“Now, that sounds like the Darcy I know. However, I warn you that if your romantic pursuits interfere with my intelligence gathering, I shall take drastic action.”
“Such as?”
“I shall write to Georgiana and Parker and tell them about your beard.” Richard teased.
Darcy laughed despite himself. “You are a blackguard of the highest order.”
“I prefer to think of myself as charmingly roguish. It is a quality that serves me well in my profession.” Richard stepped away from the desk. Closing his trunk, he prepared to leave.
Darcy approached. “Someday, Cousin, you will be as helplessly besotted as I am now. You will receive no mercy from me whatsoever.”
“That day will never come,” Richard declared with absolute confidence. “I am far too clever to be caught in love’s snare.”
“Hah!” Darcy murmured, rolling up the map with careful precision. “I shall remind you when you are sighing over some young lady’s fine eyes and making excuses to call upon her family.”
“Never!” Richard opened the door and looked back with a grin. “Early tomorrow, then? The docks at seven?”
“I shall be there.”
“Excellent. Try not to spend the entire night staring at maps and composing mental love letters to Miss Bennet. You will need your rest.”
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Darcy alone with his thoughts. He studied the parchment fragment once more, wondering what secrets lay hidden in the ancient stones of Rome.
Wisdom sleeps beneath marble feet.
Soon enough, they would discover what the long-dead librarian of Alexandria had hidden in the Eternal City. And if fortune favored him, he would also discover whether Elizabeth Bennet could ever see him as worthy of her regard.
The fire settled in the grate with a whisper, and Darcy began the final preparations for the voyage.
Early the next morning,the thunder of hooves echoed from the street. An express rider reined in his lathered horse beside the carriage, the animal’s flanks heaving from a hard ride.
“Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?” The rider’s voice was breathless. Urgent.
“I am he.”
“Express from Professor Drye at Cambridge, sir. He said it was of the utmost importance.”
Darcy accepted the sealed letter with trepidation. The wax bore fresh cracks from hasty travel. “When did you leave Cambridge?”
“Before dark, last evening, sir. Rode straight through.”
Breaking the seal, Darcy scanned the hastily written lines. With each word, his ire rose.
Mr. Darcy,
Gravest news. Lord Burton’s wife passed away last week. According to his letter, which I received this evening, he immediately recalled Viscount Levinson from London, only to discover a most alarming development. The young man confessed that, in his anger towards his father’s demands, he gave away his expedition materials to a stranger at a London gaming hell.
The recipient was a militia officer named George Wickham, who claimed acquaintance with both you and Mr. Bennet. Young Levinson was deep in his cups and desperate to avoid the journey. This Wickham fellow convinced him to transfer all his materials and a sum of money for the promise to share any riches he discovers.
I fear the quest is most seriously compromised. Wickham now possesses the first clue and knows our destination. What he does not know is the exact nature of the treasure we seek. Most likely, he believes it to be gold and other valuables. Take all necessary precautions.
Your urgent colleague,
P. Drye
The letter crumpled in Darcy’s fist. The full implications struck him in full force, filling him with controlled rage. Wickham! Of all the men in England.
“Sir?” his coachman called down. “The docks, sir?”
