Page 25 of Triumph at Pemberley

She tilted her head to one side and smiled, looking all things charming, but she squeezed his arm tightly, as if sending a message. “Private, yes, but it concerns me. Jack, my dear, I know you are trying to protect me by keeping our secret, but I cannot allow you to be threatened merely so I can please my cousin.”

What in God's name was she talking about? And why had she called him by his Christian name, when she never had before? Still, she was clearly intending to help, and he trusted her. She had learned to survive in Napoleon's France, and perhaps her skills would be useful here. Some of the stories she had told him were hair-raising.

He patted her hand. “Whatever you think is best.”

She turned back to Hayward. “Mr. Jack Darcy cannot marry your Miss Fitzclarence or anyone else, because he is already married. To me.”

A chill ran down his spine. Was she attempting to compromise him? He would never have thought it of her. But she could have done that any time - she was staying in his house, after all.

And if it came down to marrying the Duke of Clarence's bastard daughter or Mrs. Hartung, he knew which he preferred. He took a deep breath and said through a suddenly dry mouth, “There you have it, Hayward. My apologies.”

“This is impossible!” Hayward growled. “Who is this person?”

At least now he was on solid ground. “Mrs. Hartung came here from Prussia. She and her late husband were hostages in France for many years. Though I suppose, since our secret is out, I can finally call her Mrs. Darcy.” The lie did not trouble him as much as it ought.

She fluttered her free hand. “Oh, not yet, I pray you! I cannot use that name in public before I hear from my cousin.” She smiled prettily at Hayward. “I do not actually require his permission to remarry, as I did for my first marriage, but it would be far more politic to wait for his blessing. He will give it, but he would lose face if word got out that I had married without his knowledge.”

Hayward frowned. “This is too convenient. If it is true, perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me what church you were married in?”

Mrs. Hartung looked delighted. “Of course! It was l’Église Sainte-Madeleine in Strasbourg.”

Tricky; Hayward would have trouble disproving it. He could hardly check a church register in Napoleon's territory. Mrs. Hartung was terrifyingly good at this.

“A Catholic ceremony? Good. We can likely get that annulled.”

Good Lord, but the man had a nerve! “We will do nothing of the sort, and I will thank you not to insult my wife,” Jack said firmly.

She shook her head sadly. “Oh, I do not think my cousin would like an annulment at all.”

“Madam, I do not care what your cousin thinks!”

Mrs. Hartung drew herself up to her full height, with an aristocratic hauteur he had never seen in her before. “You do not care what His Imperial Majesty Czar Alexander Pavlovich thinks?”

The Czar of Russia? What was she playing at? Her cousin was a Germanic princeling – she had told him about it. If she was related to the czar, why would he have left her to flee from Prussia with hardly a penny to her name? This 'cousin' was likely as real as their purported marriage.

“What?” Hayward sputtered. “Of course I mean no disrespect to the czar. But the king will be very displeased to hear this.”

Jack shrugged. “I am, of course, devastated to disappoint His Majesty, but surely you must see it simply is not possible.” This might yet fall apart, since he had never offered this defense to the king when he had raised the question of marrying Princess Charlotte, back in that inconceivably innocent time centuries ago when he had still thought he was the legitimate son of George Darcy and the King's Bond was historical nonsense.

Even if that was only last month.

Finally Hayward left, having regained enough of his composure to realize he could not afford to anger either the holder of the King’s Bond or the czar’s purported cousin.

As soon as they were alone, Mrs. Hartung darted over to close the door. She released a breath through pursed lips. “I hope I did not misread your desire to be rescued,” she said softly.

He shook his head, with a shyness that was unlike him. “Not at all.”

“I will not hold you to it, you know,” she said all in a rush. “We can find a way out, that the priest was defrocked or the license not valid.”

An odd disappointment shivered his skin. “Your reputation would suffer for that.” Why was he saying that, rather than gratefully accepting her offer to release him?

“I have no reputation here. No one knows me or could think less of me for it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I am just another penniless émigré.”

He raised an eyebrow and teased, “And here I thought you were the czar's cousin.”

Her cheeks flushed an attractive pink. “On his mother’s side, and one of a great many cousins. My grandfather had nine children and dozens of grandchildren. I have met the current czar when my mother took me to Russia to stay with our relatives there. The story about the frogs is true, but I doubt he would even recognize me now. Were I to ask him for money...well, he has little patience for impoverished relatives.”

“I only have a bit of money of my own, but my brother will never let you be penniless.”