Darcy and Deception

by Victoria Kincaid

  “What is it, sir?” Elizabeth asked. She and Wickham no longer linked arms, although they stood in closer proximity than Darcy would have liked.

  The older man gripped Wickham’s shoulder. “I am afraid there has been…a grim discovery. Denny. Robert Denny”—the colonel swallowed—“was discovered a few hours ago in a back alley near the beach. H-He is deceased.”

  “Oh!” Elizabeth cried as her hand flew to her mouth.

  Wickham’s mouth fell open. “What? What has happened?”

  The colonel shook his head. “We are not certain, but it was not a natural death. I believe he was struck from behind with a heavy object.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “Murdered?”

  “It appears so.” The colonel’s eyes were fixed on Wickham’s face—evaluating the other man’s reaction? “Since you were his particular friend, I wanted you to know immediately.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The officer displayed the symptoms of horror and shock, but his hands were steady, and his face had not paled as the colonel’s had. Was it possible Wickham already knew of Denny’s demise?

  “How horrible!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

  “Indeed.” The colonel addressed Wickham. “Were you aware of anyone who would wish to harm Denny?”

  “No.” Wickham scratched the back of his neck, looking at the green. “Everyone loved him.”

  “Well, we will learn the truth,” the colonel vowed. “In the meantime, Miss Elizabeth, you should return to the house.”

  “But—” Elizabeth’s gaze darted from the colonel to Wickham.

  “You need time to recover from the shock.” The colonel’s tone was implacable.

  “But surely Mr. Wickham will need his friends—”

  “Mr. Wickham has friends in the militia.” A touch of steel in his voice suggested that the colonel was issuing a command rather than a request. “Your sister and my wife are quite distraught. They would like some companionship.”

  Elizabeth started. “Oh yes, of course!”

  “Wickham,” the colonel said, “I will visit the barracks soon, and we will discuss this sad situation. Collect your fellow officers and retire there until I arrive.”

  Wickham saluted smartly and strode away.

  “This is a sad business. Come away, Miss Bennet.” With a slow shake of his head, the colonel held out his arm to Elizabeth. The man gave Darcy one more suspicious glare as he led her away. Elizabeth did not look at Darcy.

  Long after they had disappeared from sight, Darcy stood on the grass and considered this grim news. He was certain Wickham had already known of his friend’s death, and almost as certain that the colonel viewed the man with suspicion. Did he suspect Wickham of murdering his friend? Was it possible that Wickham had killed the man? The man was a scoundrel and a liar, but Darcy had not thought him as bad as all that.

  It was as if he had a jigsaw puzzle composed entirely of pieces in the wrong shapes. His sole purpose had been saving Elizabeth from Wickham, but now he suspected he had stepped into the middle of something bigger and far more dangerous. Was Wickham associating with criminals? Smugglers? Highwaymen?

  And how was Elizabeth involved? She was wrapped up in this mess. Did she know something of Wickham’s sordid activities? How could Darcy protect her? After several seconds of indecision, Darcy strode away in the opposite direction.

  ***

  The colonel walked with a fast and jerky stride; Elizabeth soon dropped his arm and simply tried to keep pace with his longer legs. Swinging at his side, his hands were clenched into fists, and a muscle worked in his jaw. He walked with a singleness of purpose, glancing neither left nor right. Several times she considered asking a question, but the expression on his face argued against it.

  A man under his command was dead. Murdered. Naturally he was agitated. But he acted almost as if he were angry with Elizabeth, and she could not understand how she might have erred.

  When they reached the colonel’s residence, he held the door open for her and gestured for her to join him in the drawing room. While she seated herself on a settee, the colonel prowled about the room, apparently unable to rest. “We must discontinue your spy mission at once,” he said without preamble. “I will return you and your sister to Hertfordshire on the first available coach.”

  Elizabeth blinked; she had not thought Mr. Denny’s death might affect her mission. “But—”

  He would not allow her to finish. “This mission has become far too dangerous. I will not put a young woman’s life at risk.”

  She frowned. “You have no reason to believe Mr. Denny’s death is related to Mr. Wickham or his espionage activities. He might have been killed in a barroom brawl.”

  The man stopped pacing for a moment. “I had not considered that possibility.” Then he shook his head. “No, the risk is too great. Denny was a friend of Wickham’s, and now he is dead. It is too great a coincidence.”

  “Surely you do not believe Mr. Wickham killed him! He seemed as surprised by the news as I was. If he were the man responsible, he is the best actor I have ever seen.” Still, a little doubt niggled in the back of Elizabeth’s mind. Mr. Wickham was an accomplished spinner of falsehoods; she herself had swallowed his lies readily enough.

  The colonel sighed. “I do not know what to think. He did appear shocked, but I expected more grief.”

  “I believe it is unlikely that Mr. Wickham killed his friend, thus there is no increase in danger.”

  “No, it is too great a risk. I must return you to your home.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to quell her rising agitation. The colonel had revealed the overbearing, stubborn side of his nature before, but never had so much been at stake.

  For once in her life she was doing something important—work that would help her country—and she was expected to forsake the opportunity at the first sign of possible danger. It was unfair. “I am making progress with Mr. Wickham,” she said. “Surely it cannot be too dangerous for me to stay two or three more days.”

  There was a long silence while the colonel considered. Finally, he sat heavily in an armchair. “You have been of immense assistance. Agents have located his hideout, and my men are observing the friends he mentioned to you.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “Who knows what else the man might tell you? I would be loath to lose your help.”

  Elizabeth pressed her advantage. “If I leave now, Wickham’s plans might succeed—and that could be disastrous for England.” The colonel’s expression suggested he was wavering. “Please let me stay. I will not hold you responsible for anything that happens. But I want to be of service to my country. Surely you can understand such a desire.”

  The colonel’s shoulders sagged, and she tasted victory. “Very well, but you must exercise even greater caution.”

  “I will.”

  “If anything else untoward occurs, I will send you home immediately.”

  “I understand.”

  “Very well. I pray you venture upstairs now to comfort Miss Lydia and my wife. They were most distraught at the news about Mr. Denny. Wickham will be at his leisure later in the day. Perhaps you might learn more from him then.” The colonel nodded a curt goodbye to her, turned on his heel, and left the room.

  Elizabeth sagged against the back of the settee and wondered if it was possible to wring information from Mr. Wickham more quickly.

  Chapter Nine

  As he strode back to his lodgings, Darcy struggled to recall everything he could about Mr. Denny. He had a passing familiarity with the man, having conversed with him at a few events in Hertfordshire. The man had been pleasant enough, but he had also struck up a friendship with Wickham—which called into question not only his judgment but also his morals. Perhaps Denny was just as dissolute as Wickham and had been killed over gambling debts or meddling with some shopkeeper’s daughter.

  A prickle of unease ran down Darcy’s spine. Wickham’s friend was dead, and Elizabeth was all too friendly with Wickham. Whether or not Wickham
had killed the man, Elizabeth could be in danger. Darcy shoved away the memory of the moment when Elizabeth had expressed a preference—once again—for Wickham’s company over his. It was irrelevant now.

  Obviously, he was missing several pieces of the puzzle, which was revealed to be far larger than he had initially understood. Or was he simply fooling himself? Perhaps I want to believe Wickham is involved in nefarious activities to excuse Elizabeth’s behavior. Perhaps she simply prefers Wickham to me. Darcy’s chest ached, and breathing became more difficult. No, someone killed Denny; there are larger forces at work here.

  The Crescent was the first crescent building in Brighton and still considered the most fashionable. Darcy particularly enjoyed the seaside view, although he had passed scant time in his lodgings. At least his rooms offered solitude and quiet where he could ruminate on this situation and how he should address it.

  Darcy had taken only a single step inside his rooms when Snell, his housekeeper, bustled up to him. He suppressed a sigh. A local woman, Snell was lonely and garrulous, but Darcy was not in the mood for inane conversation. However, she unexpectedly came to the point immediately. “You have a gentleman waiting for you in the drawing room.”

  Wonderful. Someone else to test the limits of Darcy’s politeness before he could enjoy his solitude. But when Darcy entered the drawing room, the face that greeted him was as welcome as it was unforeseen. “Richard!”

  His cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, stood, giving Darcy a hearty handshake and a slap on the back. “What brings you to Brighton?” Darcy asked. He had written to his cousin with his temporary address, but the return letter had given no hint that Richard might visit.

  Richard’s amiable smile turned to a grimace. “I have some news to share with you, but it would be best to discuss it in your study.”

  Panic gripped Darcy’s heart. The study meant privacy. Richard had news he wished to keep private? “Is it an emergency? Is everyone well?”

  “Yes, yes. Everyone is quite well. This is a matter of—” Richard’s gaze landed on Snell, who regarded them with avid interest from the doorway. No doubt she would be happy for any crumbs of gossip she might share with the women of the neighborhood. “A matter of private business,” Richard concluded.

  “Very well.” Darcy gestured to the stairs that led to his study.

  “I will bring the gentlemen some tea!” Snell announced as they started to climb the steps. Darcy merely nodded, preoccupied by suppositions about what could have brought Richard all the way to Brighton.

  Darcy’s rooms were comfortable and spacious, decorated in the latest style, which was a bit ornate for his taste. He gestured for his cousin to proceed him into the study, which he had hardly used since he had been in residence.

  Richard settled himself into a chair with a groan. No doubt he had ridden quite far today. Darcy took a couch near the unused fireplace.

  “Your visits always bring me pleasure,” Darcy told his cousin. “But your countenance suggests this visit is prompted by something worrisome.”

  “It is.” Richard said nothing more while Snell bustled about the room, setting up a tea service between the two men. Silence reigned until she closed the door behind her.

  Removing his hat, Richard ran a hand through his hair. “You are not wrong, Darce.” He cleared his throat. “I was actually sent here…by the Home Office.”

  Darcy blinked. Well, that was unexpected news. “Why?”

  Richard poured himself some tea. “As you know I have been on assignment there for a few months. Just yesterday we learned we had a spy: one Archibald Harrison.”

  Darcy winced. Few people knew that Richard was posted to the Home Office department that gathered intelligence for the war. Discovering a spy spying on the spies would be a disaster. “Did you catch the man?”

  Richard’s hands clenched around his teacup. “Almost. But he slipped out of London before we could capture him. He had access to highly secretive information and therefore cannot be allowed to escape to France with it.”

  “Ah. You believe he is in Brighton.”

  His cousin nodded. “Smugglers leave Brighton for Calais with alarming regularity, and more than one agent has used that route to escape to France. Even worse, we know of at least one spy who sends information back to the emperor via such boats—and there may be an entire ring of spies.”

  Darcy whistled. “A ring!” He took a sip of tea while he considered this information. “So your superiors want you to capture the agent before he crosses the Channel?”

  Richard hesitated and then spoke heavily as if the words were dragged from him. “Actually, there is a complication. I was hand-picked for this particular mission for a reason. We know the name of one spy in the ring. It is Wickham.”

  Darcy froze with a biscuit halfway to his mouth. His first impulse was to deny the allegation as absurd. While Wickham might be a scoundrel, surely he would not go so far as to betray his country. But the Home Office would not make such an accusation without hard evidence. Then he recalled the man’s suspicious reaction to Denny’s death. Perhaps Wickham is capable of nearly anything.

  And Elizabeth’s life is entangled with the wastrel’s. Damnation! “How strong is the evidence against him?” Darcy asked, careful not to betray too much emotion.

  “There is no doubt.”

  Darcy fought to control his temper. Wickham knew he was committing treason, and yet he dared to court Elizabeth! If only Darcy could race out of the door and strangle the man in his barracks… It would improve everyone’s life.

  But he would not do such a thing. Darcy was a civilized man who did not resort to violence, as much as he fantasized about the possibilities. He was a model of restraint. Why is Richard staring at my hand? Glancing down, Darcy found crumbs leaking out between his fingers onto the carpet. He had crushed the chocolate biscuit in his hand, squeezed it into tiny pieces. Well, I suppose it is preferable to Wickham’s skull. Darcy carefully brushed the remaining crumbs onto the tea tray before speaking. “Damn Wickham! He causes no end of trouble.”

  Richard raised an eyebrow. “I expected you to be pleased. We have often fantasized about Wickham in prison. Now we have the means to achieve it.”

  Darcy cradled his head in his hands. “Under other circumstances I would be quite happy, but…” He made the hasty decision to take his cousin into his confidence. Richard would understand. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is here in Brighton and has been keeping company with Wickham.”

  The other man grimaced. “I would have expected her to have superior discernment.”

  As would I.

  “I would hate to see her fall prey to the scoundrel. Perhaps you should warn her.”

  “I have,” Darcy said grimly. “She knows the entire story about Wickham…even Georgiana’s role.” This news prompted Richard’s mouth to drop open. “She does not appear to value my advice, but she might listen to a warning from you.”

  Richard’s brows drew together. “Why would she dismiss you? Surely your superior acquaintance with her family—”

  Standing abruptly, Darcy paced to the window and stared out at the street. He must tell Richard the story, but he need not witness his cousin’s reaction. “It is possible she believes I make such accusations out of jealousy.” He bit out the words, hating that he must say them.

  There followed such a long silence that Darcy wondered if he should confirm whether his cousin was still in the room. Finally, Richard spoke in a carefully neutral tone. “Does she have reason to believe you are jealous of Wickham?”

  Darcy glowered at the house across the street. “I made her a proposal of marriage when we were visiting Rosings.”

  The gasp of surprise was quite audible. “And she refused you?”

  Darcy simply nodded. “In part because of lies that Wickham told her about me.”

  “Damnation, Darcy! That is—!” Richard’s voice broke off into an inarticulate grunt.

  Darcy rushed on, wanting to divulge the whole
sad story at once. “I subsequently wrote Elizabeth a letter describing my dealings with Wickham, including everything about Georgiana. She claims to have read it. But how can she tolerate breathing the same air as that wastrel, let alone allowing him to—?” He broke off; there was no reason to tell his cousin what he had seen in the colonel’s garden.

  Darcy finally peered back over his shoulder, anxious that the other man’s face would be suffused with pity. But his cousin was staring at the carpet, deep worry lines etched on his face. “If we were discussing any other woman,” Richard said slowly, “I might believe she simply demonstrates a lack of discernment, but not Miss Elizabeth—”

  “Precisely!” Darcy exploded, starting to pace again. “It makes no sense.”

  Richard was silent as Darcy wore a path in the carpet. “I am concerned that perhaps Wickham has some hold over her family,” Darcy said, not mentioning how a barmaid had suggested the idea. “Elizabeth denied it, but possibly there is something else that…”

  “Hmm.” Richard settled back in his chair. “If you told her of Wickham’s treachery, would it alter her opinion?”

  “I hope so.” Darcy sighed and ran both hands through his hair. “But I do not know how I could convey the information. If only I could talk with her privately!”

  Richard leaned forward in his chair. “You must speak with her—and soon—before she is caught up in his schemes.”

  “That had occurred to me,” Darcy ground out through gritted teeth. “And there is an additional danger…” Hastily he informed his cousin of Denny’s demise.

  “Blast!” Richard slammed his fist onto the arm of the chair.

  “It could be unrelated to Wickham’s treachery,” Darcy said.

  “That is not likely.”

  “No.”

  Richard sighed. “The danger to Miss Bennet is greater than I originally realized.”