Conceit & Concealment: A Pride & Prejudice Variation

by Abigail Reynolds

  By God, it was good to be among friends!

  But when he finally stood in the door of Elizabeth’s tiny cabin, some of his usual reserve returned. Good Lord, the French lieutenant had not been jesting when he warned Darcy about the narrowness of the berth! But as Desmarais had pointed out, a sufficiently motivated man could make do with almost anything, and there was no question his motivation to make Elizabeth his at last was more than sufficient. But could he make it pleasurable for her under these circumstances?

  There was barely room for both of them to stand. They would have to sidle past each other. If he stretched out his arms, most likely he could touch both walls. And when he closed the door behind him, it was also completely dark.

  He cleared his throat. “Are you certain about this? I have taken you by surprise, and you have not had your mother to prepare you for tonight.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “You are very thoughtful, but you need not worry. While I may be quite inexperienced, the last fortnight in Molly’s constant company has taught me a great deal, some of it quite shocking. A few things she told me might even shock you!”

  Darcy’s lips twitched. “I am shocked already.” He touched her chin with his fingertip and traced a line to the sensitive notch at the base of it, allowing his finger to linger there briefly before continuing slowly down to the delightfully immodest neckline of her tavern wench dress.

  “That she would tell me such things, or that I would listen?”

  He hooked his fingertip under the fabric and heard her gasp. “Not on her part. A little, perhaps, on yours, but since I am likely to be the beneficiary of your new knowledge, I am certainly not complaining of it.”

  “Once I would have been shocked, but in gaol I had a great deal of time to reflect on experiences I would never have. Until today I thought the closest I could ever come to sharing your bed would be to learn what might have happened if I did.” Her voice was grave.

  Darcy abandoned his sensual efforts and gripped her arms. “How hard was it for you, in truth?” If only he could see her face!

  Her hair brushed against him as she bent her head and did not speak for the space of several breaths. “Very bad,” she said softly. But then she brought her hands to each side of his face. “But I will not allow it to ruin our wedding night. Tonight is just for us.”

  “For us,” he echoed.

  Her hands moved down to his neck. “You are too formally dressed. How do I untie this cravat?”

  He chuckled. “Allow me to assist you, proud Titania.”

  As he undid the knot, her hands slipped inside his coat.

  Chapter 18

  Since her enforced stay at Carlton House, Georgiana’s old anxiety had returned whenever Darcy was absent. To reduce her worry, he returned to his old custom of reading the newspaper in the sitting room rather than in his study so she could be with him. Not that the newspaper contained much of what might be called news, but occasionally he could glean bits of information from the scraps the French saw fit to allow English newspapers to print. The absence of news from Spain likely indicated the war on the Spanish front was not going well.

  “Kit!” Georgiana leapt to her feet and hurried forward.

  Darcy set the paper aside before rising. Kit stood in the doorway, a serious expression on his face.

  Just as Georgiana appeared ready to embrace Kit, Lady Matlock cleared her throat. The girl checked herself and held out her hands instead.

  Kit took her hands in his, but he seemed reluctant to do so, and he released them quickly.

  The light in Georgiana's eyes seemed to dim. “I am happy to see you are well,” she said formally.

  Lady Matlock said, “Christopher, it is past time you made an appearance. I have some important information to relate to you.”

  Not this again! Darcy shook his brother’s hand. “Kit, I am glad, too, but I must absent myself from any political discussion. Pray do not consider it a slight. The ladies can explain to you why I do not wish to know of your activities.”

  Georgiana bit her lip. “They are holding Elizabeth hostage.”

  Kit turned to his brother, his expression finally showing something. “Oh, I say. She is alive? I am glad of it.”

  “As am I,” Darcy said. “Now, if you will excuse me—”

  Kit held up his hand. “Not yet. There is something you must know. The French are already aware of it.”

  It must be something grave to leave his laughing brother so pale and serious. “What is the matter?”

  Kit opened his mouth, closed it again, dropped his chin and covered his eyes. “I cannot do this,” he muttered, as if to himself.

  Now truly worried, Darcy asked, “Are you in trouble? Do you need help?”

  Kit shook his head and straightened, his face white and showing a determination Darcy had never seen in him before. He took a step towards Georgiana and dropped to one knee as if he were preparing to propose marriage to her. Surely he must know better than that, even if he did have feelings for her.

  Instead of taking her hand, Kit bowed his head. His words were barely audible and half despairing. “Your Majesty.”

  Darcy stiffened. Georgiana, or rather Princess Charlotte, was Her Highness. Only the queen would be Her Majesty.

  Lady Matlock's skirts rustled as she sank into a deep curtsy, the one only used in the presence of the monarch.

  Oh.

  Darcy ought to bow at the very least, but one glance at Georgiana's raised chin, ashen face and tear filled eyes told him she needed a brother more than another subject. He hurried to her side and put his arm around her.

  She pressed her face against his shoulder. Poor girl. More than either of her unreliable parents, she had loved her grandfather the king, the one who had always adored her. Even after all these years, it must be a terrible loss to learn of his death. Damn Kit! Why could he not have broken the news more gently?

  Looking down on his brother's bowed head, the reason was suddenly obvious. Kit had become too close to Georgiana. Now he had to establish a distance between them. It was one thing to flirt with a disguised princess who might never take her rightful place. Doing so with a queen regnant was another story.

  The girl lifted her head, leaving a damp spot on Darcy's lapel. In a high voice that was almost steady, she said, “Do stop that, Kit, and Lady Matlock as well. Within these walls, nothing has changed.”

  Slowly and stiffly Kit got to his feet, his expression bleak. Darcy narrowed his eyes at his brother. If he said, “As Your Majesty wills,” Darcy would make certain he regretted it.

  Instead Darcy took the lead. “Nothing has changed. Until you say otherwise, you are Georgiana Darcy, I am your brother, and you are among your own trusted family.”

  Her shoulders relaxed. Glancing at Kit, she repeated fiercely, “Nothing has changed. Nothing.” She took in a deep breath but retained a tight grip on Darcy's hand. “Nothing. Except that now I have a war to win.”

  Lady Matlock said briskly, “Very true. Perhaps we would be more comfortable if everyone took a seat.”

  But despite what Darcy had said, nothing could be the same again. Some reflexes could not be overridden, so no one moved until Georgiana seated herself.

  ***

  Kit sank onto the nearest sofa. How could she say nothing had changed? She was queen now. His queen. There had always been a gulf between them, even if he had pretended otherwise for a time, but now that gulf was a gaping chasm. He could not forget that, no matter how much it hurt.

  The uncomfortable silence persisted until Charlotte – he could no longer think of her as Georgiana, and he needed to learn to think of her as Her Majesty – jumped to her feet and marched over to him. He attempted to stand, but small hands pushed down on his shoulders. What was he to do? Propriety demanded he rise; obedience insisted he sit. Charlotte's determined expression settled the matter. He sat.

  Leaning towards him, she whispered in his ear, “If you do not stop all this nonsense this very moment, Kit Darcy, I w
ill kiss you in front of all of them, and if you do not kiss me back, I will have you strung up for high treason. Do you understand?”

  The icicle stabbing into his chest seemed to melt. She had not changed. With something that was almost a smile, he met her eyes for the first time, then slid to one side of the sofa and patted the space beside him. She sat down with a little huff.

  “Better?” he asked quietly.

  “Much.”

  Lady Matlock’s cool gaze suggested she had not missed their byplay, nor was she pleased with it.

  “Kit, I wonder how you came to be aware of this news. Do you know any details?”

  Pleasing his aunt was the least of Kit’s worries. “We intercepted a messenger from France. His Majesty apparently fell over the railing of his balcony. He died instantly and did not suffer.” He glanced at the girl beside him. “That was three days ago. We do not know why the French are keeping the matter secret or how long they plan to do so, but that seems to be their intention.”

  Lady Matlock nodded. “I would do the same in their position. They know England is ripe for an uprising. With everyone believing that Princess Charlotte has returned, they would be asking for trouble if they attempted to crown Jérôme Bonaparte now. As long as everyone believes King George is alive, they can keep the peace until they are in a better position to defend themselves.”

  “That is what Frederica thinks,” Kit said. “She hopes we can be ready to take advantage of the moment when the news finally breaks, but it is a question of how quickly we can prepare.”

  “Did not Frederica say it was too soon for an uprising?” asked Lady Matlock sharply.

  “She indeed felt that way,” Kit said carefully. “But certain things have recently changed. I apologize that I am unable to discuss the specifics.”

  Darcy’s brows drew together. “Is Richard still with you?”

  Kit met his brother's eyes. “Yes. In fact he is, er, responsible for locating those specifics I cannot explain. But Frederica has a request for you, William. When the moment comes, we will need to be certain Desmerais cannot reach his troops. Would you be able to locate him and keep him somewhere safe, either in Carlton House or elsewhere?”

  Darcy's expression turned grim. “No. I want nothing to do with this.”

  “The success of the uprising may depend on it,” Kit urged. “Many lives may also depend on keeping Desmarais away. I am not asking you to kill him.”

  “You are correct that lives would depend on it, including a life I value highly. You will have to find someone else.” William’s words held a sharp edge, one that had denoted danger in the past.

  Kit forced himself to plow ahead. “No one else has your freedom of access to Desmarais.” Surely William would see reason.

  A voice beside him spoke, still a little high-pitched. “Do not press him. William, I think it would be best if you left us.”

  William inclined his head. “I thank you.” He picked up the newspaper he had been reading when Kit arrived. At the door, he looked back over his shoulder. “By the way, Kit, Desmarais spoke to me about you.”

  This was not good news. “My apologies. I have tried to keep the family name out of my work.”

  “It does not matter. Desmarais knows you are helping fugitives escape to Scotland, and he overlooks it for my sake. He said you keep a mistress who rarely leaves the house, and his only interest in you is that he believes you take your orders from the mysterious Frederick.”

  The French had known what he was doing all the time? And where he and Frederica had lived? Good God! Kit’s hands clenched into fists, but he could not let his anger show. Better to cover it with amusement. “I cannot wait to tell Freddie she is my mistress,” he drawled. “It is a good thing that we have abandoned the house on Leadenhall Street. Your dear friend would likely be less amused by my current activities.”

  “I only mention it because I thought you would wish to know what information he had. I do wish you well, Kit, even if I cannot help you with Demarais.” Darcy leveled a serious look at him and left the room.

  Kit blew out a long breath. Dammit! Everything depended on that one small piece of the plan. “Frederica will be livid,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

  “Did you know that Georgiana and I spent the better part of a fortnight at Carlton House?” asked Lady Matlock, seemingly idly. “I took note of a great many things, including the number of guards, where they were stationed and when they were changed, when the servants were present, and when the general and his wife liked to be alone together. Perhaps more importantly, I befriended Mme. Desmarais, who has been lonely here in England. It would be quite unremarkable if I were to call on her.”

  Could it work? His aunt could be more subtle than any of them when she chose. But after a moment Kit shook his head. “Those schedules would be very useful, but Frederica would never permit us to put you in danger's way.”

  His aunt raised a delicate eyebrow. “Must you tell her I would be taking Darcy's place?”

  “She would flay me if she discovered it!”

  “Then it is fortunate you are not easily cowed, is it not?”

  Did she not know her own daughter?

  Beside him, Georgiana – no, Charlotte - said, “It is my will that Lady Matlock should take on William’s role, and that Frederica should not be informed of the change. You may tell her so, should the question arise.”

  Kit sighed in defeat. He could pretend nothing had changed, but everything had changed.

  ***

  Even though the day was chilly and the wind brisk, Elizabeth suggested spending part of Darcy’s visit on the quarterdeck. On such a day, the least private part of the ship allowed for the most private conversation since it was difficult to for anyone to overhear them when the wind was snatching away their words.

  “Does Georgiana enjoy my letters?” Elizabeth asked. “Or does she think my little stories foolish? Since she cannot write back, I have no sense of it.”

  “She adores your letters, especially the stories. I hope it is not tedious for you to write such long letters.”

  She rubbed her hands together for warmth. “Not at all. I enjoy writing the little tales of India, and since you sent me that book of travels in India, they are even slightly accurate. I do not know what I would say to her otherwise. How often can I write that I walked the quarterdeck and spoke to the same three ladies as I did yesterday and every day?”

  “I depend on your letters and wish to hear it all, even if every day is the same. But Georgiana does need distraction.”

  “Is something the matter?”

  Darcy grimaced. “Since your arrest, her anger and bitterness at the French are worse. She misses you badly and blames them. I worry about allowing her to speak to anyone but my aunt for fear of what she might say. And then there are other matters weighing on her.”

  “Kit’s absence?”

  “Only in part.” He leaned close and spoke directly in her ear. “Do you recall hearing about the old man she is so fond of, the one who planned to leave his estate to her?”

  An old man. What old man did Georgiana know? And the only thing she was to inherit was England. “Oh! The one who has periods of madness?”

  “The very one. Apparently he died recently, but his family has kept it a secret to protect the inheritance. Kit heard about it somehow and came to tell her.”

  Good God! The king was dead, and no one knew of it? That meant Georgiana was now the queen. A shiver went down Elizabeth’s back. “That must be difficult for her.”

  “Very much so. She feels the loss of him, and her new responsibilities are weighing on her.”

  “And on you, I suspect.”

  He sighed heavily. “Yes. In most ways nothing has changed, but it feels different. And she is more impatient now. She wants something to happen and is frustrated knowing that it may be years before it does.”

  “Poor girl. And you still have not told her we are married?”

  Darcy shook his
head. “She might say something where servants can hear.”

  Elizabeth gazed out over the Thames. “It is strange for me to think that no one there knows about our marriage, since of course everyone in my own little world on this ship is aware of it.”

  “I wish everyone knew. Sometimes it hardly seems real to me. I go about my days as a single gentleman, and I feel as if I dreamed it. It is a relief to come here and not have to pretend.”

  “What of General Desmarais? You need not pretend with him.”

  Darcy shrugged. “I am attending dinners at Carlton House again, but except for Colonel Hulot, who brought you here, none of the other guests know. Desmarais is...well, it is difficult.”

  “How so?”

  Darcy’s voice was low. “He wants everything to be the way it was between us, and I cannot do it. I know perfectly well he did everything in his power to save you and Georgiana and paid a price for it. He would have done more if he could. Yet I still feel as if I cannot forgive him, even though he has done nothing wrong.”

  Elizabeth rubbed his hand. “You can no longer pretend you are not on opposite sides of the war.”

  “Yes, that is it exactly. Desmarais knows it, too. One night when someone referred to me as a supporter of the French, Desmarais laughed and said I was not a supporter at all, but a Loyalist who had the good sense to recognize when his side was defeated.” Darcy fell silent.

  “I hope it will become easier with time. It is hard knowing I owe my life to him, yet being a prisoner.”

  Darcy spoke in her ear once again. “It may be that nothing will come of it, but he has written to Napoleon and asked him to recall Lamarque. He even sent his wife to Paris to plead his case.”

  Shocked, Elizabeth asked, “Because of me?”