Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Abigail Reynolds

  When the coach swayed into motion, Elizabeth leaned back on the bench seat and closed her eyes. “Thank God that is over!”

  Darcy spoke carefully. “I thought you did well. It must be difficult to be the new arrival when the rest of the group knows each other.”

  “I do not know how you tolerate it.”

  His heart sank. “I am sorry it was so unpleasant for you. Compared to some of the company I have been forced to keep, I find this group quite tolerable.”

  She turned her face away from him. “I had not realized you were such a particular favorite of the general’s.” It was an accusation.

  Just when he had thought there might be hope for them. “I have never hidden what I do. I avoid mentioning Desmarais by name because people would beg me for favors if they knew of the connection, but you have always known I had friends among the French leadership. Did he say something that offended you?”

  “Were you not offended when he spoke of taking reprisals against English rebels?” Her voice shook.

  “No. It is a part of his duty that he hates. Did you not hear him? He was angry over the stories in The Loyalist because he feared they would lead to insurrection, and then he would have to take reprisals. There are many soldiers, both French and English, who think nothing of killing the enemy. He is not one of them.”

  “But he will still do it!”

  “Yes, he will still do it, just as my cousin Richard killed French soldiers. If he had been ordered to take reprisals, he would have done it. Do you hate him for that?”

  “Of course not, if he was ordered to do it. But this is our country, and they have no right to it!”

  “The French did not start this war. We did. We invaded first, sending troops into France and taking Toulon, and we allied with other countries against them. Napoleon invaded us to stop us from fighting him. I want England to be free, but does that mean I must despise every man who had the misfortune to be born in France? They obey their Emperor as we obeyed our King and Parliament. If I hated every French soldier for doing their duty, should I not also hate English soldiers who did their duty in another country? Desmarais is a good man. He does not want anyone, French or English, to be killed. What more can you ask of him?”

  Elizabeth did not respond, and her expression was hidden in the darkness.

  “Elizabeth? Forgive me, I pray you. I should have spoken more temperately. I am too accustomed to the lively arguments at Carlton House.”

  When she remained silent, he reached out his hand and touched her arm. She did not shy away from him, but then he realized she was weeping.

  What had he done? She had been upset since the previous day, and now he had made it worse – by defending Desmarais, of all things. He knew how she felt about the French. He was a fool.

  He shifted along the bench until he could put his arm around her shoulders. Pressing his lips gently against her temple – stolen pleasure! – he murmured, “I am sorry. I never should have agreed to take you there. I had forgotten how it must seem to an outsider.”

  She pressed her handkerchief over her eyes. “No, you must forgive me for being silly. I do not know how you manage it, finding common ground with them rather than seeing them as enemies, but I cannot criticize you for it. I do not think I will ever have the forbearance to achieve that myself.”

  He breathed in the scent of lavender water. “At first I hated them all, but when I had to deal with them so often, I came to see them as individuals. How often has England invaded France over the centuries? I cannot begin to count. We call Henry V a hero for conquering France, but I doubt the French liked being under our thumb any better than we like it today. Centuries on centuries of war between our countries, until all we can see in a Frenchman is an enemy and not a human being who is a child of God. I have tried to teach Georgiana to see them that way, but I cannot claim much success.”

  For a moment he could hear only her soft breathing, but then she asked, “How long have you known General Desmarais?”

  “Three years or so, since he was first put in command here.”

  “I will try to give him a chance for your sake.” Her voice was shaky but determined.

  He rested his cheek on her hair. “You are brave. I know it is not easy for you.” If only he could take her fully into his arms and tell her everything that was in his heart! He sensed she would not stop him, but he would be taking advantage of her distress.

  She shifted against him. Was she protesting the presence of his arm around her shoulders? Reluctantly he lifted it.

  “No,” she said softly.

  Then, miracle of miracles, soft fingers touched his cheek and slowly drifted down to the corner of his mouth. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he registered that she must have removed her gloves, then he lost the ability to think as her finger traced the line of his mouth. Instinctively he caught her fingertip between his lips and nibbled it. Would she pull away?

  He heard her sharp indrawn breath, then she whispered, “I am sorry I spoke so harshly that evening in your study. I know you did not wish to be caught in this dilemma, and we are both only human.”

  All too human at this precise moment, as his tongue tasted the sweetness of her fingertip. But he did not wish to frighten her by going too far, so he released her finger just far enough to press the lightest of kisses on the delicate pad of flesh. He was going to stop there; he truly was. But her soft skin intoxicated him and he could not resist brushing his lips down the length of her finger and pressing a kiss into her trembling palm. But that was all. He had to stop now, even though she had made no effort to pull away.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he murmured into her hand. “I have been considering what you said.” It was all he could say now without abusing the trust she had put in him, and it would have to suffice. Good God, he was trembling, too.

  But surely if he could not permit himself to speak the words he wished, he ought to be allowed to show her how he felt. And how could he stop when she was allowing him to worship her hand, to caress her flesh with the intimacy of his lips? The longing to taste her drove him on. His tongue wandered along the creases of her palm, the heart line, the life line, drinking in the scent of soap and lavender. It still was not enough, even as he heard her gasp.

  And he needed to distract himself from the clamoring of his own body. His torso was on fire where her side pressed against his, flames of desire licking through him and pooling in his groin. If her hand was this thrilling, his body asked, what would the rest of her be like? How far would she let him go? There was nothing stopping him from pressing her back until she lay on the upholstered seat and exploring her with his hands, his tongue, seducing her into allowing more and more...

  In fact, he should be proud of himself for doing no more that kissing her palm, nibbling the mound at the base of her thumb and letting his mouth draw against it. He was restraining himself, so there was no real reason to stop, was there? Nor any reason not to draw his own fingers enticingly across the back of her hand. No reason at all. Even if he ached for so much more.

  No reason to stop – except that the carriage had drawn to a halt, and the sound of the coachman’s boots striking the pavement told him they had reached their destination.

  But it was not enough, so he pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her pulse raced against his lips. Then, with a superhuman effort, he drew her hand down until it laid by her lap. Even then, his fingers insisted on entwining with hers, just for the brief moment until the door latch rattled.

  Then he was handing her out of the carriage, and if his hand clung to hers for several seconds too long, what of it? She was still wearing all her clothes, and her hair was not even mussed. He deserved sainthood for that, because he knew she would have allowed more. The thought made him groan in the back of his throat.

  Elizabeth’s melodious voice asked, “Have you injured yourself?”

  The words brought him back to reality. They were standing in front of Darcy House, an
d the candles blazing in the sitting room window were a testament that his family had waited up for their return. “No,” he said quietly. “I have never been better.”

  ***

  Elizabeth hugged herself as she snuggled under her bedclothes. Oh, how could she contain her happiness?

  How astonishing it was that the dreadful strain of General Desmarais’s dinner could transform into such intense happiness! Darcy had given no sign anything extraordinary had happened while Elizabeth answered Lady Matlock and Georgiana’s questions about the dinner, his manner towards her just as it had been earlier that day. But when she had said she was retiring for the night, his gaze had scorched her. It had been as palpable as if he had run his hands down her body. What would it feel like if he did just that?

  Yesterday had given her hope but not enough to be certain. After all, he had gone far out of his way to bring her Puck, but perhaps that might have been meant as consolation for other things he could not give her. But he had kissed her, too. Not that a man’s kiss necessarily indicated that he meant to propose, but it had been a good sign.

  Tonight’s carriage ride had removed any question, though. His arm around her had made her yearn for more, and when she had found the courage to touch him...

  She drew her hand out and held it in front of her. Who would have thought such powerful sensations existed? The spots where his lips had touched still tingled, even hours later, and the memory made heat pool deep within her. Combined with his admission that he was considering what she had said, it was practically a declaration. A thrilling, wordless declaration. She hugged herself again, happiness making her feel as light as air.

  Her eyes misted. After all her worries, pain, and longing, everything was going to work out perfectly. Well, not perfectly; the loss of her family and home could not be repaired, and the French would still rule England. But she could live with those sorrows as long as she had Darcy.

  It would make his family happy, too. Georgiana would be relieved for her own future and pleased to have more ties to keep her from leaving, and Lady Matlock would no longer have to worry over Georgiana living with her unmarried nephew.

  Perhaps he would declare himself tomorrow. She held her hand to her chest and smiled.

  ***

  The next morning, Darcy had been tempted to sulk when he discovered Elizabeth had already gone out with Kit and Georgiana. He had foolishly slept later than usual, no doubt due to lying awake for hours torturing himself with the memory of those moments in the carriage. But if he could not speak to Elizabeth this morning, he could still put his time to good use, so he told his aunt he had a pressing need to visit his solicitor.

  That visit had been very satisfactory. The settlement papers were drawn up, ready to be presented to Elizabeth’s uncle as soon as she accepted his proposal. Presented secretly, of course, but it was only proper for him to consult the one member of her family who was aware of her relationship to him. From his brief experience of Mr. Gardiner, Darcy thought he would be pleased.

  But the greatest pleasure would be his own, when he could finally ask Elizabeth to make him the happiest of men. Perhaps they could try again to take a walk in the afternoon, this time steering clear of the populated parts of Hyde Park. But when he returned to Darcy House, the butler told him she was still out. Somehow he managed to subdue a fierce surge of jealousy. After all, Elizabeth had made her opinion clear on the subject of his brother.

  He would wait for her return in the drawing room. His aunt was already there, and she quickly removed the reading spectacles she denied needing and closed her book. After greeting her, Darcy said, “I understand Kit and the young ladies are still out. This must have been quite an excursion.”

  “I believe so. They went to St. Paul’s, apparently planning to meet Frederica there.”

  Darcy’s annoyance over Elizabeth’s absence transferred itself to his brother. “I wish he would not involve Georgiana in further dealings with Frederica. It is an unnecessary risk.”

  Lady Matlock said mildly, “Georgiana is already involved and has been for years. She needs to play her role.”

  The abrupt sound of the front door slamming made Lady Matlock raise her eyebrows.

  A moment later Kit stood in the doorway, his hair disheveled and breathing heavily. “They are not back, then?”

  A sick feeling began to grow in Darcy’s stomach. “Georgiana and Elizabeth? Are they not with you?”

  Kit collapsed into a chair without even bowing to Lady Matlock. Covering his face with his hands, he said despairingly, “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.”

  Lady Matlock said primly, “Christopher, your language!”

  Darcy did not care about Kit’s language. “What has happened? Where are they?”

  “God help me, I think...I think they were arrested.”

  “Arrested? By the French?” Darcy demanded. His hands itched to grasp Kit’s shoulders and shake him.

  “Yes, most likely Lamarque’s men.”

  Elizabeth and Georgiana in French custody? Bile rose in his throat. “Why? What happened?”

  “I...I do not know precisely. I think they were with Andrew, working on The Loyalist.”

  Darcy could not trust himself to speak. Elizabeth, arrested by the French. Elizabeth, when he finally had a future with her. And Georgiana.

  Lady Matlock came to sit beside Kit. “You need to tell us everything, from the beginning.” It was her commanding voice.

  Kit dropped his hands, revealing haunted eyes. “We went to St. Paul’s together, but I thought someone was following our hackney. I assumed they must be watching me, so when Georgiana and Elizabeth left the carriage at St. Paul’s, I made a point of getting back in. I got out at the Cheapside Market and darted between stalls until I was certain I had lost him, then I took a roundabout route back to St. Paul’s. When I could not find them there, I went to the crypt where we store copies of The Loyalist. No one was there either, so I raced to Leadenhall Street. Freddie said she had spoken to the two of them at the cathedral and left them at the entrance of the crypt.” Out of breath, he looked beseechingly at his aunt.

  “Could they not have gone somewhere else with Andrew?”

  Kit shook his head. “They would have waited for me, and there were papers scattered around the crypt. I asked two people nearby if they had seen any French officers. They both said no, but did not meet my eyes. I searched the crypt and found this.” He produced a crumpled bit of paper. It looked like the twisted paper apothecaries used for doses of powdered medicine.

  Darcy took it from him. Dread filled him at the sight of traces of powder inside. “What is it?”

  “It held arsenic. Andrew always carried it in case he was arrested because he knew too much. Since he was caught with stacks of The Loyalist, he would have swallowed it as soon as he saw the officers.” Kit turned his head to the side and covered his eyes.

  Lady Matlock said briskly, “Or it might have been a headache powder.”

  “I tasted the residue. Sweet and metallic. It was arsenic.” Kit’s voice trembled.

  In a strained voice, Lady Matlock asked, “Does Frederica carry arsenic?”

  Kit nodded bleakly. “As do I. But it does not matter. If the French have Georgiana, we have lost everything.”

  If the French had Elizabeth...Darcy could not even complete the thought.

  “Nonsense,” said Lady Matlock, but without her customary energy. “She is but a symbol, and we do not even know whether they are in custody. They might have left before Andrew was arrested, or might have been questioned and released, or might have bribed their way to freedom. They could be making their way back here at this moment.”

  Darcy rose to his feet. “We must set up a search for them.”

  Kit shook his head. “Freddie ordered a search before she left, and she has people everywhere.”

  “Before she left?” asked Lady Matlock sharply.

  “To go into hiding in case someone is forced to reveal the location of the house
.”

  Lady Matlock turned to Darcy. “Could your friend General Desmarais help us?”

  “It is too soon to go to him,” said Darcy. “If they have been released, I do not want his attention drawn to their connection to Andrew. If we have heard nothing by morning, I will ask him.” If they had heard nothing by morning, his world would have come to an end.

  Chapter 15

  Two hours later, the butler interrupted Darcy’s pacing to hold out a letter on a silver salver. “For you, sir, brought by a runner. A French runner.”

  Darcy snatched it and tore it open. Then he closed his eyes tightly, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled. Opening his eyes, he said, “I require a carriage to take me to Carlton House immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler bowed and retreated.

  Kit turned on Darcy. “Even now you obey as soon as Desmarais crooks his finger? Will you at least ask him about Georgiana?”

  Darcy tossed the letter onto a side table. “No need,” he said heavily. “He has her.”

  “He has her? Then I am coming with you!”

  “No, you are staying here in case there is word from Elizabeth. He says nothing of her.” But if Desmarais had Georgiana, most likely he had Elizabeth. Darcy's heart was pounding so hard he was half-surprised the others could not hear it.

  “He is right.” Lady Matlock's voice might sound calm, but her pallor told a different story.

  “I will send word as soon as I can.” Darcy strode out of the room before Kit could ask any more questions. He had no answers for his brother, only a terrible premonition of disaster.

  The journey to Carlton House was a nightmare of fears and recriminations. Why had he allowed Elizabeth and Georgiana to go out with Kit? He should have forbidden them to leave the house! Could someone have recognized Georgiana, or had they been betrayed?

  He had to calm himself. He would need all his wits about him when he spoke to Desmarais.

  He was not shown in to see the general right away. That was a bad sign. Instead he was left kicking his heels in a tiny anteroom for what seemed like hours, but his pocket watch claimed it was only ten minutes. Ten minutes of acute agony, wondering what was being done to Elizabeth. If she was even still alive.