“Élisabeth, tu penses à M. Darcy, n'est-ce pas?”
Yes, she certainlywasthinking about him. Even in French, her thoughts were apparently transparent. “C’est ridicule,” she protested, though her voice lacked conviction. “Nous avons des problèmes plus importants.” They did have bigger problems.
“Peut-être,” Prudence said diplomatically, though her expression held understanding sympathy, “mais le cœur ne comprend pas toujours la logique.”
Elizabeth silently translated.Maybe, but the heart does not always understand logic.Before she could respond to this uncomfortably accurate assessment, the sound of running footsteps made them freeze.
Tommy tapped on the casing and said loud enough to be heard through the door, “The French are comin’. Cap’n sez t’ keep yer voices down.” His message delivered, he ran back up the stairs.
Elizabeth pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear Darcy’s voice among the others. When she caught the familiar cadence of his speech, the relief was so sudden that she had to grip the doorframe to remain upright.
“Il va bien,”she whispered. “He is safe.”
“Pour le moment,” Prudence agreed, shaken but determined. “If they board us…”
“Then we become the Lemieux sisters and pray that our performance is convincing enough,” Elizabeth said in French, straightening her spine despite the fear.
Outside the locked door, theMary Catherinesailed on as the threat approached from the shadows. The stage was set for a confrontation that would determine whether the travelers’ quest would continue to Rome or end in captivity.
24
The French warship materialized from the darkness like a leviathan, her massive hull dwarfing the Mary Catherine as she drew alongside with predatory precision. Darcy counted the open gunports — black mouths gaping in the dawn, each one promising death if their deception failed.
“Sweet Jesus,” Captain Morrison said beside him. “She is a seventy-four gun ship of the line! One broadside from her and we would be matchwood.”
Darcy’s mouth went dry. “How many guns do we carry?”
“Six small cannons, more for show than fighting,” the captain replied. “Against that monster, we might as well throw feathers.”
Richard moved among the crew, his expression set in hard lines. “Captain,” he whispered. “Ready your guns, but keep them concealed. If this goes badly?”
“No,” Darcy interrupted sharply, his voice strained asimages of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell caught in naval crossfire flashed through his mind. “We cannot appear aggressive. Merchants do not challenge warships.”
“But if they attempt to board us with hostile intent?”
“Then we surrender.” The words felt like swallowing broken glass. “We cannot risk initiating a battle we cannot win.”
Richard squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and, with sagging shoulders, nodded reluctantly. Darcy could see the same sick resignation in the colonel that was causing his own stomach to churn.
“Mr. Darcy is right. Better to lose cargo than lives.” Captain Morrison gestured to one of his crew. “Run up the white flag. Make it clear we offer no resistance.”
Every muscle in Darcy’s body screamed against submission, and he fought the urge to demand they fight, not surrender. Richard’s expression mirrored his own.
“They are signaling to heave to,” Morrison reported, his spyglass trembling in his grip. “Damnation! They are getting ready to lower the boats. They mean to board us whether we cooperate or not.”
Ice replaced the blood in Darcy’s veins. In minutes, French officers would be climbing over their rails, searching their hold, questioning their passengers. Discovery of the hidden military supplies would mean immediate execution for the captain and Richard, while the rest would deal with whatever fate awaited enemy civilians in French hands. His breath came in short, sharp bursts.
“They will take what they want, then either cripple us to prevent pursuit or sink us outright to eliminate witnesses,” Morrison warned. “That is the French way.”
Darcy was about to respond but was taken by surprise at unexpected movement beside him.
Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell were approaching the rail, wearing their bonnets as if they were making a social call. Elizabeth adjusted the ribbons. Mr. Bennet, who had not been on deck with the rest of the men, had followed the ladies and now stood behind them.
“Elizabeth,” Darcy said urgently. “You should not be here. If they see you?”
“If they do, they will see exactly what we intend them to see,” she replied, her voice soft but firm. “My father has devised a plan that may save us.”
Darcy’s pulse thundered in his ears as Mr. Bennet leaned in to whisper final instructions to the two ladies, then moved away. Then—to his disbelief—Elizabeth and Mrs. Bell removed their bonnets, letting their hair catch the faint sunlight, and stepped to the bulwark with a purpose he could not fathom. Beside him, Richard gave a horrified gasp.
