She gave him a smile that probably looked braver than she felt. “I’ve no doubt—particularly since we have only each other.”
“Yes. Particularly that. May I kiss you, Elizabeth?”
She filled her lungs with air and nodded, then waited for him to touch her lips like a child forcing itself to try a new food. Her mouth was as soft and sweet as he remembered, but instead of reaching for him, leaning into him, caressing him, she was holding her breath. And when he drew back, there was a distinct sheen over her eyes.
“Too soon?” he asked softly.
Her chin bobbed jerkily, and she began to blink. When that failed, she turned her head to brush away the tears. “I’m sorry.”
He straightened reluctantly. “Let us take a walk on the decks. I think we both need some fresh air.”
Chapter 49
Matlock
Georgiana’ssmilewasthemost radiant Darcy had ever seen. She met him in the hall in her travelling attire, still laughing about some silly quip by Lady Matlock and beaming airily at the earl. She made a playful curtsey when he approached and gave him her hand with a theatrical flourish worthy of Drury Lane.
It was a pity it was all fake.
Darcy had toyed briefly with the idea of going directly to London from Matlock, but Georgiana’s plea had eventually won out. “Pemberley,” she had urged him. “I will have my fill of the city while I am in Boston. Let us retire quietly for a time.”
He had been reluctant to grant her request at first, because Elizabeth’s memory was so much more intimately woven into the fabric of Pemberley than anywhere else for him. Georgiana’s next point, however, persuaded him—that society in London had begun to take note of his fetching and enigmatic fiancée, and they would be sure to ask after her. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
“Darcy.” His cousin greeted him in the entryway.
“Reginald.” They clasped hands, exchanged understanding and empathy with a deep look, and said no more.
He swept the rest of his family—what remained of them—with a smile just as forced as Georgiana’s, then turned for the door. This patch of life, the era belonging toher, must now pass into memory. How to open the next chapter, though… how to reach for what lay ahead, when he could not let go of what lay behind—that was a mystery too daunting to consider.
He and Georgiana descended the steps to their waiting carriage, but just as he was handing her up, a company of sweating and blowing horses swept into the drive. His Majesty’s soldiers—all grim-faced and coated with road dust. The officer at their head called for a halt, then pushed his way in front of Darcy’s carriage and ordered his men to surround it.
“See, here!” harrumphed the earl and Darcy together. “What business have you?”
“By order of His Majesty, King Edward VII,” the officer barked, “I am here to arrest Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the 4th Battalion of the Derbyshires as a traitor to the crown.”
“Arrest him? How can you arrest a dead man?” Reginald barked. “He died months ago in Africa. I assure you, Captain, not even his corpse is here.”
The officer withdrew a paper from his breast pocket with a cynical sneer down his nose at Darcy. “I have it on excellent authority that a man sick nearly to the point of death was brought here from Liverpool on the First of this month, accompanied by His Lordship, the Earl of Matlock, and Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Do I address those men now?”
“You do, and your information is false. The man we brought back was a tenant of mine, too ill to travel alone. And it was on the Twenty-Fourth, a week earlier than you claim.”
The flesh around the captain’s eyes tightened. “We shall see. I have my orders, my lord, and I am afraid I must insist on looking about for myself.”
Darcy caught his cousin’s warning glance. “Georgiana,” he murmured, “go to Lady Matlock.” She nodded and quietly slipped from his side.
“—highly irregular! I will speak to your superiors! I shall call Whitehall immediately.” Reginald was foaming and sputtering, putting on a splendidly imperious manner and generally acting as an affronted nobleman might be expected to when a military contingent arrives on his doorstep.
“I am not asking permission, my lord,” the captain replied coldly. “My orders come from the top.”
“See now, my lord,” Darcy intervened—precisely on cue. “The good captain is only doing his duty. Surely, Your Lordship can permit him to satisfy his curiosity and report the truth back to his superiors.”
Reginald thrust out his jaw and pretended to consider—all while the ladies were withdrawing from the sight and vicinity of the officers. “Indeed, Darcy, you present a sound point. I’ve nothing to hide, but I am damned curious about who makes such a vile report. Indecent, it is, to toy with the sentiments of a grieving family in this way.”
The captain nodded smartly and gestured to his men to dismount. “I am ordered to make a thorough search, my lord.”
Reginald made some haughty scowl, as if the captain and all his posturing were mere trifles delaying his midday tea, and drew out his pocket watch. “The estate is large, captain. I hope your men brought their own rations.”
Darcyandtheearlwere not precisely under guard, but a young officer was posted at the door of the room where they had withdrawn to partake of a bit of refreshment. Reginald played his part well—casually drawing now and again on an exquisitely aged Havana that probably cost a week’s worth of that soldier’s wages, and bellowing at frequent intervals about his affronted rights as a landowner. Darcy’s role was more insidious, for it was he who, by silent contract, dropped the comments meant to be overheard and reported back to the soldier’s commanding officer.
