Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

She was kind to focus on herself rather than mention how poorly he must have appeared. For a moment, Darcy considered offering her his coat, but it was filthy and he did not know if he was capable of bending to take it off. Every part of him ached.

  Miss Elizabeth smiled encouragingly. “I see what you are thinking, Mr. Darcy, and allow me to decline what you hesitate to offer. I am in far better health than you are and hardly feel the cold given the excitement of these past few minutes.”

  He allowed himself to be carried away with her humor, teasing, “There is nothing like breaking a traitor out of prison to stir the blood.”

  Darcy regretted the words as soon as he voiced them. There was nothing to laugh about in their situation, and he would not make light of it — not when Miss Elizabeth had irrevocably tied herself to him.

  “What have you done? You should not have come to see me,” he groaned. He meant his words fully … but was it selfish of him to be grateful she had come?

  She arched an eyebrow. “And leave you alone to the wolves?”

  Darcy shoved his feelings aside. Right was right, and there was nothing right about involving an innocent maiden in the charges brought against him. He said, “Do you not see? In helping me, you have involved yourself in my supposed crime.”

  “Ah, but we both know you are innocent. We only need to prove it.”

  “If only it were so simple — wait, we? No, Miss Elizabeth, there can be no ‘we.’ Your involvement must end here.”

  She spread one hand before her. “In this field?” she asked pertly.

  “Once we reach London, of course. We will go to Darcy House where I will entrust you to the care of my housekeeper until I sort out this mess.”

  “Sort it out? You plan to return to your home where a money-grabbing thief-taker would love to get his hands on you? There will be dozens of them circling around your home like rats.”

  Darcy scoffed. “You read too many novels. They would not dare. I am too well-known and respected in town.”

  “I read the newspaper article, Mr. Darcy. You were on the front page. Repeatedly, you were called a traitor to the Crown.”

  “Was it The Times?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then it is not trustworthy.”

  “It does not need to be trustworthy. It only needs to be written and believed.”

  Darcy was done arguing. Slowly and clearly, he enunciated, “I have connections.”

  Miss Elizabeth was not impressed to silence. “Connections who have all read the papers, no doubt. Will they be willing to risk their lives for you?”

  As she had? Darcy hated to admit it, but he could think of no one aside from Richard who would dare to do what Miss Elizabeth had done. He did not see how telling her that would help him protect her, and so Darcy kept silent.

  He heard the exasperation in her sigh. “Like it or not, we are in this together.”

  Darcy voiced the first objection to pop into his mind. “What of propriety?”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Nearly losing her seat when she twisted to face him, Miss Elizabeth fumed, “You concern yourself with propriety at a time like this? Is proper deportment to be adhered to when we run for our lives? When we are already compromised beyond hope of salvation?”

  He chose to remain silent, trying to think of a better argument she would be incapable of rebutting.

  However, Miss Elizabeth was not done expressing the extent of her objection. She continued, “Who gives a fig about propriety when I could end up drawn and quartered beside you? I value my life too much for that. Our only hope of saving our skins is to prove you were nowhere near London at the time of Marquess Malbrooke’s murder.”

  “And how are we supposed to do that when we are the most sought-after criminals in the country at this moment? What about Bingley and Miss Bennet? Did you not think of them before you thoughtlessly came to my rescue?” The words sounded ungrateful in Darcy’s ears, but never in his life had he felt such a mixture of relief and anxiety since Miss Elizabeth appeared in the doorway of his prison cell.

  He looked over when she did not immediately reply and felt like a brute when he saw a tear trickle down her chapped cheek. Angrily she wiped it dry with the back of her hand. “They would do exactly what I did if given the chance,” she said, her voice warbling.

  It was a generous thought, but Darcy doubted its truth. However, he kept his opinion to himself lest he add to her distress.

  He headed for a copse of trees that would provide some shelter.

  Miss Elizabeth followed his lead, her voice hard with determination. “All the more reason for us to get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible. I cannot bear to think of Jane suffering at my expense. Especially when Mr. Bingley is so ill.” She clenched her jaw and pressed her lips together, determinedly urging her horse on.

  The gelding, being contrary in nature, stubbornly refused to heed the jabs of her heels. Instead, he stopped, turned his head, and bared his teeth to bite her.

  Miss Elizabeth moved out of his way, exclaiming, “Oh, no, you do not. I am on to you, you ungrateful beast.” She looked up at Darcy.

  He started. Had she meant the insult for him or his horse? What had he done?

  Darcy deflated like a hot-air balloon. Plenty. He had done plenty.

  Resigning himself to their forced partnership, Darcy asked, “What did you read in the article?”

  “I will tell you if you will relate the details of your altercation with Marquess Malbrooke to me. I cannot help you without all the facts.”

  “Very well. I will tell you everything if you will do the same.” Darcy nudged his steed toward another grove of trees on the other side of the road. If they made their path difficult to follow, it would buy them time.

  “Agreed,” Miss Elizabeth said, telling him of the article with a thoroughness that suggested she had memorized it as well as her conversation with the innkeeper.

  Darcy had not believed it possible for something so defamatory to be written about his person. It set his nerves on point and made him jump at every snap of a tree branch or chirp of a bird.

  Under the cover of the trees, he told her about Marquess Malbrooke’s bet, the rage he felt in reliving the argument warming him.

  Miss Elizabeth sighed, one hand pressed over her heart. “It is no wonder you acted as you did after what had so recently happened with your own sister. One could hardly blame you for defending the honor of a young lady. I hope Miss Watson’s father heeded your advice.”

  That was the worst part. Darcy said, “He did not. He allowed his own daughter to be ruined in the vain hope that the marquess would act honorably toward her. He could not see past the advantages such a connection would give to his family. I found out about it the night of the Netherfield Ball.”

  Miss Elizabeth’s cheeks were bright red from the cold, but her eyes flashed in a look he recognized as acute displeasure. “That is unforgivable. I cannot be sad such an evil man has met his end. Innocent maidens are safer without the likes of him in the world.”

  Darcy felt the same way about Wickham.

  London was not far away now, and Darcy was familiar with the area surrounding town as he preferred riding on the outskirts of the busy streets rather than parading through the crowded parks.

  They rode in silence, and Darcy used the time granted him to plan his next move. Or, rather, he tried to plan. Riding next to Miss Elizabeth proved more distracting than he had anticipated. To think he had doubted her skill on a horse when she managed a cantankerous gelding with ease — and without a saddle.

  Darcy tried not to look. He tried several times. But Miss Elizabeth’s shapely legs dangling over the sides of his horse, straining under the hem of her narrow skirts, were more tempting than Darcy’s ability to command his eyes. He looked. Again and again.

  Miss Elizabeth had more dominion over her own thoughts than he did. She asked, “What of your cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam? Do you trust him implicitly?”


  “I do. There is no better man.”

  Miss Elizabeth would instantly take a liking to Richard. Everyone did.

  Darcy knew the purpose of her question and took satisfaction in stating it before she could. “We need help from a trustworthy friend, and I can think of no one I would rather entrust with my life and yours than Richard. He will be able to tell us what we are up against.”

  Miss Elizabeth smiled at him. “It is an excellent plan. I feel better already.”

  Darcy did too. If Richard had been sent for and had not yet arrived, then there was a good reason he remained in London.

  While Darcy knew he ought to feel overwhelmed with the burden he was under, he could not resist succumbing to Miss Elizabeth’s optimistic outlook. He was grateful for it. Perhaps all would be well after all. Perhaps, like a story in the novels she enjoyed reading, they would have a grand adventure which they would delight in telling others over the years.

  The fancy was far-fetched, but Darcy took comfort in it. Comfort and hope.

  Chapter 23

  It had been the longest day of Elizabeth’s life, and the evening promised to be longer still. Nightfall covered the London streets, and she and Mr. Darcy clung to the shadows.

  This was a different London from what Elizabeth had ever experienced. She had stayed with her uncle and aunt Gardiner several times, but those visits had been full of diversions in which she had participated openly, without fear of discovery or danger. It was both terrifying and thrilling.

  She followed Mr. Darcy over the narrow streets, through which he expertly guided them until they reached a stable where Mr. Darcy used his cousin’s name to secure their horses. His appearance was so disheveled, his face so swollen and covered with unkempt whiskers, he did not fear discovery.

  They continued on foot to a cheerful section of town, abundant in street lamps and tea rooms bursting with ladies and gentlemen enjoying each other's company. They passed a respectable-looking tavern on the corner where lively music drifted out of doors to add to the merriment of the officers streaming in and out of the establishment.

  Elizabeth understood the tavern’s popularity more when, on closer inspection, she saw a kissing bough hanging in the doorway and several shaded alcoves designed for lovers to meet along the side of the building. Dashing officers in red coats gathered in packs, each attempting to coax a willing young lady away from the protection of her chaperone to stand under the kissing bough or in a shaded nook.

  One officer met with success, his companions cheering him on as he kissed the young lady who had done little to avoid his attentions while her companions looked on with envy as the pair disappeared into the shadows.

  Elizabeth was not envious. Not at first.

  She had always imagined her first kiss would be full of meaning, longing, emotion … everything proper young ladies were not supposed to admit wanting. She wanted to be bewitched body and soul.

  She sighed. Her first kiss would be a tepid one. While Elizabeth admired and respected Mr. Darcy, she had so recently abandoned her severe dislike for him, she found it difficult to believe her feelings could stretch beyond the limits of friendship.

  Would his whiskers tickle her cheek if he kissed her? They had felt prickly under her fingers.

  She shook her head violently, breathing in the cold night air deeply to cool her thoughts and the blush overtaking her cheeks. She was no better than Kitty and Lydia, dwelling on frivolous kisses when they had a murderer to catch and reputations to redeem.

  “My cousin’s apartment is at the other end of this street,” Mr. Darcy said, his eyes darting to and fro.

  “What is the colonel like?” Elizabeth asked, slowing her pace before Mr. Darcy’s long, urgent strides drew unwanted attention to them.

  She pondered the sort of man Colonel Fitzwilliam would be in light of Mr. Darcy’s character. Elizabeth imagined him to be a somber gentleman who carried the responsibilities entrusted to him heavily.

  Mr. Darcy said, “I think you and he are similar in character and will become fast friends.”

  That had not at all been what she had expected to hear. “He is charming and agreeable on introduction, witty and diverting on deeper acquaintance?” she teased.

  Mr. Darcy’s lip twitched upward. “Precisely,” he said, “and the best friend a gentleman could hope to have.”

  Elizabeth held Mr. Darcy’s gaze until she feared tripping on the pavement.

  They would be friends — she and Mr. Darcy. Theirs would not be a miserable marriage. Affability and consideration were more than most ladies secured in their unions, and Elizabeth knew she ought to be pleased in the knowledge that Mr. Darcy would be kind to her. So she told herself repeatedly as they turned the corner, entered a small courtyard, and climbed the steps to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s apartment. But the sigh Elizabeth could not suppress betrayed the longing of her heart.

  Was it wrong of her to wish for love still? Even when she had sealed her fate when she had helped Mr. Darcy escape from prison?

  He stepped aside to allow her to pass into a small apartment that smelled of leather polish, brandy, and cigars.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s batman closed the door behind them while the gentleman himself opened his arms to embrace Mr. Darcy — and promptly lowered them when he saw his cousin’s battered condition.

  Elizabeth thought well of the colonel for his concern. He was easy to recognize in his military uniform. Mama would have swooned.

  The colonel’s hair was lighter than Mr. Darcy’s, and he was not so tall. Had Elizabeth not known them to be cousins, she would not have noticed their similarities — the strong jaw, the determined chin, the straight nose, and the broad forehead. Combined, the features were handsome on Mr. Darcy. On the colonel, they were plain.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam held Mr. Darcy out at arms' length, looking between his cousin and herself, and saying, “I apologize for my lack of words, especially when you are in the company of a young woman I have yet to meet. The papers said nothing about … this.” He waved his hand toward Elizabeth, who smiled at his lighthearted way of acknowledging a complication he had not expected, namely, her.

  Being the proper gentleman, Mr. Darcy did not hesitate to perform introductions, after which Colonel Fitzwilliam ordered his batman, Wilson, to bring his case and see to Mr. Darcy’s injuries.

  Mr. Darcy waved away Wilson’s ministrations. “I left my horse and Bingley’s in the care of the stables near the moor. I wonder if Wilson might instead arrange for them to be returned to their current owner.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam rubbed his chin as Mr. Darcy gave Wilson the information necessary to return the horses. Before the servant left, the colonel instructed, “Keep your eyes open and withdraw if you see anything untoward.”

  With a nod, Wilson disappeared.

  No sooner had the door shut behind him than Mr. Darcy leaned forward in his chair to look at his cousin intently. “Richard, you are no doubt aware of my situation. I beseech your help to protect Miss Elizabeth until I can sort out this horrible misunderstanding.”

  Elizabeth made herself dizzy with the speed in which she snapped her head to look at Mr. Darcy. She exclaimed, “I object wholeheartedly! As capable as you are, Mr. Darcy, I will not stand aside while you endanger your life further for both of our sakes. I cannot allow it.”

  The muscles on Mr. Darcy’s jaw tensed, but she would not change her answer no matter how much it displeased him. She was not intimidated by him.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s laughter cut their glaring contest short. He looked between them, saying, “I do not know how this came about, but I cannot wait to hear your story.”

  Mr. Darcy’s glare cut from Elizabeth to the colonel. “You must grow accustomed to disappointment, Richard.”

  The colonel was not intimidated either. He procured two bottles, one of brandy and another of sherry.

  He smiled kindly at Elizabeth as he handed her the glass of sherry.

  “It is rather an amazing st
ory. Like something I would like to read in a novel,” she said softly, taking the glass.

  Mr. Darcy downed his drink in one large gulp, handing the glass back to the colonel, who did not hesitate to refill it.

  Setting the bottles down, the colonel said, “It sounds tantalizing. If you write it, it would be my honor to purchase your first copy. I find it difficult to believe my cousin could ever do anything worthy of a novel. He prides himself on being a model of propriety and impeccable character. And yet, by all rights, he is a horse thief aside from the other horrible things they call him in the papers.”

  “To be fair, the horses were my idea,” she admitted.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam nestled into his chair and crossed one boot over his knee. “Fascinating! What other improprieties have you encouraged my upright cousin to commit?”

  Elizabeth sipped on her sherry to keep from giggling. “I do not think you would believe me were I to tell you. The list is rather long.”

  The colonel cackled. “Pray forgive my directness, Miss Elizabeth, but I am determined to like you very much.” Turning to his cousin, he asked, “Where did you find this treasure of a woman, Darcy?”

  Mr. Darcy did not smile. He said, “Pardon me for being the voice of doom and reason, but we are in grave danger. We came to you for help, Richard, but I fear our prolonged presence here might expose you to suspicion. We cannot stay long.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s smile disappeared, replaced with a serious expression. To Elizabeth, he said, “My cousin dearly needs to learn there is a lighter side of life. Humor makes the difficult bits endurable. Perhaps, when this dreadful business is done…”

  The way he looked between her and Mr. Darcy made her skin warm.

  Leaning forward and giving Mr. Darcy his full attention, the colonel said, “As you wish, Cousin. Brevity is essential, as is gravity. It displeases me greatly to inform you that I am privy to what the papers are saying about you.”

  Mr. Darcy set his glass aside. “You saw the article—”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his finger, interrupting. “Allow me to correct you. There have now been several articles in multiple newspapers about you. In today’s paper, they included a drawing of your likeness so that the public might assist in your capture. There is a fairly large reward being offered by Marquess Malbrooke’s uncle, Lord Chadwell. He has an estate outside London. I believe you know the place. Was it not where you stole your horse and Bingley’s?”