Darcy and Deception

by Victoria Kincaid

  “Shall we?” Mr. Darcy gestured to the dance floor.

  Elizabeth could think of no suitable reason to decline the offer. She could hardly claim an injured ankle now. “Yes, thank you.”

  With a rather grim smile, Mr. Darcy offered his arm, which she took reluctantly. Scowling, Mr. Wickham stalked toward the punch table where Mr. Denny spoke with a few other officers.

  As Mr. Darcy drew her toward the dancers, she wondered at his behavior. She had believed she had driven him from her life at Hunsford. Yet here he was, treating her with great amiability. Was his friendliness a ruse so that later he might disparage her want of decorum? No, surely he would not be so petty.

  His smile had dropped away, and he viewed her solemnly from under lowered brows. Was he angry at finding her on Mr. Wickham’s arm? Foolish question. Of course, he was—angry and disappointed. Mr. Wickham had blackened Mr. Darcy’s name and nearly ruined his sister.

  How could she possible justify her friendliness toward the scoundrel now? He might think she had disregarded his letter—or disbelieved it. She hated that he might think the worst of her. How she longed to explain her behavior, but she had promised the colonel she would tell no one.

  Her hands shook, and perspiration dripped down her neck; she could not meet his eyes. Of all the people in England, Mr. Darcy was the one who would least expect her to behave charitably toward Mr. Wickham. For some reason she could not fathom, she found that she did not desire his ill opinion.

  The music commenced, but being at the end of the row, they awaited their turn to dance. The muscles in Mr. Darcy’s jaw twitched, as if he wished to speak but feared saying the wrong words. “I was surprised to find you in Mr. Wickham’s company,” he said finally.

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. I am on the crown’s business; I cannot allow anyone to intimidate me, she reminded herself. There was no choice but to brazen it out, but the thought of Mr. Darcy’s disappointment made her heartsick. “Oh?”

  “Yes, I thought better of your discernment.” The words were uttered without bitterness, yet they struck Elizabeth with the force of arrows shot from a bow.

  Hopefully the mortification was not displayed on her face. Now she would be forced to defend the officer’s character while secretly agreeing with Mr. Darcy’s assessment of him. “Mr. Wickham is an amiable companion and an accomplished dancer.”

  No. I owe this man no explanations, she reminded herself. She had been deceived about Mr. Wickham’s character, but Mr. Darcy had still been rude and unpleasant in making his offer of marriage. “I see no harm in dancing with him.” She forced herself to raise her eyes and meet his.

  Mr. Darcy’s face was white, and he squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt. “He is a blackguard of the first order! He does not deserve your—!” He bit off the last word and turned his head, clearly in the grip of violent emotion.

  Elizabeth needed to turn the conversation away from a subject where she was so vulnerable. “If we pass the set discussing Mr. Wickham’s failings, it will be a solemn dance indeed,” she said with a playful tone. “Was that your intention in asking me to dance?”

  He blinked. “No, of course not.”

  In the next moment the dancing commenced, and they fell silent as they focused on the intricate movements of the piece. When they next came together, Mr. Darcy seemed to have mastered his agitation, regarding her with a more serene countenance. “Are you enjoying Brighton?”

  “I like it very much. The seaside is quite beautiful.”

  “Have you been sea bathing?”

  “Yes. I found it is quite different from swimming in a pond.”

  “You know how to swim?” His eyebrows rose.

  “There is a small pond on our property where I have been swimming many times with my sister.” She gazed at him sidelong. “Are you scandalized?”

  “Not at all. I believe swimming to be a useful skill for men and women alike.” His voice lowered. “Although I suppose the degree of scandal depends on what you and your sister were wearing to swim.”

  Had Mr. Darcy made an indelicate comment? For a moment she almost disbelieved her ears.

  “With such beauty on display, I am certain it was a most arresting sight.” As he continued, his eyes fell on her, leaving no doubt that he intended the suggestiveness.

  Is he flirting with me? As her cheeks flushed, she resolved not to reveal that she bathed in the pond unclothed. “I wore a bathing costume at the beach.”

  “I see. It is a shame that men and women traditionally occupy different parts of the beach. I am sure you appear quite lovely in your bathing costume.”

  Unsure how to respond to such a statement, Elizabeth remained silent. How did he change from angry to flirtatious so swiftly? And why?

  His eyes were half-closed but gazed only at her. He wants me to know he still entertains romantic feelings for me. This realization both thrilled and confused her.

  Mr. Darcy continued. “If you have only just arrived in Brighton you may not have had an opportunity to visit the sights.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat. “Not many, no.”

  “I have visited the town a few times. Perhaps I might escort you to some of the points of interest?”

  She should say no. She should remain as far as possible from Mr. Darcy. But no doubt he would be a most engaging tour guide for the town; Mr. Wickham seemed best suited to recommend the best pubs. Despite his pride and disdain, Mr. Darcy would be a far more agreeable companion for a few hours of touring Brighton.

  She should find some reason to refuse, but her mind could not find an acceptable excuse. He might take it as a sign that she preferred Mr. Wickham, and she did not want to leave him with that impression. She also owed the master of Pemberley an apology. “That would be most agreeable,” she said finally.

  “Excellent.” Mr. Darcy smiled. “Could I call on you soon at the colonel’s house?”

  “Of course,” she said faintly. What have I done?

  “Very good.” With a nod of his head, Mr. Darcy swept her back into the dance, and they spoke little.

  Chapter Six

  Elizabeth sat in Colonel Forster’s drawing room, her eyes focused on her embroidery while her mind was not. They had been in Brighton for six days, and she had made almost no progress in uncovering Mr. Wickham’s nefarious plans.

  She had not expected to find a manuscript labeled “My Plans for Betraying England,” but she had hoped for some clues about how he was accessing secret information or the location of the spies’ hideout.

  However, Mr. Wickham seemed perfectly at ease and was rarely absent on mysterious errands. Elizabeth had relayed the names of his friends to Colonel Forster, who had found little reason to be concerned about them. If only Mr. Wickham had introduced her to a suspicious French émigré with mysterious sources of income! Then the entire business might be on a path to conclusion.

  Colonel Forster was not impatient with her but apparently had made little progress with his own investigations. More than once he shrugged and told Elizabeth that sometimes the game of espionage was played at a leisurely pace.

  Today Mr. Wickham had promised to pay a call, and Elizabeth was determined to elicit information from him. Fortunately, the colonel had sent Lydia on a shopping expedition with his wife, so her sister would not be glaring jealous daggers at her when the officer visited.

  Already Elizabeth had been waiting an hour, constantly sticking herself with the needle when her attention wandered from her embroidery. Finally, a knock sounded at the front door. However, when the housekeeper opened the drawing room door, she announced, “Mr. Darcy to see you, miss.”

  Oh heavens, what should I do now? At the ball a few days ago, Mr. Darcy had promised to call upon her, but when he had not, she had been relieved. If Elizabeth took a walk or a drive with him now, she would miss Mr. Wickham’s arrival. But if Mr. Darcy remained, it would create an awkward scene when the other man arrived. Was there some way she could induce Mr. Darcy to depart? She could thi
nk of nothing.

  Elizabeth put aside her embroidery and rose. “Thank you, Dawkins. I am certain Colonel Forster would like to see Mr. Darcy as well.” At least she could avoid being alone with him. Dawkins escorted the man into the room and exited, closing the door behind her.

  “I pray you have a seat, Mr. Darcy.” She gestured to a chair across the room, but he took the one closest to her settee, perching on the edge of the chair with his hat resting on his knee. She managed not to sigh; apparently, he was determined to be difficult. “It is so good of you to call.”

  He cleared his throat. “I, er, said I would. I apologize for not arriving sooner. I was obliged to return to London for business.”

  “Of course. You are forgiven,” she said lightly.

  Mr. Darcy frowned as if he would have preferred not to be forgiven. “And I brought you a gift.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head inquisitively. He appeared to have nothing on his person.

  Before she said anything, the door burst open, and Dawkins bustled in, carrying the most magnificent display of hothouse flowers Elizabeth had ever seen. Why there must have been a dozen or more roses, both pink and red, plus a profusion of other blossoms whose names Elizabeth did not know. She could not suppress a gasp.

  “Here you go, miss,” the housekeeper announced in a voice full of admiration for the gift. “I took the liberty of putting them in a vase for you.” She set a crystal vase exploding with riotous color on the table beside Elizabeth’s settee before hurrying out again.

  She was quite overwhelmed by their magnificence—as well as the wealth on display. She could not imagine what they had cost. “I am—I thank you. They are lovely.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

  The flowers were so beautiful she could scarcely look away from them. “I hardly know what to say.”

  At least this dispels any doubts about whether he intends to court me, she thought with dismay, ignoring the secret thrill that raced down her spine. No man would buy such a bouquet to express friendship. In fact, they constituted a gauntlet thrown at Mr. Wickham’s feet—a declaration of intentions. Mr. Darcy knew the officer could not match such an extravagant gift; perhaps he hoped the other man would see them in the colonel’s drawing room.

  Elizabeth smiled inwardly at the thought of the officer’s dismay. Wait! I do not want Mr. Wickham to be unhappy. I cannot encourage Mr. Darcy. Why was that simple fact so difficult to remember?

  Mr. Darcy regarded her with his peculiar intensity. “Say you will accompany me on a ride about town. I have a curricle with a fine set of matched bays, and the weather is magnificent.”

  The idea was quite tempting, but surely she could not accept for Mr. Wickham’s sake. Elizabeth opened her mouth to decline, but no sound emerged. Colonel Forster’s entrance saved her from the necessity of an immediate response. The two men exchanged handshakes and pleasantries. They knew each other from Meryton, of course, but she did not believe their acquaintance was extensive. Dawkins soon followed with a tea service, which Elizabeth poured.

  “What brings you to Brighton?” the colonel asked Mr. Darcy when they had all been served. Elizabeth peered up from her cup, curious about the response. “Do you have some business here?”

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes were fixed on his tea. “Not as such, no.” He hesitated a moment. “I enjoy the seaside and thought to visit before the weather turns cold.”

  By himself? Certainly wealthy men could indulge their whims, but Mr. Darcy hardly seemed the sort of man who would impulsively travel across the country simply for some pleasant scenery.

  “Did you ride all the way from Derbyshire?” the colonel asked. “It must have taken days.”

  Mr. Darcy rested a biscuit on the edge of his saucer. “Not so far. I was in Hertfordshire.”

  “Hertfordshire?” The word burst from Elizabeth before she could stop it. Why had he been in that part of the country?

  “Yes…um…” Mr. Darcy colored and fixed his attention on the biscuit. “I…ah…was visiting Netherfield with Bingley. I thought you might have received news of it.”

  Mr. Bingley! “No,” Elizabeth said faintly. “I have not received a letter for a couple of days.” I must write to Jane! How had such a visit come about? Had Jane seen Mr. Bingley? Elizabeth bubbled over with questions. “Mr. Bingley remained in Hertfordshire?”

  “Yes.” Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “I believe he has some plans for improvements to Netherfield.”

  “He is not planning to give it up?” This was the best news Elizabeth had received in weeks.

  “I do not believe so.” Mr. Darcy colored slightly. Was he recalling their conversation about Mr. Bingley at Hunsford? Had he played a role in his friend’s return to Netherfield?

  The colonel scrutinized Mr. Darcy carefully. “And you decided to follow my regiment to Brighton? Are you so desperate for fellow whist players?”

  Mr. Darcy chuckled good-naturedly. “No…um…Rather you might say I was inspired by news of your departure. It occurred to me that now would be an ideal season for visiting Brighton.” Glancing up, he caught and held Elizabeth’s eyes for several seconds before looking away.

  It was impossible to mistake his meaning. Elizabeth felt faint. He came to Brighton for me! He had visited Longbourn, discovered I was in Brighton with Mr. Wickham, and traveled here—alone and on horseback—because he feared for my safety…

  As warmth flooded her heart, any residual irritation melted away. The man might be proud and high-handed, but she could not remain indifferent to these signs of his concern. If only there were some way she could reassure him that she was not under Mr. Wickham’s spell! He did not deserve to labor under such a delusion.

  “I just invited Miss Elizabeth for a drive in my curricle,” Mr. Darcy informed the colonel. “I guessed that—since you have not been in Brighton long—she has not seen much of the town or surrounding countryside?”

  Oh yes! At that moment Elizabeth wanted nothing more than an afternoon in Mr. Darcy’s company. He had set aside any grievances and any resentment for the sake of her safety. No one, not even members of her family, had ever shown such concern for her. I will give him my afternoon. I will laugh at his jokes. I will let him kiss me if he asks. Although the thought was shocking, she found herself staring at his lips and wondering how they would feel pressed against hers.

  The colonel cleared his throat, drawing Elizabeth’s attention with a stern expression. Naturally he did not find Mr. Darcy so charming; instead, he was concerned about the man’s effect on her mission. Reality crashed into her fantasy. I have a mission. I must remain in the house to await Mr. Wickham’s visit. “Miss Bennet has a previous engagement with Mr. Wickham,” the colonel informed Mr. Darcy frostily.

  If only she could wipe away the crestfallen expression on Mr. Darcy’s face! “Not so much an engagement,” she clarified. “He merely said he might call…”

  Dawkins appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Wickham, miss.”

  Elizabeth suppressed an urge to sigh. The timing could not be more unfortunate. Mr. Wickham ambled into the room on the housekeeper’s heels and greeted the colonel. “Miss Elizabeth,” he then crooned, taking her hand and kissing it far longer than was proper. Straightening, he gave Mr. Darcy a baleful look. “Darcy.”

  “Wickham.” The other man’s head barely moved.

  The militia officer settled into the sofa, projecting ease and confidence. “I must beg your forgiveness for my tardiness. Just as I was preparing to depart the barracks, the lieutenant saw fit to send me on an errand.”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth’s mind worked frantically, trying to find a way to smooth the awkwardness. I must fulfill my mission for the colonel, but Mr. Darcy…

  When had Mr. Darcy’s happiness become such an important consideration to her?

  Oblivious to Elizabeth’s consternation, Mr. Wickham gave her a lazy grin. “I have rented a rig for the day; the weather is lovely. I thought we might drive along the cliffs. Denny said
the view is magnificent.” As his eyes ranged over the drawing room, they rested for a brief, triumphant moment on his rival.

  Mr. Darcy leaned forward in his chair. “Miss Elizabeth will accompany me on a drive. I have already invited her.”

  The colonel cleared his throat. “Mr. Wickham said he would call today.” Elizabeth did not blame Mr. Darcy for scowling; that hardly constituted a prior engagement.

  Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Indeed, she would prefer to join Mr. Darcy, but she had not agreed to accompany him—and now he was speaking for her. He could be so high-handed!

  Courtesy dictated that she should accept the first offer—Mr. Darcy’s. However, Mr. Wickham was observing his rival with a curled lip; he would not take kindly to losing this contest. If he perceived that Elizabeth had jilted him, she might lose his favor.

  Both men regarded Elizabeth with barely suppressed agitation, awaiting her decision. Her stomach twisted itself into a knot, reluctant to make the choice she knew she should.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned to Mr. Darcy. “Perhaps you and I may take a drive another time?” His lips parted slightly as if he could only just restrain himself from gaping in astonishment. Did the man believe he was irresistible? Then an expression of great pain drifted over his face—to be replaced almost immediately with a polite, distant expression. This mask slid into place so quickly Elizabeth was not certain she had glimpsed anything else.

  “Mr. Wickham incurred the expense of hiring a rig,” she explained, projecting a gaiety she did not experience. “His efforts should not be in vain.”

  Mr. Darcy gave a stiff nod. “Of course. Tomorrow, perhaps, if the weather continues fine?”

  Why was the prospect so tempting? Mr. Darcy is often stiff and unpleasant, she reminded herself. Yet her heart leapt at the thought of a drive with him; perhaps it was simply that any man would be an improvement over Mr. Wickham. “Of course—if the weather is fine.”