by Jennifer Joy
She shook her head. No excitement? At Covent Garden? What was wrong with her? Was she so restless not even London could satisfy her craving for adventure? Was somebody watching her or not? Was her imagination trustworthy or misguided? This uncertainty was driving her mad.
She grasped for a rational explanation and nearly laughed in relief when she settled on Oakley.
Of course! The sight of Oakley at the stables earlier that morning had set her dreaming. Where Oakley was, Fitzwilliam was certain to be nearby.
Elizabeth groaned inwardly. That was her answer. She had not been hoping to see some stranger following her. That would have been unnerving, and she did not feel scared. No, she had been looking for Fitzwilliam. It was not excitement she craved. It was him. She missed him.
Melancholy slowed her steps and calmed her smile. When Papa proudly purchased a fan with a handle embellished with mother of pearl for Mama, Elizabeth thought she would cry.
Fortunately, Papa was too distracted getting them away from a persistent flower-girl pushing a bunch of violets into his back, until he finally gave in and bought the blooms, to notice Elizabeth’s deteriorating merriment. If only she could stop looking over her shoulder. After so many unsuccessful turns and side glances, she began to fret that she would never see Fitzwilliam again. That perhaps he had meant every word of his letter. That he had departed from London. That it had not been Oakley at the stables, but merely a flaxen-haired man with a remarkably crooked nose just like his.
She had no appetite by the time they reached the inn. The warmth, laughter, and smells of beef stew and freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen did not soothe her. Not when she could not help search the room for Fitzwilliam and face another disappointment when he was not there.
When her father suggested they pack their things to leave the hotel for The Golden Crown, she did not object.
Travel offered a brief respite, and Elizabeth endeavored to appease her bruised heart and uneasy mind with her father’s eagerness to please her and with Sir William’s jovial reception later that evening.
“I am sorry John and George could not join us this evening. John had some pressing matters in town, and George is with the horse.” Dropping to a whisper, he added, “We cannot be too cautious, you know?”
“Your company is pleasant enough to make up for their absence, Sir— ahem, I mean to say, Mr. Smith.” Papa looked about the room. “It is quite crowded here tonight.”
Sir William blustered, his face beaming bright red. “Yes, I had not accounted for how many would be staying here on their way to the Epsom Derby. You were wise to request rooms when you did.”
Elizabeth had seen the sea of strange faces, but so intent was she on who was not there, she had not thought to question the presence of so many people.
Casting a weary glance about, Sir William leaned closer. “Poor timing, indeed. Had I been able to use my status freely, I should have been able to secure a private room in which to dine with facility. However, as I am only Mr. Smith, I am afraid a small table against the far wall was the best I could do.”
Papa squeezed his neighbor’s shoulder. “I often find it more enjoyable to dine surrounded by strangers moving to and fro and conversing. It feels as if one is being entertained at the theater but with the advantage of a meal at his table.”
Pleased with Papa’s reaction, Sir William looked at Elizabeth.
“Satisfying on multiple grounds, as my father says,” she reassured him. “Besides, if anything were to befall Blacky, I daresay you take comfort in being more easily reached here. We can see everyone entering by the door.”
Sir William brightened considerably. “I had not considered that, but it is true.”
They walked to the far wall, passing tables with travelers crammed beside each other on benches and barmaids weaving through them with heavy trays.
Between bites of stew and sips of wine, Sir William told them his plans. “My sons will travel on the morrow to give Blacky a day to rest before the big event while I return to Lucas Lodge. John does not approve, but I wish to share this joyous occasion with all of my family. I do hope you accept my invitation to join us. Miss Elizabeth can share a room with my girls, and you would be quite comfortable sharing with my boys, Mr. Bennet,” he said to Papa, adding, “You will be quite safe in the stands. Close enough to see well, but far enough away from the horses to appease you. Really, you cannot beat the view. Not to mention how you avoid being jostled by the crowds. I was assured that only the upper circles are able to procure a stand, but with my position and our champion racehorse, John had no trouble securing one.”
Papa smiled. “Your offer is kind, Sir— Mr. Smith, and we will accept it gladly.” He glanced at Elizabeth, wiggling his eyebrows.
Elizabeth smiled. Truth be told, she would rather be away from London where she both hoped and dreaded she might see Fitzwilliam. Hoped he would smile at her. Dreaded he would turn away. At least, at Epsom, she could only hope he might follow her. And she would have Charlotte.
A nearby table of officers cleared, and a gentleman reading a newspaper moved closer to them, angling his paper for better lighting. With his worn brown velvet coat, disheveled hair, and overgrown sideburns, he reminded her of what her own father might have looked like some twenty years ago. He caught Elizabeth’s eye and nodded politely before returning his attention to the paper, ignoring the new set of travelers moving in on his recently vacated table. Sir William had done well to secure a private, albeit small, table for them.
“George holds high hopes for the race,” Sir William confided, the hint of worry in his tone restoring Elizabeth’s attention back to her party. “He is concerned we will not win, but with odds of three to one, I say we cannot fail. John agrees with me.” The way he looked at Papa for confirmation troubled Elizabeth. She wondered how far into debt Sir William had gone for his prized horse. What if he did not win the race? Would it mean ruin for her friends?
Papa rubbed his chin. “The Jockey Club is known to be strict. How did you manage to convince them to let you race so soon after changing ownership on the horse?”
Sir William puffed out his chest. “I did not present myself as Mr. Smith to them, you may be certain. During my interview with them, I ascertained that the gentlemen and I shared several acquaintances in the first circles. They know better than to question quality. John assisted me with the arrangements, of course, and everything turned out swimmingly. George does not give his brother enough credit, but John will do well by his family.”
The more Sir William talked, the more profound Elizabeth’s concern became. Poor Charlotte. She must feel the burden of her father’s vainglorious choices. If his venture failed, his whole family would suffer. And for what? To prove himself to a class who would never invite him into their circles nor spare him a parting glance?
After Sir William had retired to his room to rest for his journey on the morrow, Papa rubbed his hand over his face, his brow furrowed. “I pray they will not lose their estate over this. Your mother will miss presuming over Lady Lucas, you will lose your close friend, and without Sir William, I fear I shall be presumed upon to step in as Master of the Ceremonies at the monthly assemblies.” He shivered.
Elizabeth tried to smile at the irony of her father, who missed as many assemblies as he could, becoming the host of the affair. But the stakes were too high for humor. Papa must have felt it, too, for though he spoke in jest, the furrow in his brow remained.
The Epsom Derby was no longer just a race. It was going to alter lives.
Chapter 28
All the pieces had fallen together. Thanks to Oakley’s reconnaissance, Darcy knew what The Four Horsemen were planning. How they planned to do it would be revealed through Sir William. Darcy had to stay close. He had to get Elizabeth far away from Sir William.
Already, Richard had a small army of men in place at Epsom, with more to come. The end of The Four Horsemen’s reign was in sight, close enough to touch. Close enough for Darcy
to dream of his own future — a future he had not allowed himself to ponder for years. A future he wanted to share with Elizabeth.
He could not lose her.
But he must wait. Darcy had too many enemies who would think nothing of using Elizabeth to manipulate him and kill her when they were through.
He must be patient. He would protect her until this sordid affair was done and The Four Horsemen’s cutthroats were convinced they could gain nothing by harming her. However long it took, Darcy would watch over her. It would be agony, but he would do it for her.
Then, he would explain why he had written that wretched letter. He would tell her why he could not give her the answers she deserved. He would beg for forgiveness. He would befriend Mrs. Bennet, and he would help Mr. Bennet improve his younger daughters’ prospects. All this and more, Darcy would do gladly.
What he could not do was return to Pemberley without Elizabeth.
Wait and watch. Out of sight, but always close.
Oakley had nearly been caught that morning. It had been too close a call. Thank goodness Elizabeth had not suspected that another man followed her.
It had been difficult to find a capable guard with no connections to Leo to watch over Elizabeth and her father at the last minute — as difficult as it had been for Darcy to secure a room near The Golden Crown.
Wilson had called in a favor from an old friend, and despite the short notice, Lieutenant Croft had been happy to oblige.
At the sound of a knock on his door, Darcy glanced at Wilson, who stood in front of the barrier with his hand at the latch until Darcy sealed the message he had been writing to Richard.
It was Lieutenant Croft. With his overgrown hair, worn velvet coat, and the newspaper tucked under his arm, he gave the appearance of a country gentleman (much like Mr. Bennet might have appeared some years before.)
Wilson greeted his friend and took the envelope from Darcy. “I will dispatch this immediately and send for some tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”
“Coffee, please, and three cups.” Darcy looked at Croft, who nodded his approval.
“A gentleman who shares a cup of coffee with his valet? It is an uncommon, but not unwelcome sight, sir,” Croft said once Wilson had closed the door behind him.
Darcy motioned to the chairs arranged before the fire. “Please have a seat.”
The soldier set the newspaper on the table and sat with his boots firmly planted on the wood plank floor.
Darcy sat opposite him. “I trust you left Miss Bennet and her father well? They have not noticed you?”
“Miss Bennet is as perceptive as you said. She did not notice my presence in London, but she did see me sitting at the table beside them tonight.”
Darcy froze, his body tensing.
Croft crossed one booted foot over his knee, a relaxed pose in stark contrast to his vigilant gaze surveying the room. “I nodded and resumed reading my paper, taking care not to make eye contact again. I am certain she suspected nothing, and I only left to report here after she, her father, and the other gentleman with whom they dined retired to their rooms.”
Darcy finally let out his breath. “Well done. I cannot thank you enough for agreeing to help me.”
Croft considered Darcy, his calloused fingers scratching against his scruffy side whiskers. “Mr. Darcy, I am not new to surveillance work. It is my habit to take in all of my surroundings — a habit I have formed since the day Wilson was shot.”
“I did not know you were there.”
“He took three bullets before we even realized we had walked into a trap. I dragged him back to the camp, but the damage was done. He considers himself in my debt, but I cannot agree. He was left crippled while I escaped unscathed. There is nothing fair about war.”
“No, there is not.” Darcy understood the guilt. He had escaped more than his fair share of scrapes without a mark on his skin. He understood that the invisible burdens were often the heaviest to bear. Croft could no sooner recover than Wilson could from such an injury. “Wilson is a good man. There are few I trust more.”
“He speaks highly of you. It is for that reason I will share what I observed and overheard.”
Darcy kept his posture relaxed, though his nerves snapped to attention.
“You were clear regarding my duty to watch over Miss Bennet and her father, to prevent anyone from approaching them to do harm, and to fetch you should I suspect anything untoward. As I mentioned, I have made a habit of observing certain things — scars on knuckles indicating a fighter, a building’s handiest exits, the nearest horse, where a weapon is most likely to be hidden…” He waved his hand in circles. Darcy could have added more items to Croft’s list. Those were things he noticed, too.
Croft leveled his eyes at him. “There were two men sitting on either side of the Bennets’ table. They stayed as long as I did.”
Darcy shrugged. He could not tell the man that Richard had a handful of men watching Sir William and a whole contingent waiting at Epsom Downs. “It is not unusual for some to prefer the warmth and noise of the tavern in favor of their rooms upstairs.”
Croft uncrossed his foot, leaning forward. “Neither of them drank more than one tankard of ale in over three hours.”
If Darcy blew the mission when he was this close, he was not clever enough to capture The Four Horsemen. The success of his trap depended on secrecy. He had to stick to the story he and Wilson had told Croft.
His gaze never wavering from Darcy’s, Croft said, “It was a prop. The men were watching the same party you hired me to protect.”
Wilson had said Croft was one of the best. He was too good. However, he was wrong. The other agents’ interest lies in Sir William, not in the Bennets. And Darcy meant to keep it that way. The less he could involve the Bennets with Leo, the better. It was why he had asked Wilson for help hiring a reliable guard.
Carefully weighing his words, Darcy said, “Anything is possible in these times, Croft. I can neither confirm nor deny what you saw, not having been present myself. My only interest is to keep the ruffian who threatened me away from Miss Bennet.”
“Yes, Wilson told me how you were accosted. Your neck appears to be healing nicely.”
Darcy touched the tender skin. His collar chafed against it. “You do not think the two men meant any ill-will, do you?” He knew they did not, but it seemed like the most natural question to ask.
“I do not, otherwise I would have stayed until they departed. Their purpose might have more to do with the other gentleman at the table than with the Bennets. He was a suspicious sort, going by the name Smith.”
Resisting the urge to grit his teeth, Darcy said, “Really?” Sir William had been too clever to travel by his real name. It was the reason why he had been so difficult to find after he had left Lucas Lodge for London. Another clue handed to him by the Bennets.
“Mr. Bennet had trouble remembering not to call him ‘Sir’ on several occasions. The sarcasm in his tone was unmistakable at every utterance of the assumed name.”
“That sounds accurate. What else did you observe?” Darcy’s patience wore thin. He did not wish to dance around the topic of Sir William or Mr. Smith or whatever he chose to call himself. He wanted to know when the Bennets planned to return to London or, even better, return to Longbourn. Oakley had overheard Sir William invite the Bennets to join him at the Epsom Derby. A brazen offer. Only a madman would want a larger audience for the traitorous act he planned to attempt.
Darcy needed Elizabeth far away from Epsom. Far away from Sir William.
“The Bennets accepted Mr. Smith’s invitation to join him at Epsom for the race. They will depart on the morrow, staying in the same inn as the gentleman.”
Blast! Darcy clenched his fists and held his breath until his lungs screamed for air. Blast it all! “Tell me everything,” he forced past the knot in his throat.
He listened while Croft spoke, taking in every detail and doing his best to pretend it did not matter until Wilson returned, they
drank their bitter coffee, and Croft resumed his post at The Golden Crown.
Darcy had felt misery before — when he had lost his mother and again when his beloved father died. Their loss had created a void he had been unable to fill … until Elizabeth tumbled from a horse at his feet and conquered his heart. With her he had hope, happiness, and the home he had never thought he would find again. He relived his time with her in Hertfordshire in vivid detail, his longing to see her aching in his bones.
He had thought himself wretched the night he had penned the letter for Elizabeth, but even after that odious message had been delivered, embers of hope burned within him. If he did his job, their separation was temporary.
If he could not do his job… He would lose Elizabeth.
He did not hear the knock at the door until Richard came into his room and sat down in the chair Croft had occupied hours before.
“I am tired of being at your beck and call at all hours of the day and night. Do you know I have not slept soundly since I recruited you? Had I known I would have to take on the role of the mooching cousin, I might not have recommended you at all. Do you have any brandy? I am parched. Some of the good stuff, maybe?”
Darcy raised his eyebrows. “You only have to assume the role of the leeching—”
“Mooching,” Richard corrected. “Leeches are repulsive.”
“Whatever you wish to call it, you do not need to pretend when there is nobody to see your performance. My brandy will be available to drink another day.”
Richard raised a finger. “Ah, but I prefer to immerse myself in my role fully. Otherwise I risk giving a less than genuine reaction when it matters, or worse, being observed by a foe when I thought the coast was clear.”
Darcy sighed. “My brandy will never be safe from you.”
“I doubt it. Now, on to business. I know I grumble and complain, but that is only to ensure you do not get too full of yourself. The truth is, you brought us to Sir William after we had lost him. This operation would not stand a chance without you.”