“I, ah, secrets of the Crown and all that,” Mr. Bingley muttered. “Not our concern.”
Elizabeth sank down onto one of the sofas. The room tilted back the other way, seeming almost to spin.
“None of our concern?” Jane’s voice rose the barest fraction, but for her that constituted a yell. “You invited them here. You perpetuated their ruse.”
“Yes, well, I had to, after what our uncles—” Mr. Bingley broke off with a gulp.
“Our uncles what?” Miss Bingley’s eyes glowed with interest. “I thought you agreed to Richard’s plan simply to keep Mr. Darcy safe.”
“Our uncles nothing,” Mr. Bingley muttered.
Jane and Miss Bingley aimed matching looks of skepticism at him.
Elizabeth scrubbed at her forehead. She didn’t care one whit why Mr. Bingley had helped. If what they were saying was true, Fitzwilliam had lied to her. About…about everything.
“Our uncles what?” Miss Bingley reiterated, slower.
“Your uncles are traitors to the crown, which I used to force Bingley to participate in the charade my commanding officer devised,” a strong, commanding voice said from the parlor doorway. Apparently, the voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam, not of Mr. Darcy. He joined them, closing the parlor door behind him. “Bingley was given little choice in the matter.”
“Our uncles are traitors?” Miss Bingley gasped, her gaze seeking Colonel Fitzwilliam’s. “Will that be a problem?”
“Only when our ambitions do not align with those of my superiors,” he said with an easy shrug.
Miss Bingley sank down onto the sofa beside Elizabeth, her face crinkled in thought.
“Mrs. Bingley, Bingley, people noted your departure, and are beginning to wonder at your absence,” Colonel Fitzwilliam continued.
Not seeming to hear, Jane still regarded Mr. Bingley. “You should have told me.”
“I agree,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “I have been made to explain that I am not Mr. Darcy at least a dozen times since we reached the church this morning. I am playing it off as a lark, and I believe most are coming to terms with it. Eccentricities of the privileged and all that, but it would be simpler if word of our ruse had already been disseminated.”
“And I had assumed it would be.” Miss Bingley pursed her lips, studying her brother. “I had no thought that Charles would keep the information from Jane, who I assumed would then tell her family.” Her pity-laden gaze flicked to Elizabeth.
It was left unsaid that Mrs. Bennet would have seen that everyone knew.
“How was I to know who to tell?” Mr. Bingley protested, then reiterated almost angrily, “Secrets of the Crown.”
“Your dedication is laudable, but I did write to you, informing you that I would not return as Mr. Darcy and that the missionto safeguard him was over.” With a shrug, Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “Perhaps it is my fault for not informing you expressly that you should provide your betrothed with the truth.”
“Hardly,” Miss Bingley said crisply. “Who could imagine that Charles would not tell Jane?” She pondered her brother a moment longer. “We should hint about that the ruse was in service to the Crown, however. We can permit that rumor to take on life, and then refuse to confirm or deny it. That will win forgiveness from the people here.”
“An excellent plan.” Admiration and warmth filled the colonel’s voice. “Bingley, Mrs. Bingley, Miss Elizabeth, what say you to going out and dispersing that bit of intrigue? It would be best if we were all to reappear.”
Elizabeth looked down at her hands, which trembled.
Beside her, Miss Bingley squared her shoulders, smiled, and stood, appearing perfectly relaxed and cheerful.
“I will walk home,” Elizabeth said, quiet but firm.
Jane took Miss Bingley’s vacated spot. “Charles will call the carriage for you.” She pulled Elizabeth into a hug. “I will tell Papa you have suffered a megrim.” Releasing her, Jane turned to her new husband to add, “And we will go back out and enjoy our wedding breakfast, but once our guests have left, I require a full explanation, Charles. I am certain you have very good reasons for aiding in such an extensive subterfuge, and for not informing me of it, or of the stain on your relations, before I agreed to be your wife.”
“What my uncles did has nothing to do with me,” Mr. Bingley protested.
“Undoubtedly it does not, but not telling me has everything to do with you.”
Even through her haze, Elizabeth heard Mr. Bingley gulp.
“This is proving to be an entertaining morning,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said lightly. “Shall we, Caroline?”
