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“Indeed.” The colonel laughed. Elizabeth did not join him since she had not made a joke. She stood, intending to depart.
The colonel held up a hand, and she sank into her chair again. “I had another matter to discuss with you. How well-acquainted are you with Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth’s stomach plummeted. Did he suspect some sort of inappropriate attachment? Although she made great effort not to display any particular interest in the master of Pemberley, no one could deny that he was pursuing her. Had the colonel noticed her unease in the man’s presence? Would she be forced to reveal the proposal at Hunsford? She did not believe she was equal to describing such a mortifying scene.
“N-Not terribly well,” she stammered. “We conversed a few times in Hertfordshire, and I encountered him again at his aunt’s estate in Kent.”
“It is rather convenient that he appeared at the same time as Mr. Wickham—without a plausible reason for the journey.”
Elizabeth wanted to laugh, although she did not know whether from relief or exasperation. “You think Mr. Darcy could be conspiring with Mr. Wickham?”
“Wickham claims to know the man since childhood. It would be easy for him to draw Darcy into his plots—or vice versa. Darcy certainly has the fortune to fund such an endeavor.”
Elizabeth stifled a smile and tried to respond rationally. “I thought you were seeking a co-conspirator who was privy to sensitive military information. Mr. Darcy would hardly be that.”
The colonel dismissed her objection with a negligent wave of his hand that Elizabeth found infuriating. “Perhaps there is yet a third person,” he said. “Or perhaps Wickham himself has somehow been gaining access to my private papers.”
How could she convey the absurdity of his supposition about Mr. Darcy without revealing the truth? “Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy dislike each other,” she insisted. “They never exchanged words in Meryton—only sneers.”
“Perhaps. Or their mutual antipathy could be an elaborate ruse. I find it curious that the man was so eager to call upon my home; perhaps he was seeking information.”
Oh, this is frustrating! I know why Mr. Darcy arrived so suddenly in Brighton. He is concerned for me; he does not want me keeping company with Mr. Wickham. However, she could not convince the colonel of this truth without sharing their entire history. Elizabeth had not even informed her father of Mr. Darcy’s proposal; she could hardly tell the colonel first.
Her fingernails bit into her palms. “Mr. Darcy would never betray his country!” she insisted. “He would find the very idea repugnant.” Even as the words emerged from her mouth, Elizabeth wondered at herself. Why do I care so deeply for Mr. Darcy’s reputation? Surely the colonel’s opinion will have little effect on the man’s life, but she could not shake her anger at the injustice of the accusation. She could only point to the most obvious conclusion. “He visited your home because he wishes to court me.”
The colonel regarded her steadily for a moment and then sank back into his chair. “Does he? I find that curious as well. You are without fortune or name of consequence. You are pretty enough, I grant you, but why would he take the time for a courtship? The master of Pemberley would not marry a country miss.”
By now the blood was boiling in Elizabeth’s veins, and she was compelled to cover her mouth with a hand lest she blurt out the truth: that Mr. Darcy had made her an offer previously.
She managed to bite her tongue, but the colonel’s character was sinking rapidly in her estimation.
Oblivious to the reactions of the woman before him, the colonel continued. “He may simply be dallying with you. Wealthy men are often prone to licentious behavior.” He dismissed the potential damage to Elizabeth’s heart with a shrug. “Just guard your tongue in his presence; he might repeat your words to Wickham. And be sure to report anything suspicious he says.”
Elizabeth restrained an urge to roll her eyes. “I will take all due precautions,” she promised, with no intention of spying on Mr. Darcy or any expectations he would do anything to warrant particular scrutiny.
She blew out a breath, trying to quell her irritation. Mr. Darcy was an honorable man, proud of his family name, and should not be subject to such unfounded suspicions.
“Very good.” The colonel nodded once and bent his head to the papers on his desk. D
ismissed, Elizabeth stood and stalked from the room with quick jerky movements, stifling an impulse to slam the door.
I must simply get the necessary information from Mr. Wickham, and then this sorry business will be through and done. Elizabeth could not wait.
Chapter Eight
Darcy had been lurking outside Colonel Forster’s house for at least an hour. He had varied his locations: a shadowy archway, the corner of the street, the alley opposite the home’s door. He was not precisely hiding, just doing his best to be inconspicuous. Still, he worried that one of the colonel’s more observant neighbors would suspect him of being a rather well-dressed footpad.
He shifted his weight to the other foot and leaned against the alley’s brick wall. He needed to speak with Elizabeth alone, which would not happen if he knocked on the door of the colonel’s house. Elizabeth loved to walk; surely she would venture out at some point.
At that moment the door opened, and Elizabeth emerged. Darcy held his breath, but luck was with him: she was alone. She set a brisk pace leading directly into the heart of Brighton. Perhaps she needed to do a little shopping. Well, that suited Darcy’s plans as well.
He followed at a distance as she passed into the most fashionable part of the town, walking past the prince regent’s Royal Pavilion. Rumors said the prince was in Brighton, but being naturally indolent, the man was unlikely to venture out into the town, which was just as well.
Now they were far enough from the colonel’s house that she would not suspect him of following her. All this deception made his stomach ache, but he was compelled to follow the dictates of propriety—which definitely frowned upon the following of young women.
“Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet!” he called, hurrying up behind her just as she reached the edge of the Steyne. Originally a grassy area where local fishermen dried their nets, the Steyne was now more like a public park. The streets around it were touted as some of the most fashionable addresses in Brighton. Mrs. Fitzherbert, the prince regent’s paramour, was known to keep a house overlooking the Steyne.
Today the green hosted some kind of market. Stalls of fruits, vegetables, and bread dotted the lawn, and the streets were crowded with people examining the wares.
