“I sent a note to Cattermole at the War Office as soon as I returned, but it might not have arrived before you left.”
“I would not have heard about it anyway. I broke with the War Office when they declared they had nothing to do with your mission, denouncing you for the assassination attempt –”
The words were like a bucket of cold water poured over his head. “What?” Darcy cried.
Bingley stiffened. “Did you not know? This was weeks ago.”
Of course he had not known. He had been on the run in France, fleeing for his life, with no news from England. “Are you certain?”
“Without a doubt. I argued with them about it, and when they would not budge, I resigned.”
Nausea churned his stomach. He had known the War Office could not admit they had sent him to help the assassins, but todenouncehim? After everything he had suffered, the many risks he had taken, all because the War Office had asked it. “Who knows about this?”
“The censure has mostly been in private communications with the French government, but the War Office told the papers here they never heard of you.”
“Never heard of me.” As expected, but still he tasted bile. What would people think of him now? That he was a madman? “Why denounce me, though?”
Bingley leaned back in his chair. “They hope to appease Napoleon, to slow the invasion. I am sorry; I thought you knew all this already, old chap.”
“I have seen no news in weeks, and before that, it was only an occasional French newspaper.” Then Bingley’s words sank in, and ice ran up his spine. “An invasion?”
“Without question.” He held out his empty glass. “I need more port if we are going to speak of this.”
Darcy refilled it and gave it back, forcing himself not to demand an immediate answer. What in heaven’s name had happened, all those weeks when he had been out of touch in France?
Bingley took a sip. “Ah, yes, that is better. The port, not the news. Napoleon is building a flotilla and gathering troops in Boulogne, a hundred thousand already and growing every day. Just simple barges to carry soldiers and cannons, since there is no British Navy to stop them from crossing the Channel wherever they please, thanks to the sea serpents sinking all our ships. They are working at top speed, and the War Office thinks they will be ready by summer. Six months, perhaps.”
“Good God,” Darcy muttered. “That soon?”
“It would have been sooner, since Boney is in a great hurry for vengeance, but there has been another uprising in the Tyrol. He will have to put that down before he comes here, but that will not take long.”
It was still terrifyingly little time. And then he could be on the run again. “Who knows about the invasion?”
“The government has managed to keep it quiet so far, but once people find out, there will be panic. Deservedly so; this is going to be a disaster.” He set down his glass. “That was my other reason for coming North – I must speak to my family in Scarborough to see if they will give my dearwife refuge there, where no one knows her family background. Napoleon plans to execute every Englishman with mage blood.”
Cold washed over him. That meant Elizabeth, Frederica, Richard – all his family, and baby Jenny, too. “Because of me, I suppose,” he said heavily.
“God alone knows why Napoleon does anything,” Bingley said, but he obviously knew the truth. He was not prone to panic, and no doubt he still had contacts at the War Office. If he was making plans to flee the invasion, it was for good reason.
“If your family in Scarborough will not serve, you are both always welcome here at Pemberley.”
Bingley gave a harsh laugh. “There is no place more dangerous for her than here! This whole area is crawling in spies, and you are a prime target.”
Darcy’s chest tightened. “Are they sure of that?”
“As certain as can be, though they know less than usual now. After that attack on Napoleon, all our usual spies in his court went silent. The whole chain for communication was destroyed, including our couriers. Someone must have talked under torture.”
Darcy winced, thinking of the two French aristocrats who had been captured that nightmarish day in the Tuileries. Had Napoleon used his magical powers to convince them to talk, as he had almost managed with Darcy? “Did they tell you he is a dragon in disguise?”
“Who?” Bingley asked. “The only dragon I know of is Lady Amelia’s beast. Sycamore, she calls him. That was enough of a shock, discovering a live dragon in Britain!”
“No, Napoleon. That is what I learned when I faced him. He is not a human at all, but a dragon in mortal form. A powerful, dangerous one who can seize control of a man’s mind. He did it to me – and it was only my blood connection to Elizabeth that saved me.”
Bingley goggled at him for a moment and then gave a harsh laugh. “Good one, Darcy. You almost had me believing you there.”
“It is no joke.” Had the War Office believed him? Lady Amelia had told them; he knew that much. “Can you not see the implications? If he canget our generals, or worse, the Prime Minister, into his presence, he can convince them to surrender without a single shot fired.”
Bingley was shaking his head. “Darcy, are you quite well? If Napoleon could do that, whether as a human or a dragon, why would he have wasted all those lives battling his way across Europe?”
