He was leaning against a stone pillar, but he was not looking at Lydia nor the terrier.
He looked frantic.
The effortless charm was gone, his face pale. He searched the crowd with undisguised desperation, his eyes darting from face to face, searching, calculating.
“He has realised the tide is coming in,” the Colonel observed quietly, standing close to Elizabeth’s right shoulder. “And he is standing upon a very small rock.”
“His creditors are drawing the net tight.” Mr Darcy stood at her left shoulder. “He lost a significant sum at the card tables of the Old Ship Inn late last night. Ensign Burton was loudly discussing the debt in the coffee house this morning. Wickham is out of time.”
Elizabeth followed Wickham’s gaze. “He is hunting. He requires a permanent financial solution before the regiment discovers he is ruined.”
“He will not attempt Miss Jenkins again.” Mr Darcy crossed his arms. “Lady Clement is guarding the girl like a dragon guarding gold. I saw the dowager earlier. She looked prepared to turn Wickham into a public warning for other junior officers.”
“Miss Jenkins is safe.” Elizabeth agreed.
Then, she saw Wickham stop.
His posture altered instantly. The anxiety vanished. He stood up straight and smoothed the lapels of his red coat. He fixed his charming, tragic smile firmly into place, pushed away from the stone pillar and began moving through the crowd with intent.
Elizabeth traced his path through the visitors.
Miss Penelope Smythe stood near the centre of the courtyard, admiring a beautiful white mare with romantic fascination. She was separated from her family by a group of visitors. Her chaperone was engaged in a deep, distracting conversation with a bishop.
“Miss Smythe.” Elizabeth identified the target. “She is his secondary scheme. Thirty thousand pounds in the three per cents, and a mind cluttered with gothic novels and romantic nonsense. She is ripe for a tragic tale of woe.”
Mr Darcy uncrossed his arms, taking a step forward. The human barricade was preparing to deploy.
Elizabeth reached out, her hand hovering over his sleeve.
He stopped immediately. He looked down at her hand, and then at her face.
“We cannot physically blockade him in every venue in Brighton, Mr Darcy.” Elizabeth spoke rapidly. “If we stop him here, he will find another private moment when we are not present. He must be stopped permanently.”
Mr Darcy frowned. “What do you propose?”
Elizabeth looked across the courtyard. Her eyes locked upon the formidable figure of Lady Margaret Clement. The dowager was inspecting a pile of hay through her quizzing glass with disapproval.
Elizabeth’s lips formed a dangerous, brilliant smile.
“We shall not intercept Mr Wickham.” Elizabeth took a step back. “We shall ruin him socially.”
She turned to the Colonel.
“Colonel.” Elizabeth commanded the soldier with the authority of a general. “I require you to inform Lady Clement that the niece of her dear friend, Mrs Smythe, is being targeted by a penniless, debt-ridden soldier. I believe the dowager will find the information highly relevant to her interests.”
The Colonel stared at Elizabeth, his eyes widening with the comprehension of the absolute brilliance of the strategy. He grinned widely.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He executed a crisp, military salute. “You possess a tactical mind of the highest order. I shall deploy the dowager at once.”
The Colonel turned and marched purposefully to the hay bales.
Mr Darcy watched his cousin approach Lady Clement, and turned back to Elizabeth.
“And what, pray tell, is my role in this masterful deployment?” he asked dryly.
Elizabeth stepped back beneath the shade of the grand archway and folded her hands primly over her parasol.
“Your role, Mr Darcy, is to stand still, look imposing, and enjoy the farce.”
