Thomas Bennet
Longbourn, Hertfordshire
Mr. Bennet’s confirmation sealed Darcy’s decision.He would propose.They could travel as a married couple, giving him the right to protect her during what could be a perilous journey. Although he would never have planned a wedding trip on a ship surrounded by others, she mightfind it romantic. His imagination conjured the sound of her joyful laugh.
“I accept the challenge.”
Richard’s head swiveled toward him. “You, the most cautious decision-maker in all of England, accept this without taking a year to think about it? Who are you and what have you done with my cousin?”
Before Darcy could reply, the professor stood, his wobbly legs threatening to give out. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, after sending my letter to Mr. Darcy, I received notice of a related mission that will apply specifically to you. His Royal Highness the Duke of York was also one of my students.”
“His Grace? He is the ultimate military authority.”
“Yes, he is, Colonel. I conferred with him, and he sees our quest as a perfect opportunity to gather much-needed military intelligence in several critical areas. You are the officer for the job.”
Richard snapped to attention. “Sir.”
“According to His Royal Highness, the primary concern is French naval activity in the Mediterranean, particularly any threats to British supply lines supporting Wellington’s army. Britain needs to assess the Ottoman Empire’s political situation and potential shifts in alliances. Sultan Mahmud II’s Treaty of Peace, Commerce, and Secret Alliance with Great Britain currently gives our warships exclusive rights in the region, and we must maintain that advantage.”
The professor caught his breath before continuing. “Because of its location, Alexandria is vital to current trade routes. The monarchy has become concerned about a political rival of Sultan Mahmud, Muhammad AliPasha. He is Egypt’s governor and is attempting to expand the Ottoman Empire into more provinces. His ambition makes him either a valuable ally or a dangerous threat.”
“I understand the situation, and I accept the assignment without question, sir.”
“Very good. You are to report to Colonel Sir David Buckworth as soon as you return to London. He will provide information about your cover, the resources available to you at each port, contacts, and reporting procedures. You will also learn the scope of this mission along with specific threats or intelligence gaps the War Office is concerned about.”
Extending his shaking hand, Professor Drye’s fingers gripped first Darcy’s and then the colonel’s with surprising strength. “Gentlemen, we have approximately six months or less before French expeditions resume. Bonaparte should not claim this prize for France.” His voice grew more intense. “The possibility of locating even a small portion of the lost Library of Alexandria will be a boon to every educator and historian for centuries to come. Do not take this assignment lightly. This could change history.”
Richard’s reaction was crisp, tinged with the quiet satisfaction of a soldier given purposeful work.
Darcy saw this as a worthy endeavor befitting a gentleman of his station, preserving invaluable knowledge for humanity, aligned with his sense of responsibility and stewardship. Just as importantly, it would offer him the opportunity to propose to Elizabeth. With a common license, they could wed before sailing into the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea. A worthy endeavor.
Meanwhile,in London
George Wickham was as broke as a man could be.
With two days’ furlough earned from hours of needlessly digging trenches around the militia encampment in Meryton, he used his last coin to secure a place atop the post coach to London.
At the Golden Garter, no one cared that he was covered with dust from the road. The tavern squatted like a festering wound between two warehouses, its walls blackened with soot and grime from the nearby coal wharves. Inside, the air hung thick with tobacco smoke, gin fumes, and the stench of unwashed bodies. Although it was one of London’s most notorious gaming establishments, gambling was not the sole occupation of the horde inside. Information was bought and sold with equal fervor.
For Wickham, this hellish place represented an opportunity. His handsome face and genteel mannerisms, though somewhat tarnished by recent hardships, still allowed him to prey upon the naïve or intoxicated. He might win a few shillings at cards from drunken sailors or charm information from loose-tongued merchants about valuable cargo arriving at the docks. On particularly desperate nights, he was not above relieving inebriated gentlemen of their purses, though he preferred to call it “evening the odds” instead of common theft.
When Wickham spotted a well-dressed but disheveled young man slumped over a gin bottle, muttering bitterly about “father's mad treasure hunt” and “Egypt,” his predatory instincts sharpened. Then the young man muttered Darcy’s name, and Wickham’s interest was complete.
He slid into the seat across from his prey. “You look like a man with troubles, my friend. George Wickham, at your service.” He signaled to the innkeeper for another bottle.
The gentleman looked bleary-eyed. “Troubles? Ha! You cannot know the half of it. Arnold Burton, Viscount Levinson, if you must know, though the title’s worth precious little when your father controls every farthing.”
Surely there is a story here.Wickham poured their drinks. “What brings nobility to such humble surroundings?”
The viscount took a long drink. “Lost almost everything at White’s last night. There is more silk lining in my purse than coins. And now the old man expects me to go traipsing off to Egypt, of all godforsaken places, to chase some secret cache like common treasure hunters.”
Wickham leaned forward with interest. “Egypt? How fascinating. What sort of treasure are we talking about?”
“Some crackpot professor convinced my father that there is a wealth of artifacts to be found. Real treasure, supposedly. But does the old man go himself? No! He plans to send his wastrel son instead, expecting me to play at being an explorer.”
Treasure?Wickham’s favorite word. If only he could find riches enough to be set for life. “And who else has this professor recruited for his expedition? Surely you are not the only one.”
Levinson laughed bitterly. “Oh, he has gathered quite a collection of gentlemen. There is a country squirenamed Bennet from Hertfordshire, and”—he paused dramatically—“the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley himself. Can you imagine? Darcy? Digging about in foreign ruins like a common laborer?”
