“Are there any specific threats to civilian shipping?”
Whitmore hesitated, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Not officially, but…” He lowered his voice. “Off the record?three British merchant vessels have gone missing in the past two months. Each carried munitions to British fortresses in the Mediterranean. We would have blamed pirates or stormy weather, but that cargo makes it more likely the French. Too much of a coincidence. There have been whispers”?he leaned forward?“whispers of someone sharing information on these cargo manifests with the French, who desperately need military supplies.”
“L’Ombre?”
The admiral instantly paled, as he gave a curt nod.
Richard took his response to heart. Mrs. Bell’s determination settled into the colonel’s mind, followed immediately by thoughts of Miss Bennet. The idea of the ladies being confronted with such dangers was intolerable. His breathing grew shallow as he calculated odds and risks. “Sir, if I may ask, what is your assessment of local loyalty here in Gibraltar? How confident can we be in the discretion of the Spanish population?”
Whitmore studied him carefully, likely noting the tension in Richard’s shoulders. “Mixed, as you would expect. Most of them depend on British trade for theirlivelihoods. Gives them practical reasons to support us. But there are always some who could be persuaded to share information with the French for the right price. Why do you ask?”
Richard’s fingers tapped once against his thigh before he stilled them. “I have been developing local sources of information. I want to ensure that I am not inadvertently compromising security.”
“Wise approach. In a place like Gibraltar, everyone has divided loyalties to some degree. Trust carefully. Verify everything. Have an exit strategy planned.”
Richard left the garrison headquarters with a stride that was longer and more purposeful than usual. His mind was racing, filled with contingencies and preparations. Underneath the calculations, the helpfulness of Mrs. Bell and the treachery of George Wickham colored his thoughts. One was welcome. The latter made him wish he carried his sword.
Darcy foundLieutenant King in his usual spot beneath the olive tree. “Lieutenant, if you have the time, I was hoping to commission some additional drawings from you.”
The young man’s posture straightened with pride. He gladly accepted Darcy’s journal. “Of course, sir! What did you have in mind?”
Darcy settled himself on a nearby stone bench, his movements precise, though he betrayed a slight nervousness in the way he adjusted his coat. “I was wondering if you might be able to create some drawings from memory.Specifically, a portrait of Miss Elizabeth Bennet…as a surprise for my sister, you understand. I believe that once the two meet, they will become fond of each other. I thought a gift might please her.” The explanation came out in a rush.
“Certainly, sir. Miss Bennet has distinctive features. Those expressive eyes…the way she holds her head when she is thinking. Yes, I believe I could capture her likeness accurately.” The lieutenant reached for his pencils. Then he studied Darcy’s face with an artist’s perceptive gaze. “Would you prefer a formal portrait, or a drawing more characteristic of her personality?”
“The latter, I think. Miss Bennet is not one for formality.”
He attempted to appear casual but kept leaning forward to watch as the artist began sketching. Elizabeth’s features took shape on the page. First, the curve of her cheek. Then the arch of her eyebrow. The distinctive tilt of her chin when she was amused. His fingers gripped the edge of the stone bench until his knuckles showed white.
“She is lovely.” Lieutenant King’s pencil moved in rapidly across the page. “There is such life in her, such warmth. Your sister will be fortunate to have her as a friend.”
“Yes, she will be pleased.”
“If I may say so, sir?and please forgive me if I am speaking out of turn?but you seem genuinely fond of Miss Bennet yourself. Or am I wrong?”
He looked away quickly, but not before the officer noticed. “I hold her in the highest regard, yes.”
“Ah.” With a small grin, Lieutenant King continuedsketching. “Then would you like me to create another drawing? One of you and Miss Bennet together? I could work from my memory of your interactions yesterday?capturing that moment when she took your arm in the courtyard. From my observation, it seemed as though the gesture had some special significance, if you do not mind my saying so.”
Darcy’s head snapped up. “Could you do such a thing?”
“I believe so, sir. Because I study my subjects so closely, I cannot help but recognize the emotions behind different body positions and gestures?the way people stand near each other, how they incline toward one another. These things tell stories.” The lieutenant grew more confident as he spoke of his craft. “I noticed how Miss Bennet regarded you. The relief that came over you when she chose to trust you. It would be my pleasure to capture that moment.”
Darcy stood abruptly, paced a few steps, and then sat back down. “Then please do proceed. Though you might focus more on Miss Bennet than on myself.”
The artist was happy to comply, his manner conveying complete understanding of the request. He worked steadily, occasionally asking Darcy to describe particular details from his perspective.
The process transported Darcy’s mind back to that extraordinary second in time. His hand rose unconsciously to his arm, where Elizabeth had touched him. If the lieutenant were to draw him now, his expression would be reverent.
“There,” the young man said, holding up the book with obvious pride. “What do you think?”
Darcy’s breath left him in a rush. Unable to form a sentence, he reached toward the drawing but stopped short of touching it, as if afraid he might damage something precious. “It is perfect,” he whispered. “I thank you.”
“My pleasure, sir. I hope you will not mind, but may I offer a bit of advice?”
Darcy raised an eyebrow, though his gaze remained fixed on the drawing.
“Do not wait too long to tell her how you feel, sir. Any man would be proud to claim such a lovely woman as his own. Some moments, once lost, never come again.”
