“At the recommendation of my wife’s brother, I brought them specifically for trading purposes. Though I confess I had not anticipated such enthusiasm.”
The second officer eagerly reached for another volume. “What are you asking for them?”
Before her father could respond, a third officer appeared, drawn by the commotion. “Are those novels? English novels? My good fellow, name your price. My wife will have my head if I return empty-handed again.”
What had begun as a simple trade rapidly escalated into an auction. More officers gathered around her father, each making increasingly generous offers. Her father’s posture straightened with growing confidence as he realized the extent of their desire.
“Gentlemen, please,” he said. “There are sufficient volumes for everyone, though I fear the price must reflect their apparent value to you.”
“Anything!” the first officer declared. “You must understand, sir. The ladies have been starved for proper entertainment. The usual goods are typically practical items.”
When Tommy came to investigate, her father sent him back to the ship for another crate of books they had stored under their bunk. Within minutes, her father sold his entire supply of Gothic novels for what Elizabeth calculated to be a substantial profit. He grinned with satisfaction as the coins clinked into his purse, and Elizabeth was pleased to imagine the additional space the books’ absence would create in their cramped quarters.
“I say,” one of the officers remarked as he tucked his purchases carefully under his arm. “You would not happen to have any other luxury items? Soaps? Or candles? The ladies would have us pay handsomely for such things.”
Her father’s eyes found Elizabeth across the smallcrowd, and his smile widened. “As it happens, my daughter brought precisely such items.”
Being the focus of so many men at once unsettled Elizabeth. Prudence stepped forward with practiced efficiency. “Miss Bennet has the finest English soaps aboard theMary Catherine,” she announced. “Made with lavender and rose, they are perfect for ladies who miss the comforts of home. She has tea, British cloth, and fine chinaware.”
The group of officers followed them as they made their way to the pier. Tommy and another sailor helped Mr. Darcy and the colonel carry crates from the ship onto the dock. Another enthusiastic round of bargaining ensued, leaving Elizabeth with considerably heavier pockets and even more room under their bunks.
When the officers had dispersed with their prizes, her father grinned with delight. “My dear Lizzy, your uncle’s advice has proven invaluable. This is almost as much as Longbourn receives for our quarterly rent!”
Elizabeth was about to respond when movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Near the wine merchant’s stall, partially concealed behind hanging curtains of preserved meats, stood a familiar figure.
Mr. Wickham.
Her blood turned cold at the realization that he had witnessed everything—their profitable trades and the evidence of their monetary gains. When he noticed her looking in his direction, he melted into the crowd with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to avoiding detection.
“Papa,” she said. “Let us return to our rooms.”
Although Mr. Darcy and the colonel had accompaniedthem to the ship, they were turned away from Mr. Wickham and thus, were unaware of his presence. The two men needed to know without delay.
Once they returnedto their lodgings, Darcy listened to Elizabeth’s account of seeing Wickham hiding, and he considered the implications of Wickham’s interest in their financial dealings. “He was definitely closely observing the transactions?”
“Without question.” Elizabeth’s brow creased with worry. “He would not be so foolish as to plan something that involves the garrison personnel or us, would he?”
Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded. “He would rob you blind without blinking an eye.” He shook his head. “This fits with what Mrs. Bell overheard. If Wickham is collecting information about our activities as well as that of the British military personnel, he may be working with French agents.”
“Or planning to approach them with valuable intelligence,” Darcy added angrily. “Wickham left England with his pockets full of whatever he was able to get from Viscount Levinson. From experience, I am certain that he has already lost most if not all of it from gambling. By now, he must be looking for the means to support his travels, and he has no scruples that would prevent him from betraying his country if it would profit him.”
“Perhaps we should inform the garrison commander about the hostile sentiment among the merchants and the presence of this man,” Mrs. Bell suggested. “It may be relevant to the military situation here.”
“Under these circumstances, we must be even more cautious about our preparations,” Elizabeth said.
Darcy studied her profile as she spoke, noting the determined set of her chin. Lieutenant King’s advice echoed in his mind.Some moments, once lost, never come again. Richard’s counsel pressed at him as well.Show her who you really are when you are not trying to impress anyone.
“Miss Bennet, might I speak with you privately? I would seek your opinion on a personal matter of some importance to me.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. She nodded. “Of course, Mr. Darcy.”
He escorted her to the small courtyard outside their rooms and struggled to find the right words. “What I wish to tell you concerns Wickham…” he began and then stopped himself. “No, that is not entirely true. It concerns Wickham, but more importantly, it concerns us.”
“Us?” Elizabeth’s posture stiffened, but she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
Darcy took a deep breath, abandoning his usual careful reserve. “George Wickham was not always the man you see today. When we were children, he was my closest friend…my only friend other than Richard. He was charming and funny, quick-witted and brave. I admired him tremendously.”
“What changed?”
