“There’s no cause for worry…” Mr. Wickham reached for her.
She paused and stiffened in her tracks. “The sound comes again!”
“I heard nothing—”
She lowered her voice to a whisper. “My family always said my hearing was exceptionally acute.”
For the first time his face betrayed anxiety as his eyebrows shot upward. “They did?”
She edged closer to the cave entrance; Mr. Wickham would not try anything improper on a public beach. “We must leave now before they arrive—or we will be trapped here! They will slit our throats! They will pillage and burn our houses to the ground!”
“I still hear nothing.” Mr. Wickham’s tone was very exasperated as he touched her arm.
“Just the thought gives me such anxiety—such tremblings and flutterings in my heart—oh, my nerves! My nerves cannot withstand it!” Barely evading his hand, she raced to the cave entrance. Let him think me a silly female, scared of nothing and allowing my imagination to run wild. At least I will be a silly female with my virtue intact.
As she squeezed herself through the entrance, Mr. Wickham made a frustrated noise and muttered curses under his breath, but he followed her from the cave.
Once on the beach, Elizabeth raced toward the path that had brought them from the cliff top. Outside the cave, the absence of smugglers would be obvious, and Elizabeth had no desire to discuss it with her companion.
“Elizabeth!” he yelled. “Nobody else is here!”
“They must be in hiding!” she cried over her shoulder, not slowing her pace. “Smugglers are most clever!” It was not necessary that he believe in the existence of the smugglers, only that she believed in them. “We cannot remain. Not one minute more!” Lifting her skirts to her knees, she increased her speed. Perhaps the sight of her legs would distract Mr. Wickham from the absent smugglers. Within minutes she arrived at the base of the cliff pathway. There she paused, not relishing the thought of climbing without a steadying hand.
Unencumbered by skirts, Mr. Wickham reached the path only moments later. Panting hard, he scowled at her. “Stupid girl!” he chastised. “No one was there, and there was no reason to panic.”
If Elizabeth had been in love with the officer, his disdainful tone would have crushed her spirit. Although it would have made it easier to overcome any infatuation with him. Loving a man like Mr. Wickham would probably make her forswear love for the rest of her life. Thank God her heart was safe from him! As it was, his derogatory comments merely heightened her contempt for him.
“I have had enough of caves.” She tossed her head as Lydia might. “Will you assist me in ascending the pathway, Mr. Wickham? Or shall I struggle to climb it alone?”
With a sour expression, the man offered Elizabeth his hand as he climbed onto the pathway. She sighed with relief; apparently, he had forsaken all plans for seduction.
She had discovered his secret cave and emerged unscathed. The day was a success.
***
The moment the door closed behind Elizabeth, a great weight lifted from her shoulders. Safe within Colonel Forster’s house, she could anticipate a few delightful hours free of Mr. Wickham and the need to dissemble. Immediately, she knocked on the door to the colonel’s study and was admitted. The colonel was thrilled by her news about the cave and showed her a map of the coastline so she might pinpoint the location. “This is excellent information, Miss Elizabeth! Quite excellent. I had been dubious whether a woman could be of any service in this endeavor, but you are a credit to your sex.”
Elizabeth bristled. “I would imagine that the army might find women of great usefulness as spies if they deigned to employ them.”
“Indeed.” The colonel laughed. Elizabeth did not join him since she had not made a joke. She stood, intending to depart.
The colonel held up a hand, and she sank into her chair again. “I had another matter to discuss with you. How well-acquainted are you with Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s stomach plummeted. Did he suspect some sort of inappropriate attachment? Although she made great effort not to display any particular interest in the master of Pemberley, no one could deny that he was pursuing her. Had the colonel noticed her unease in the man’s presence? Would she be forced to reveal the proposal at Hunsford? She did not believe she was equal to describing such a mortifying scene.
“N-Not terribly well,” she stammered. “We conversed a few times in Hertfordshire, and I encountered him again at his aunt’s estate in Kent.”
“It is rather convenient that he appeared at the same time as Mr. Wickham—without a plausible reason for the journey.”
Elizabeth wanted to laugh, although she did not know whether from relief or exasperation. “You think Mr. Darcy could be conspiring with Mr. Wickham?”
“Wickham claims to know the man since childhood. It would be easy for him to draw Darcy into his plots—or vice versa. Darcy certainly has the fortune to fund such an endeavor.”
Elizabeth stifled a smile and tried to respond rationally. “I thought you were seeking a co-conspirator who was privy to sensitive military information. Mr. Darcy would hardly be that.”
The colonel dismissed her objection with a negligent wave of his hand that Elizabeth found infuriating. “Perhaps there is yet a third person,” he said. “Or perhaps Wickham himself has somehow been gaining access to my private papers.”
How could she convey the absurdity of his supposition about Mr. Darcy without revealing the truth? “Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy dislike each other,” she insisted. “They never exchanged words in Meryton—only sneers.”
“Perhaps. Or their mutual antipathy could be an elaborate ruse. I find it curious that the man was so eager to call upon my home; perhaps he was seeking information.”
Oh, this is frustrating! I know why Mr. Darcy arrived so suddenly in Brighton. He is concerned for me; he does not want me keeping company with Mr. Wickham. However, she could not convince the colonel of this truth without sharing their entire history. Elizabeth had not even informed her father of Mr. Darcy’s proposal; she could hardly tell the colonel first.
Her fingernails bit into her palms. “Mr. Darcy would never betray his country!” she insisted. “He would find the very idea repugnant.” Even as the words emerged from her mouth, Elizabeth wondered at herself. Why do I care so deeply for Mr. Darcy’s reputation? Surely the colonel’s opinion will have little effect on the man’s life, but she could not shake her anger at the injustice of the accusation. She could only point to the most obvious conclusion. “He visited your home because he wishes to court me.”
The colonel regarded her steadily for a moment and then sank back into his chair. “Does he? I find that curious as well. You are without fortune or name of consequence. You are pretty enough, I grant you, but why would he take the time for a courtship? The master of Pemberley would not marry a country miss.”
By now the blood was boiling in Elizabeth’s veins, and she was compelled to cover her mouth with a hand lest she blurt out the truth: that Mr. Darcy had made her an offer previously.
She managed to bite her tongue, but the colonel’s character was sinking rapidly in her estimation.
Oblivious to the reactions of the woman before him, the colonel continued. “He may simply be dallying with you. Wealthy men are often prone to licentious behavior.” He dismissed the potential damage to Elizabeth’s heart with a shrug. “Just guard your tongue in his presence; he might repeat your words to Wickham. And be sure to report anything suspicious he says.”
Elizabeth restrained an urge to roll her eyes. “I will take all due precautions,” she promised, with no intention of spying on Mr. Darcy or any expectations he would do anything to warrant particular scrutiny.
She blew out a breath, trying to quell her irritation. Mr. Darcy was an honorable man, proud of his family name, and should not be subject to such unfounded suspicions.
“Very good.” The colonel nodded once and bent his head to the papers on his desk. D
ismissed, Elizabeth stood and stalked from the room with quick jerky movements, stifling an impulse to slam the door.
I must simply get the necessary information from Mr. Wickham, and then this sorry business will be through and done. Elizabeth could not wait.
Chapter Eight
Darcy had been lurking outside Colonel Forster’s house for at least an hour. He had varied his locations: a shadowy archway, the corner of the street, the alley opposite the home’s door. He was not precisely hiding, just doing his best to be inconspicuous. Still, he worried that one of the colonel’s more observant neighbors would suspect him of being a rather well-dressed footpad.
He shifted his weight to the other foot and leaned against the alley’s brick wall. He needed to speak with Elizabeth alone, which would not happen if he knocked on the door of the colonel’s house. Elizabeth loved to walk; surely she would venture out at some point.
At that moment the door opened, and Elizabeth emerged. Darcy held his breath, but luck was with him: she was alone. She set a brisk pace leading directly into the heart of Brighton. Perhaps she needed to do a little shopping. Well, that suited Darcy’s plans as well.
He followed at a distance as she passed into the most fashionable part of the town, walking past the prince regent’s Royal Pavilion. Rumors said the prince was in Brighton, but being naturally indolent, the man was unlikely to venture out into the town, which was just as well.
Now they were far enough from the colonel’s house that she would not suspect him of following her. All this deception made his stomach ache, but he was compelled to follow the dictates of propriety—which definitely frowned upon the following of young women.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet!” he called, hurrying up behind her just as she reached the edge of the Steyne. Originally a grassy area where local fishermen dried their nets, the Steyne was now more like a public park. The streets around it were touted as some of the most fashionable addresses in Brighton. Mrs. Fitzherbert, the prince regent’s paramour, was known to keep a house overlooking the Steyne.
Today the green hosted some kind of market. Stalls of fruits, vegetables, and bread dotted the lawn, and the streets were crowded with people examining the wares.
Elizabeth turned at the sound of her name and noticed him with a lift of her eyebrows. “Mr. Darcy.” Her tone was even. “I am visiting the market. Lydia’s stomach is out of sorts, and I thought to find her a few apples—her favorite fruit.”
“May I accompany you?”
Her hesitation twisted Darcy’s heart. Did she still find his presence so distasteful? He straightened his shoulders and reminded himself that he was here to secure her safety. Her opinion of him was immaterial. “Of course,” she said eventually.
However, she did not hesitate to take his arm, and they chatted about the weather as they ambled among the stalls in the market. She purchased three round, pink apples for her sister and placed them carefully in a basket resting over one arm. One vendor was selling an enticing array of biscuits, and Darcy bought lemon biscuits for them.
“This is delicious. Thank you!” Elizabeth said as she swallowed the last crumbs.
“My pleasure.”
They had reached the end of the market stalls, but the green was dotted by benches. “Shall we sit?” Darcy asked, gesturing to a bench.
Again, Elizabeth hesitated. “I cannot linger for long.” She sat on the bench indicated but positioned herself at the far end—clearly not inviting any intimacy.
Darcy occupied the other end, which was not very far on such a small bench. He stifled an impulse to take her hand; excessive familiarity now could only hurt his cause. He caught and held her eyes. “Miss Bennet, I must speak with you on a most serious matter.”
Her mouth fell open, and he immediately realized she feared another proposal. He held up a hand, feeling suddenly ridiculous. “No, it is not that!” he said hastily. “First, I owe you an apology for my insulting behavior in Hunsford. When I recall my words about your family—”
Elizabeth raised her hand. “Speak no more on that subject. It is I who owe you an apology for my aspersions on your character. I shudder when I think of what I said then.”
His lips twisted in a smile. “It seems each of us believes we are responsible for the greater portion of the blame.”
She smiled as well. “Perhaps we may call it even and never mention the subject again.”
Darcy’s shoulders slumped with relief. “Agreed.” Elizabeth gathered herself to stand, but he forestalled her with a gesture. “There is another subject I must discuss….It is about…Wickham.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “I believe we have had this conversation.”
“Yes, but I—” How could he address such a sensitive question? “I—It occurred to me that you—or your family—might be…in a difficult position regarding Mr. Wickham.”
Her brows drew together as if his words mystified her.
“That you might be operating under some kind of duress….” Again, her face betrayed perplexity. Must he speak plainer about such an unsavory subject? “He has been known to threaten blackmail. And occasionally people owe him gambling debts…” He allowed his words to trail off suggestively.
Finally, realization dawned on her face. “Oh no! I thank you for your concern, but there is nothing of that nature concerning my family and Mr. Wickham.”
Darcy believed her without reservation; her perplexity had been unfeigned. He was obscurely disappointed, realizing only then that he had envisioned himself as a rescuer who could solve her problems. “Why then?” he asked. “Why keep company with the man?” Desperation leaked into his voice. “Did you fail to read the letter I gave you?”
“I read every word,” she said, not gazing in his direction.
Darcy’s shoulders tightened. She had? But— “Did you not credit what I had written?”
“No. I believed it.” She held herself quite stiff and still.
Worse and worse. She knew and believed Darcy’s story about Wickham, but she chose to disregard it. A headache began to form at the base of his skull. “Then you know what the man is. Why do you maintain a friendship with him?”
Elizabeth’s face had a determined, white-lipped expression that he remembered all too well from the Hunsford Parsonage. Apparently. he had a particular talent for provoking her anger. “I do not believe it is your business who I keep company with.”
He chose his words carefully, having no desire to add fuel to the fire. “No, that is correct. However, I am concerned about you—as a friend. Wickham is a dangerous man.”
Elizabeth gathered herself again, preparing to stand and leave him. “I am well able to protect myself.”
Darcy stifled a groan. How many other women believed they were on their guard against the man’s charms only to find themselves disgraced—or worse? “He possesses wiles and machinations that—”
She thrust to her feet. “That is enough, Mr. Darcy.” Her voice was not loud, but firm. “You have discharged your duty by issuing your warning.”
As she turned to leave, Darcy grabbed her hand desperately. “I pray you—do not accept a proposal of marriage from Wickham.”
She did not immediately shake off his grip but stared down at him with an expression of shock, which soon turned into a tenderness that made Darcy’s breath catch. “I promise you I will never accept an offer of marriage from that man.”
He blew out a breath. Thank God! He still did not know why she was taking the scoundrel’s part, but her promise suggested she had not been seduced by his charms. “I thank you, Miss Bennet. That eases my heart.” He squeezed her hand in heartfelt gratitude.
“Elizabeth!” A male voice called from behind them.
Darcy swore silently; another minute alone with her and he might have succeeded in discovering her purpose. She jerked her hand out of Darcy’s grasp as they both turned toward the source of the cry. Darcy stifled an oath at the sight of Wickham striding across the grass.
“Mr
. Wickham!” Elizabeth cried with evident delight. She skipped in his direction and immediately linked arms with him. Darcy found it difficult to reconcile this unconstrained behavior with the thoughtful, reserved woman he had conversed with mere moments ago.
The officer greeted her with a sunny smile but glared at Darcy; perhaps he had noticed how their hands were linked. Good. “Darcy.”
“Wickham.”
“Mr. Darcy was kind enough to accompany me to the market,” Elizabeth said stiffly, as if accepting his company was a painful duty she could not refuse. Did she really think it necessary to account for her actions to Wickham?
“I see,” Wickham said with a curl of his lip.
“But I am very happy you have come!” Bouncing on her toes, she giggled. “Now we shall have the merriest time!” Had Darcy ever heard such a giggle issue from this woman? He should have been jealous that Wickham enjoyed these treasures; however, he now noticed signs of strain in her behavior. She was exerting effort to appear amiable in the man’s company. He was only experiencing a false version of Elizabeth. But why? Why did she need to playact for the other man?
Apparently perceiving no falsity in her behavior, Wickham gave Darcy a self-satisfied grin. “Indeed, we shall. Would you like me to purchase you a biscuit?” He gestured toward the market.
Elizabeth clapped her hands together. “Oh yes, please!”
Wickham smirked as he nodded goodbye to Darcy and, with Elizabeth on his arm, turned toward the stalls.
Darcy’s heart twisted itself into a knot as he observed the retreating figures—every step taking her farther from him. Yes, Darcy was now confident that Wickham did not command her heart. Nor did he wield power over her. Yet she accompanied him without hesitation—even with apparent joy. Despite her vow, Darcy’s heart filled with misgivings. Perhaps Wickham was the one she wanted.
They had only traveled a few paces when Colonel Forster, striding purposefully from a side street, intercepted them. “Wickham! Miss Elizabeth!” His face was white and grave. “I have news of a most serious nature.” Darcy stood and hastily joined the group; whatever the news, he must be available to assist and protect Elizabeth. The colonel spared him a brief, narrow-eyed glare before returning his attention to the others.
Darcy and Deception Page 8