Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Abigail Reynolds

  As Elizabeth thanked her, Georgiana looked up. “Mr. Simmons has been explaining how life has changed here since the arrival of the French.”

  The old man puffed on his pipe. “Aye, and I have been telling her that she would do better to sleep in our barn tonight and leave at first light. Them French bastards may still be watching the roads now, but they’re slugabeds, the lot of them.”

  Elizabeth had been worrying about this very thing. Stopping at a nearby inn for the night would be risky. “I thank you for your offer and gratefully accept it.”

  ***

  Georgiana surveyed the hayloft. “This will be a new experience.”

  Elizabeth spread the blankets Mrs. Simmons had given them in an area where the hay was thick and even. “It is better than staying at an inn where we might have encountered some of those soldiers.” At least Georgiana was not complaining about their humble lodgings as Elizabeth had feared she might.

  “I am glad to stay here. I need to learn how the common people live.”

  “Is that why you were asking so many questions?”

  “Of course!”

  Perhaps she had underestimated the girl. “You certainly made the old man happy by providing such an attentive audience. I am glad to see you in such good spirits.” Even if it puzzled her.

  The girl plopped down on her blanket. “I am. I cannot explain it, but I have spent all these years terrified that something would happen to William and that I would be found by the French. Now it has happened, and it is almost a relief. If only I knew William was safe...”

  The same events had left Elizabeth feeling at least a decade older and exhausted. “We were very fortunate today.”

  “We were.” Suddenly Georgiana’s expression turned sober. “But what should we do now? The plan did not include what I should do if I could not find Mr. Tennant.”

  Elizabeth's heart sank. “You have no other names?”

  Georgiana shook her head. “No one. I have an address I can write to for help, but it is in Jamaica, so it would take months to get a response. There is Lady Matlock, but it would be dangerous to try to reach her. She is watched by the French.”

  Elizabeth wrapped herself in her blanket. “The first thing to do is to find out what happened to your brother. If he has been released, we may be able to find a way to contact him, but I see no safe way for us to discover that on our own without potentially revealing our location.”

  “What can we do?” Georgiana’s breaths were coming rapidly again.

  Apparently Elizabeth's habit of thinking out loud was making the girl more nervous again. Doing her best to radiate certainty, she said, “Our best course is to go to London and take lodgings. My uncle there is very trustworthy, and he can go to Meryton to discover if there is any news of your brother. We have enough money to live on while you send a letter to Jamaica and wait to hear back from them. It may not be as luxurious accommodations as you are accustomed to, but it will do. And if that fails, there is always Scotland.” She hoped she was choosing to ask her uncle’s assistance because it was the wisest thing, not because she wished for the consolation of some member of her family knowing what had become of her.

  “I do not mind simple accommodations,” said Georgiana. “I would like to go to London. When I was there with William, he would take me to museums and sometimes for a walk in the park, but I never met anyone or did ordinary things.” Her voice hitched. “I miss William.”

  Elizabeth missed him, too. More than she cared to admit.

  ***

  The following morning, their hosts fussed over Georgiana to the point that Elizabeth half wondered if she should not just leave the girl there. Mr. Simmons had harnessed the horses while his wife plied their guests with bread and preserves that likely they could ill afford to share. Elizabeth pressed a coin into her hand.

  “There's no need,” protested Mrs. Simmons. “We are happy to help anyone fleeing the Frenchies.”

  “I beg of you to take it,” said Elizabeth. “You have done us a far greater service than you can imagine.”

  Mr. Simmons stepped back inside. “All harnessed up and ready to go, no worse for their run yesterday. Handsome beasts, those.”

  His wife said, “Best of luck to you both. I will be praying for your safety. I only wish I could someday see you in a dress, young lady!”

  “And so you shall.” Georgiana spoke with an assurance Elizabeth had never heard from her before. The girl tugged off one of her rings, placed it in Mrs. Simmons's hand and closed the old woman's fingers over it. “In the meantime, pray keep this ring as a remembrance of the day you saved Princess Charlotte from the enemy. And I promise you, someday I shall return here wearing both a dress and my rightful crown.”

  Mrs. Simmons stepped back unsteadily, pressing her hand against her chest. “You... You are... Her Highness? And I let you sleep in the hayloft!”

  With a poisonous look at her companion, Elizabeth interjected, “We are very grateful for it.”

  Georgiana said warmly, “King Charles had to spend a day in an oak tree when he was fleeing the Roundheads. I am certain your hayloft is far more comfortable than a tree.”

  The old man looked from Georgiana to Elizabeth. “Is this true?”

  There was little point in denying it; the damage had been done. Elizabeth took a deep breath. “It is, but I beg of you to tell no one, not even your closest friends or family. If even a rumor of the princess’s return were to reach the French, it would lead to good men dying, and our chance to reclaim our country may be lost.”

  “No one will hear a word of it from us,” Mrs. Simmons said, tears shining in her eyes. “I'm just that glad to know Your Highness has returned. I could die happy today.”

  The girl took her hands and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “I would rather you lived long enough to see England free once more.”

  Mr. Simmons said gruffly, “Now, off with the both of you before those Frenchies wake up.”

  “Yes, it is time,” said Elizabeth firmly.

  The old couple followed them out to the curricle. As Georgiana stepped up into it and Elizabeth followed her, the old man said, “God save Your Highness.”

  The girl gave him a long, serious look which somehow reminded Elizabeth of Mr. Darcy. “God save England,” she said. Then she shook the reins, and they were off.

  Elizabeth could not trust herself to speak, so instead she stared straight ahead and fumed. Had the girl been planning that little speech, and had she thought even for a second about what it could mean?

  “Are you angry at me?” It was Georgiana's timid voice again.

  “I am furious at you!”

  “Because I told them? But it made them so happy.”

  “Very well, two people are happy. Now think, for just a minute, of what your brother has suffered on your behalf, sending his real sister and father halfway around the world where he might never see them again, and dedicating his own life to protecting that secret you so freely shared with two people you hardly knew! Think of him in prison, and what will happen if someone puts together the disappearance of Georgiana Darcy and the reappearance of Princess Charlotte.”

  “The two of them will not tell anyone; I am certain of it!”

  “I hope you are correct, for you have wagered your brother's life and quite possibly my own based on your impression of them.”

  “I must reveal myself someday!”

  “Naturally, but this was done without forethought or consultation with anyone else who might have a stake in whether you live or die. Even if I abandoned you today, I cannot go back to my family. I have lost Jane, my parents, my home, and all my friends for your sake. I did it of my own free will, but with the expectation you would be careful not to make my sacrifice meaningless!”

  Georgiana did not reply this time. Now she was the one staring rigidly ahead. Elizabeth's anger was still burning, but it helped calm the fires to see the girl taking in her scolding. Perhaps she might even learn something.

&nbs
p; But it was also amusingly ridiculous. She, Elizabeth Bennet, was sitting beside the heir to the throne, having just delivered a tongue lashing that reduced the girl to blinking back tears! Had she read a scene like this in a novel, she would not have thought it credible. Who would believe it? Mr. Darcy had come to her neighborhood, and from that first moment they met, one event had led to another until here she was.

  Georgiana still wore a stony expression, the reins loose in her hands. Most likely it did not matter, given how well-trained the horses seemed to be, but it was not a good habit. Elizabeth reached over and gently took the reins from her. She might not be nearly as fine a driver is Georgiana was, but she could most likely manage to stop or to turn the horses if needed.

  The girl’s frozen distress tugged at Elizabeth’s sympathy. Had anyone ever spoken to Georgiana in that way before? She could not imagine the controlled Mr. Darcy doing so, and perhaps Georgiana might not have given him a reason to be angry since he hovered over her and allowed her so little contact with other people. But he might have restricted her contact precisely because Georgiana had a tendency to speak first and think later. Her brother's overprotectiveness might have been warranted after all – one more way in which she had misjudged Mr. Darcy.

  Georgiana burst out, “I wish they had taken me to Canada in the first place!”

  It sounded a bit too much like a tantrum for Elizabeth's taste. “It is not too late. We could buy your passage on a ship. I imagine the real Georgiana Darcy would be thrilled to come home,” Elizabeth said coolly.

  “William would likely be happier that way. After all, she really is his sister,” Georgiana said wistfully. “And I ruined his life. He must hate me.” She covered her face with her hands as her shoulders began to heave.

  Elizabeth slid closer and placed her arm around the girl's shoulders, hoping the horses truly were as well-trained as they seemed. “Now that is just silly. I never had the impression he was anything but concerned and caring about you. Why would he hate you?”

  “Because he lost his father and sister because of me, and even his brother no longer speaks to him, again because of me. He never does any of the amusing or sporting things other gentlemen his age do, and that is because of me. He hates that everyone thinks he is a traitor when he only works with the French to protect me. Now he is in prison or maybe even dead because of me, and he might be happier being dead because if I am ever restored to the line of succession, I will ruin the rest of his life!”

  There was no point in telling the girl she was being silly; it might provoke one of her nervous spells. “I think he would be very happy to see you take your rightful place.”

  “No doubt he would, at least until he realized it meant he has no choice but to marry me. He does not think of me that way, and I can think of no man who would hate life in the public eye more than he will. All he wants is to go back to Pemberley, not to have everyone watch his every move.”

  Elizabeth's stomach twisted in a knot. “Why should he have to marry you? Everyone would expect you to marry a foreign prince!”

  The girl shook her head miserably. “That would have been true before the invasion, but now England would not stand for a foreigner as Prince Consort. It would be too much like Bonaparte’s brother marrying my aunt. And then there is the question of propriety. I have been alone with William for years, and he is an unmarried gentleman. Everyone will insist we must marry to preserve my reputation. And he will detest that, especially after everything else he has given up for me.”

  They were approaching the turnpike. Elizabeth needed both hands to stop the horses, so she removed her arm from Georgiana's shoulder. Numbly she drew up the reins and handed a coin to the staring gatekeeper. He opened the gate as if there were nothing unusual about a sobbing young gentleman being driven along the road.

  Elizabeth shook the reins as she had seen Georgiana do, but the horses did not move. Mortified, she elbowed the girl. “I need you to drive,” she said gracelessly.

  “Oh.” Georgiana took the reins and did exactly what Elizabeth had done. Naturally, the horrid horses moved immediately into a trot. It was not fair.

  Mr. Darcy marrying Georgiana. That was not fair either, and it hurt far more, as if a knife had cut her insides wide open. Rising nausea made her wonder for a few minutes if she might actually be ill and how she could possibly explain that. Or if she cared. A future of watching Darcy married to Georgiana, whether he willed it or not, would be her own personal hell. Two hells, one where the French kept control of England, and one where Georgiana assumed her rightful place and Elizabeth would be forced to hear about the queen and her prince consort every day of her life. What irony – she had finally found something that felt even worse than having the French occupy England.

  She could not even argue with Georgiana's analysis. Once it had been pointed out, it was obvious. Darcy was going to have to marry her whether either of them liked it or not. He must know it, too. Why else would an eligible young gentleman avoid flirting? Georgiana was no doubt right in her other conclusion as well. He would be miserable as Prince Consort.

  She hated the thought of Darcy marrying the girl beside her, hated it with a passion beyond her loathing of the French. His rare playful moments would disappear completely.

  Suddenly she would have given anything to hear him call her proud Titania again.

  She could not bear to talk to Georgiana about this, not now. Even letting herself think of it was risking her composure. Instead she said briskly, “I am of the opinion Mr. Darcy does care about you as he would his own sister. But right now we have another problem on our hands. I think you had best give me a lesson on how to drive this team so I can manage them if I need to.”

  The prospect of something concrete to do seemed to cheer Georgiana. “Of course. I would be happy to.”

  If only Elizabeth could have relieved her own agony as easily!

  ***

  When they stopped later at an inn a short distance outside of London, Elizabeth asked for use of paper and pen. Taking them up to her room, she sat down at the small desk and tried to think of what to say. There was so much she wanted to tell her uncle, and little of it could be safely put in writing.

  It took her almost an hour to compose a letter she was content with. It began without salutation.

  I beg of you to say nothing about this letter to anyone. It is more important than you can possibly imagine. Your missing niece is alive and well but in great need of your assistance. I am at the location the bearer will reveal to you, and I beg of you to come here as soon as you can so I may explain the situation to you more fully. I will remain here three days in the hope of seeing or hearing from you. Again, not a word to anyone, neither friend nor family, about this. I apologize for being mysterious, but you will understand when I can explain it to you. Ask for Miss Gardiner.

  The pen dropped a spot of ink on the end. Elizabeth did her best to blot it up, but the stain remained.

  She hoped she was not making a dreadful mistake.

  Chapter 7

  Three days after Darcy’s arrest, General Desmarais’s aide-de-camp strode into his cell and stopped short. “Mon Dieu! What happened to you?” The friendly lieutenant trailed behind him.

  Darcy hoped his bruises looked as bad as they felt. “Captain Reynard heard I was a fine boxer, so he decided we should have a match – with my hands tied. He enjoys that sort of game.” Darcy could have pulled his hands out of his bonds and defended himself, but had decided a few bruises would be a cheap price for making certain Captain Reynard was removed from command. At least he had not knocked out any teeth.

  The aide-de-camp spat. “Canaille.” He snapped his fingers for the guard. “Fetch your captain at once. Darcy, we will have you out of here immediately, and I apologize for this insult to your person.”

  Lieutenant Bessette untied Darcy's hands without being told.

  “I thank you for coming so quickly, Colonel. I see you have already met Lieutenant Bessette. He has be
en of great assistance to me, treating me with respect while following all regulations for keeping me under guard. I can also say in his favor that one of the young ladies of the town, one who usually has nothing kind to say about any Frenchman, pointed him out to me as an honorable man.”

  The lieutenant’s expression brightened, and he bowed to Darcy. “Monsieur Darcy is most kind.”

  Monsieur Darcy was not feeling in the least bit kind, but he paid his debts. All he wanted now was to get away from this place and find Georgiana and Elizabeth.

  ***

  Two hours later Darcy left Meryton on a borrowed horse lent to him by the embarrassingly grateful Lieutenant Bessette, now Captain Bessette and acting commander of the Meryton garrison. He headed straight for the Longbourn stables.

  Bingley's horse stood placidly in one of the stalls. Darcy put his borrowed mare in the neighboring stall and strode to the end of the stable, remembering at the last minute to use the special knock Elizabeth had shown him.

  A worried looking Bingley opened the door. “Darcy! They released you? But what did they do to you?” He peered at Darcy's face.

  Darcy waved his concern away. “Nothing serious.”

  “I tried to see you, but they would not allow me to visit.”

  “I appreciate the effort. Is Miss Bennet here? I must speak to her.”

  With apparent reluctance, Bingley stepped back to allow him to enter. Jane Bennet, her eyes red-rimmed, curtsied to him. “Miss Bennet, I am sorry to interrupt you at what appears to be a poor moment, but I thought you would wish to know Captain Reynard has been taken to London to answer charges and has been replaced here by one of his lieutenants. You are free to leave these rooms and to go wherever you wish.”

  Miss Bennet pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, but it was Bingley who said, “Is this true? Are you certain?”

  “Quite certain. I provided evidence against him, and he was foolish enough to leave visible proof.” Darcy tapped his bruised cheek.