longbourn.”
He shook his head fiercely. “No. I am asking you for more than that. Take her far away. Do not tell your family you are leaving, and do not return.”
She could not have heard him correctly. “Are you mad? I am happy to help your sister, but you are asking me to leave everything behind for a girl I hardly know!”
A violent pounding came from below. Darcy opened the door a crack and listened. A distant French accented voice said, “I have a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Instantly Darcy closed the door and turned the key in the lock. “No, I am not mad. I will have to trust you.”
She stared at him in bewilderment. He moved closer until he could speak directly in her ear. “Listen carefully. I have not seen my sister in six years, not since she boarded a ship for Canada, where everyone believes she is Princess Charlotte. Need I tell you who has been pretending to be my sister and going by the name of Georgiana Darcy?”
Elizabeth's mouth dropped open. “Surely you cannot mean she is —”
He pressed his hand over her mouth. “Do not say that name, not ever. I will do everything in my power to keep that information from the French, but I can be broken by torture like any other man. That is why you must take her and go.”
Elizabeth’s head was spinning. “But where? How?”
“Georgiana knows what to do. We have prepared for this. But God help us, she is still too young to travel by herself, and so I must beg you to help her. Do not stop for anything, not even to see your family.”
“Of course.” Stunned by his revelation, she could not even think through the consequences of what she was agreeing to.
“Good girl.” He winced at the sound of boots marching up the stairs. “Since I am damned anyway, and now that you know I am not a traitor...” Taking her face between his hands, he lowered his head towards hers.
He brushed his warm lips gently against hers, and then, when she did not protest, with greater firmness. His simple touch held a thrilling magic, creating in her a delectable sensation she could never have imagined and an aching hunger that spiraled through the deepest parts of her. As he nibbled at her lower lip, all vestige of rational thought deserted her. Instinctively she arched herself towards him, seeking something to fill this new need inside her.
Then it was over, leaving her trembling and more confused than ever. His dark eyes, only inches away, were fixed on hers, and he looked as overwhelmed as she felt. His lips soundlessly formed her name.
Could it be her heart pounding so loudly? No, the noise came from the study door.
With a deep breath, Darcy raked his hand through his hair, lifted his chin, and somehow transformed into a facsimile of his usual calm self. He turned the key and opened the door, feigning surprise at finding soldiers outside it.
Lieutenant Bessette was in the lead. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, you are under arrest for the murder of George Wickham.”
Darcy raised his eyebrows. “I am afraid you have the wrong man,” he drawled. “Wickham may have deserved to be murdered several times over, but I cannot claim credit for it.” He repeated his words in French. One of the soldiers guffawed.
Lieutenant Bessette glanced at Elizabeth, then back to Darcy. “You must come with us,” he said firmly.
Darcy replied in French too rapid for Elizabeth to understand.
This time even Lieutenant Bessette smiled. “Bien sûr!”
Darcy returned to Elizabeth’s side. Raising her hand to his lips, he held it there for a moment beyond what was proper, and whispered, “Courage, proud Titania.” Then he turned on his heel to face the soldiers. “Gentlemen, I am at your service.”
Frozen, Elizabeth watched his retreating back, first down the passageway and then out the window, taking some vital piece of her with him. She touched her fingers to her tingling lips. How hard she had fought not to care about him because of his political beliefs! Only now, when she might lose him forever, had she learned he was everything she could have wished for – and more. She might never have the opportunity to tell him of her regrets. His life might be counted in days, leaving her to grieve for the opportunity she had lost.
She swallowed hard and forced that thought out of her head. She could think about him later. Right now she needed to focus on the impossible task he had passed on to her. Darcy had put his royal charge ahead of everything else, even when it meant working with the French, even when it might cost him his life. Now it was her turn to make his sacrifices worthwhile.
Her breath caught in her throat. Could the girl who had visited Jane in the stables and drank ill-tasting tea with her truly be Princess Charlotte, the rightful heir to the throne? Of all the possible explanations for Mr. Darcy's inconsistent behavior, this was the most inconceivable, but her instincts told her it was true. It made sense of everything that had puzzled her. She shook her head in mingled bewilderment and wonder. And now Mr. Darcy was likely to die for his loyalty, and part of her would die with him.
But there was no time to dwell on his fate. She had a princess to rescue. She rubbed her damp hands against her skirt and hurried downstairs to find a servant, but the echoing rooms were empty. Had the servants disappeared when the French arrived? Finally she located a footman who told her Miss Darcy was in the library.
She found the girl she called Georgiana curled up in an armchair reading a book, one of her golden ringlets wrapped tightly around her finger. Her concentration was such that she did not even notice when Elizabeth approached her.
The truth hit Elizabeth like a blow to the stomach. This girl was the heir to the throne. Princess Charlotte, the hope of England, the one mentioned in every toast between Englishmen. And now she was Elizabeth’s responsibility. It was terrifying.
How was she supposed to tell the girl what had happened and that they must leave? Yesterday she would have had no difficulty telling Georgiana Darcy what to do, but that was when she had not known the truth. Now she was royalty, so far above Elizabeth that she hardly dared to speak. Part of her wanted to disappear, but Mr. Darcy had been clear in his directions to her.
“Georgiana?” she asked with more timidity than she cared to admit.
The girl jumped. “Oh! I had not realized you were here already. I heard some noise earlier but did not think much of it.” As she spoke, she closed her book and surreptitiously slid it under a stack of other volumes.
Elizabeth bit her lip and forced herself to speak. “I do not know how to tell you this. Mr. Darcy was just arrested by the French. Before they took him, he asked me to take you away from here as quickly as possible.”
Georgiana paled. “They took William? I knew something must be wrong when he said we had to leave!” Her eyes filled with tears.
There was no time for this. The French might return at any moment. “He said you would know where to go and what to do.”
“Oh! Yes. We have practiced this. We must leave at once. I have to collect my satchel for my room, then I will be ready.”
“Good. I will ask for the horses to be hitched to the carriage again.”
“No, not the carriage. The curricle. That is the plan.” The girl hesitated, then grabbed her book from under the pile.
“Would not the carriage be more suitable for traveling a long distance?”
Georgiana shook her head. “More suitable, but we do not want people to think we are going a long way. William says taking the curricle helps to throw off the scent.”
“I see. Is there anyth
ing we should do to assist your brother before we go?” Of course, Mr. Darcy was not Georgiana's brother. Oh, this was just too confusing!
Now tears were beginning to escape the girl's eyes. “No. He would want us to go straight away. But should I leave a note for Mr. Bingley and ask him to contact William’s friend in London? He might be able to use his influence to help him. But William would tell me not to take that time, that it is too risky.” Her breathing was growing rapid and shallow.
The poor girl. Even if royal blood ran in her veins, she was still a terrified fifteen-year-old who needed help. “Yes, you should do that. Where can we find paper?”
“In my room.” Georgiana dashed her tears away.
“Then let us go there.” She did not dare let the girl out of her sight.
On the way upstairs Elizabeth found the lone footman and told him firmly to have the curricle prepared for an immediate departure. Then she watched as Georgiana quickly wrote a note, her racing pulse counting out each second that prolonged their danger.
After finishing the note quickly, the girl pulled out a small trunk from the wardrobe, opened it and produced a large satchel. She shoved her book inside it. “Very well, I am ready.” Her voice barely trembled.
“Then let us go.” Asking a servant for help would only waste precious minutes, so Elizabeth picked up the surprisingly heavy satchel.
When they reached the curricle, Elizabeth stopped short. The grooms were just finishing harnessing a pair of grey thoroughbreds to it. “Georgiana, I have never driven anything larger than a donkey cart.”
“I can drive it.” She sounded forlorn. “William thinks of everything.”
“I am certain he will be released soon,” she said with a confidence she did not feel. If she thought too hard about Mr. Darcy she might lose her composure, and that might tip off the grooms that something was amiss.
Georgiana's lower lip trembled. “I hope so.” Then she stepped up into the curricle and took the reins from the groom. Elizabeth swung herself up on the opposite side, her heart pounding.
Was she truly going to do this? Vanish without a word to her family? Would they think she had run off, or would they suspect foul play? Poor Jane would be devastated, never knowing what had happened to her.