“You are correct.” Padgett snapped the file closed. “Mr. Darcy has not been to Ramsgate yet this summer. As well, a quick analysis of summaries of his correspondence with his sister indicate no mention by Miss Darcy of your presence there.”
Dread settled over Richard. “Mrs. Younge might be lying.” But why would she?
“You know there is a second possibility. Miss Darcy may be lying to Mrs. Younge about the identity of this gentleman with whom she is associating.”
“Yes, she might,” Richard admitted. “Mrs. Younge has never met me, so it would be simple for Georgiana to lie.” And Richard could think of only one man who could both charm his young cousin into doing so, and who was familiar enough with both the Darcys and Fitzwilliams to convincingly play a member of the family. “I suspect that Mr. George Wickham is in Ramsgate.”
Padgett’s expression went blank, which meant he had not been expecting that. “The son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward? Why him?”
“I can think of no one else who could entice Georgiana into such bad behavior.”
Padgett shook his head. “I disagree. She is what, fifteen? Any skilled rake could be the culprit. Thirty thousand pounds is a significant enticement. Or the rogue, whoever he is, may have more nefarious intentions. We cannot afford for Mr. Darcy to be subject to blackmail, or any other form of coercion. The Darcy name is too important, and too closely linked to Matlock.”
“I concede that it could be any ne'er-do-well, but it will not be.” Certainty lodged in Richard. “It is Wickham. Despite your uncharitable view on fifteen-year-olds, Georgiana is too well behaved for it to be anyone else.” Richard pushed up from the chair. “I will go to Ramsgate and put this right.”
“Sit down.” Padgett ordered and, though he’d spoken quietly, Richard dropped back to the chair. “You will do no such thing. Mrs. Younge will be informed, and Mr. Darcy will visit his sister. This is unlikely to be a matter of national interest but rather a young woman behaving badly. That is well within Mr. Darcy’s province. He is her brother.”
“You cannot simply order Darcy to Ramsgate.” And Richard could be there much faster. In fact, now that he knew of thematter, he felt the urgent need to ride to Ramsgate immediately to stop Wickham.
“No, I cannot order your cousin anywhere, but we have people in his household.” Padgett shrugged. “A few subtle prods and Mr. Darcy will think going to see his sister to be his notion.”
Richard frowned. He didn’t like the idea. Manipulating outcomes was General Padgett’s job, but that was in the interest of keeping their nation safe. Influencing Richard’s cousin had nothing to do with Britain’s security. “I should go.”
“Are you close to unveiling who is smuggling information to the French?”
“Yes,” Richard admitted. “I have narrowed it down to someone in B.B.B. Shipping & Co.” Though he hoped he would not discover the traitor to be one of the owners, for he knew relations of the two men, as did Darcy.
“Then you will remain at your post.”
“But—”
“There is no ‘but,’ Colonel. That is an order. You are dismissed.”
Richard came to his feet. When Padgett used that tone, nothing would sway him. “Yes, sir.”
The general looked up with sympathetic eyes. “Do not fear. A rider will be dispatched to Ramsgate within the hour, with warning that Mrs. Younge must not trust the man posing as you.”
Richard could hardly reach Ramsgate more quickly than Padgett’s messenger. He only hoped the man wouldn’t be too late. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”
With a final nod, Padgett reached for another folder, his attention no longer on Richard.
Richard left the general’s office, but did not immediately depart Watson, Hastings, and Vane. Instead, he made his way to the office of one of the clerks. If Darcy did go to Ramsgate,and Richard knew he would because Padgett was not one to be overconfident, he would pass through London. When he did, even though Darcy believed him to be on the Continent, Richard had a very specific document he wished drawn up for his cousin to sign. One that would go a long way to easing Richard’s worry for Georgiana.
A document that would, should the worst happen, at least keep Wickham from getting his hands on Georgie’s dowry.
Chapter Two
Georgiana Darcy paced the cramped cabin, the roll of the ship making the exertion more difficult, and nauseating, than usual. She hated the small space, with its one sloped wall and the little bed in which George would not join her. Eloping was meant to be far more romantic than this. Carriage rides and luxurious inn rooms, and her intended should not be able to resist her charms. That was how it always happened in the novels she’d read, smuggled and traded with school friends. And in the whispered stories, shared in the dark of night when the headmistress thought they slept.
Instead, George insisted she remain locked in this cabin while he spent his days above deck in the crisp sea air, and nights in a cabin of his own. She rarely saw him, and he had yet to even kiss her. Doubt as to the depth of his love wriggled inside her like a worm ruining an apple, and if George did not love her, she had made a terrible mistake.
One from which she could not hope to be rescued, as their plan, George’s plan, was perfect. They’d departed in George’s rented phaeton and made their way into the park at East Cliff. There, amongst thick trees, they’d swapped outerwear with two people George had found who bore them sufficient resemblance. Money had changed hands as well, and the two rode off in the phaeton, going north. Meanwhile, Georgiana and George went west, through the trees, and sneaked to the docks and onto this ship. No one, not even Fitzwilliam with all his resources, would find her now.
Her hand went to the little heart-shaped locket she wore. Her most treasured piece of jewelry, given to her by George when she was eight. On her first Christmas without a father, for Papa had died that spring, leaving her with little memory of him and none of her mother, gone many years before.
All would be well, she decided as she clasped George’s token. George loved her. He must. Why else would he have spent over a month with her, planning this escape? Playing at him being her cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam? Fooling her silly companion, Mrs. Younge, so thoroughly? And the whole time, George had been nothing but attentive, and many long, lovelorn looks were exchanged between them. Ones they were careful to keep Mrs. Younge from seeing.
Georgiana smiled. What a game they’d made of it, playing out a courtship they’d joked about since she was little. One that had, now that she was fifteen and talk had begun of her coming out, become suddenly quite serious, for Georgiana had long since decided she would marry no man but her beloved George Wickham. No mere chaperone would prevent that.
