Wickham blinked. “You suspect me?”
“No,” said Darcy quickly, then added more carefully, “but others might. And that’s what we want to use.”
“You want me to be your scapegoat?”
The colonel crossed his arms. “We want you to be our distraction. If the real killer believes you are under suspicion, he may drop his guard.”
Wickham tilted his head, thoughtful. “What about Colonel Forster? What if I am arrested?”
“He has been made aware of the situation,” the colonel said. “You will be protected, but you must also play your part convincingly.”
There was a long pause, then Wickham slowly exhaled as he dropped into a chair. “Very well, I will do it.”
“You will?”
The look of consternation on the colonel’s face was so comical, Darcy could not help but smirk. “I told you, Colonel—he says he has changed, and I believe him.”
“Now I am not saint, mind you,” Wickham protested in mock outrage, “but murder? And of a man who was attempting to harm children? That is worth the discomfort and rejection I will encounter here.”
“Darcy has offered to compensate you for your troubles,” the colonel replied, ignoring Darcy’s surprise.
“I have?”
“You have?”
Darcy and Wickham spoke in unison, then snickered at each other in a way that made Fitzwilliam shake his head and mutter. “Thick as thieves, just like before. But yes, Darcy has. Think of it as a charitable donation to the cause of national security.”
Darcy gave him a flat look. “You are very free with my purse.”
“I learned from the best,” the colonel quipped. “My father is much the same way.”
Wickham leaned back, arms crossed behind his head. “Well, then—I expect at least enough to cover the cost of a new coat. If I am to be the tragic villain, I ought to look the part.”
“Villainy suits you,” the colonel said, deadpan.
“I will take that as a compliment.”
Darcy shook his head but could not suppress the ghost of a smile. “You will need to be cautious, though. The real killer is out there.”
Wickham’s smile faded. “I will, Darcy. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For trusting me. For putting your faith in me. For allowing me to prove myself.”
Speechless, Darcy could only nod in reply.
“Now, now, enough sentiment, else you will have me weeping.” Fitzwilliam pretended to wipe a tear from his eye, and Darcy scoffed. “We are all in agreement. You, Wickham, will continueas you are—but allow yourself to be seen with a troubled conscience. A few pointed conversations, a little brooding, some remarks overheard by the right ears.”
“And you lot?” Wickham asked.
Darcy folded his arms again. “We will handle the rest.”
There was a beat of silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire.
“Well,” Wickham said at last, rising to his feet, “if I am to be your sacrificial lamb, I had best go practice looking guilty.”
“Try not to use the window this time,” the colonel muttered.
