Darcy and Deception

by Victoria Kincaid

  Darcy and Deception

  A Pride and Prejudice Variation

  Victoria Kincaid

  Copyright © 2018 by Victoria Kincaid

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9997333-6-3

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter One

  “You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

  Those words had haunted Elizabeth’s dreams for a week. All of Mr. Darcy’s words from that ill-fated night circled her mind like birds that refused to land, continuously intruding upon her thoughts. But the declaration of love, in particular, pushed itself into her consciousness again and again, a most unwelcome visitor.

  Many of his other words that day had been painful and had provoked anger. Many she could dismiss as the result of his mistaken pride or his misapprehension of her character. But he had declared his love in an eloquent and heartfelt—and apparently unforgettable—manner. Those words could not easily be brushed aside or ignored.

  The shock of Mr. Darcy’s declaration had not worn off completely. At unrelated moments she would suddenly be struck with a recollection that the master of Pemberley had made her, Elizabeth Bennet, an offer of marriage. Even now as she watched the scenery of Kent stream past her carriage window, she struggled to reassure herself that the event had indeed occurred. It would be easier to comprehend the happening if she could speak with someone on the subject, but she had resolved to tell the story only to Jane. Nobody else would have the requisite discretion and understanding.

  If she told her father, he would be incredulous before considering it to be the occasion for a good many jokes. Her mother would be in despair that Elizabeth had refused the offer. Kitty and Lydia would perforce share the news with the entire population of Hertfordshire—which was also true of her mother, come to think of it. Mary would moralize.

  Only Jane will keep my confidence and will not laugh at my ignorance. Elizabeth willed the carriage to greater speed so that she might see her beloved sister all the sooner. She arranged herself more comfortably against the carriage’s squabs and imagined the solace of Jane’s presence. Her sister might also offer useful counsel.

  Elizabeth could use some advice. Reading Mr. Darcy’s letter had been a most unsettling experience. She had thought Mr. Darcy a villain and Mr. Wickham a victim, but the letter had revealed how wrong she had been. She had believed he disdained Jane’s match with Mr. Bingley because of her dowry when he had believed her sister to be indifferent to the man. Likewise, Elizabeth had assumed he had observed her with disapproval and disdain when he had been viewing her with…longing.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, still dismayed by the depth of her misapprehension. She still struggled to ascertain her own sentiments about the man. When Mr. Darcy had spoken in Hunsford, she had been horrified, but now…she knew that much of her dislike was based upon false information….

  How did she feel about Mr. Darcy? Believing he held disdain for her, she had felt the same for him. But knowing he loved her…could she love him?

  He was handsome, well spoken, and certainly eligible. They enjoyed lively conversations, and their tastes in books and music were surprisingly harmonious. But he was proud and difficult. Was he not?

  If only she could see him with new eyes! More than once Elizabeth wished she could conjure him from the air so she might judge him with improved understanding. Perhaps she could have developed tender feelings for the man under other circumstances.

  Elizabeth shook off this thought and gazed out of the window to distract herself, spying a stream and a patch of wildflowers that had just burst into bloom. How lovely. Yes, she would think upon these sights and ignore any thoughts about Mr. Darcy.

  After all, her misjudgment of the man hardly signified. Their paths were not likely to cross again—at least in the near future. Perhaps in ten or fifteen years they might meet by accident when they were both married to other people.

  Why did that thought make her sad?

  ***

  “You wish me to go to Brighton?” Elizabeth could not believe she had heard her father correctly.

  Her father nodded, regarding her solemnly from behind his desk.

  In the fortnight since returning to Longbourn, her life had resumed its regular rhythms. Lydia and Kitty had greeted her with the news that Mary King had left Meryton, leaving Mr. Wickham once again available. Elizabeth had expressed no interest in the officer but had not confessed her complete change of heart to anyone in the family save Jane. It would be too difficult to explain.

  She had twice been in company with Mr. Wickham, and she had managed to be civil while avoiding a solitary conversation. The news that the regiment would leave Meryton had relieved her greatly, but she greeted with alarm the news that Lydia was to accompany them to Brighton as a particular friend of Mrs. Forster’s.

  Now her father wished her to journey to Brighton as well? Although she enjoyed the seaside, her stomach clenched at this news. Elizabeth had no desire to chaperone Lydia or spend more time with Mr. Wickham.

  When she had been called into her father’s study, she had been surprised to find Colonel Forster occupying a chair. Colonel Forster’s father was known to Mr. Bennet from his days at Oxford, and the two men had struck up a friendship over numerous games of chess during the regiment’s sojourn in Meryton.

  However, that did not explain why he was concerned with Elizabeth’s visit to Brighton. She ventured the only possibility that had occurred to her: “You wish me to act as Lydia’s chaperone?” Elizabeth could hardly decline such a request; her younger sister was dearly in need of guidance.

  Her father leaned forward, clasping his hands before him on the desktop. “Yes, but that is not the main purpose for the request.” He waved to the colonel. “Can you explain, sir?”

  The officer shifted uneasily in his chair, cleared his throat, and then spoke slowly, measuring his words. “We have good reason to believe that George Wickham is an agent of Napoleon’s.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “He is a French spy?” Mr. Darcy’s letter had taught her that Mr. Wickham was not to be trusted, but she had not believed his heart was so black as to betray his country.

  The colonel grimaced at her reaction. “I did not want to believe it at first, but the Home Office has intercepted correspondence that proves his complicity. Fortunately, he does not have the slightest idea we suspect him.”

  Her father interjected. “I had heard Wickham recently paid off large debts that he had incurred in Meryton, far in excess of what he earns as an officer.”

  The colonel nodded. “I, too, was curious about the source of such wealth. When a man from the Home Office approached me on the subject, I understood.”

  Elizabeth could scarcely comprehend the news. “That is treason!”

  “Indeed.” The colonel’s voice was deep and p
onderous. “We may only guess how much information he has shared with Napoleon, but hitherto he has not been in a position to do much damage.”

  Yes, Meryton was hardly a center of vital war activity.

  “However,” the colonel continued, “when we reach Brighton, he will be in position to collect far more sensitive information and quickly relay it to France. Smugglers along the coast traverse the Channel frequently with information—and a not insignificant number of escaped French prisoners. They have a bolt-hole near the town, probably a cave in the nearby cliffs. We would dearly like to know its location and the identities of the smugglers.”

  “Do you believe Mr. Wickham has been spying upon you?” her father asked the colonel.

  The colonel nodded slowly. “Two letters we intercepted made reference to information Wickham should not have been privy to. It is possible that somehow he gained access to my private papers, or he may be working with someone higher in the army’s command structure. In either case, we find ourselves in need of additional knowledge about the man’s activities.”

  This seemed a worthy goal to Elizabeth, but why was the colonel telling her? “Why have you not arrested him?”

  The colonel leaned back in his chair. “Wickham is at a low level in the organization; arresting him would not yield much information. The Home Office is hoping he will lead us to other agents and help us determine how he obtains such sensitive information.”

  Elizabeth still could not see why the colonel was sharing this news with her.

  “Unfortunately,” the colonel sighed, “I will have too many duties in Brighton to stay in Wickham’s company and hope he might reveal some information. He is likely to guard his tongue around his fellow officers.” His brow furrowed with concern; Wickham must be in a position to cause great damage.

  Her father’s eyes focused on Elizabeth. “The colonel approached me about whether Lydia would be willing to observe Wickham in Brighton and report what she learned.”

  Lydia? “Relying upon her would be a disaster!” Elizabeth exclaimed immediately. “She could not keep a secret if her life depended on it.”

  Her father’s mouth curved in an ironic smile. “Just so. I told the colonel Lydia is too young and unreliable for such a weighty task. Yet it is vitally important. I did mention that Wickham had shown an interest in you, and the colonel inquired whether you would be amenable to such an assignment.”

  Good Lord! Such a great responsibility. She hardly knew if she was equal to such a task. Her skin prickled, and perspiration dripped down her back as she sat still under the scrutiny of the two men.

  As if reading her mind, her father said, “I know you would perform such duties admirably.”

  Elizabeth welcomed the praise but wished that she could share her father’s confidence. Everything she knew of espionage she had gleaned from novels, and most likely they did not enjoy a high degree of accuracy.

  The colonel cleared this throat. “I assure you that Wickham will never learn of your involvement, and I would not ask you to undertake anything dangerous or disagreeable. You would merely keep company with him at Brighton’s many balls, dinners, and card parties and observe him. He might reveal something about the source of his sensitive information, the identity of his co-conspirators, or the location of the spies’ hideout. He is apt to speak more freely around a lady than he would with a fellow officer.”

  Naturally. No man would suspect a woman to concern herself with information about the war. Elizabeth experienced a hot rush of anger on behalf of her sex. Perhaps we cannot be soldiers, but we are not altogether useless.

  “You could stay at my house with your sister and my wife. This would put you in position to relay any information to me,” the colonel said. “It would also give you an opportunity to learn if he is intercepting my post or sneaking into my study when I am away.”

  Elizabeth was flattered by the trust the colonel exhibited in her discretion and judgment. However, it was such a weighty responsibility! The future of England could depend upon her actions. Her mind could scarcely grasp the enormity of the task.

  Her father steepled his fingers. “The colonel and I have discussed this operation at some length. You will never be alone with Mr. Wickham, and you may beg the colonel’s assistance if a difficult situation arises. Of course, you may also return home at any time.” His eyes narrowed. “I would not risk your safety for anything in the world.”

  “I know, Papa.” The comforting words nonetheless sent a chill through her. Her father must believe the threat to England was quite grave or he would not even consider such an undertaking.

  As a woman, Elizabeth had never believed she would have an opportunity to serve her country. She could not deny a thrill at the idea of such an interesting and exciting task.

  “I pray you do not experience a sense of obligation,” the colonel said urgently. “You are but a woman, and a young one at that.” Elizabeth’s spine stiffened, and her hands clenched into fists. “If you are too frightened—”

  Elizabeth interrupted. “I am not frightened.”

  A faint smile flashed across her father’s face.

  “I can be cautious enough to mitigate the danger, and I may be alert for useful information,” she continued. “I am happy to accept your assignment.”

  The colonel leaned back in his chair with a relieved smile; obviously her acceptance had been of importance to him.

  “But how should we explain my sudden desire to visit Brighton?”

  “Ah, yes.” Her father’s proud smile fade into an expression of anxiety. “As you guessed, I might send you to Brighton as a sort of chaperone for Lydia—despite your objections, naturally.”

  Elizabeth grimaced. Under other circumstances she would object strenuously.

  “My wife would be happy for the company of another lady,” the colonel said, “and our house in Brighton will have sufficient space for another guest. You should be quite comfortable.”

  Her father watched her steadily. “I am sorry we must share such ill news about Mr. Wickham.” Of course, he did not know that Mr. Darcy’s letter had prepared her for thoughts of the officer’s perfidy.

  Still, Elizabeth suppressed a shudder at the sound of the man’s name. Could she do it? Knowing his character as she did, could she allow him to court her? Dance with him? Converse freely with him? Perhaps kiss him? Yes, she had once thought him handsome, but knowing the blackness of his soul, could she pretend attraction to him?

  Elizabeth squared her shoulders. She must do so. She must convince him that she cared for him. At any moment the tide of the war might turn against Britain. How could she continue with her life as usual knowing she might prevent such evil?

  No, her duty was clear.

  “Very well, Colonel Forster,” she said. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  Chapter Two

  Darcy beheld the door to the Hursts’ house with great reluctance, staring at the ornate brass knocker as if it were a snake prepared to sink its fangs into his hand. The house itself was inoffensive, a respectable size and well-decorated, but the occupants…well, one occupant in particular.

  Darcy ground his teeth. I must speak with Bingley. I have no choice. But the reminders did nothing to calm the queasy sensations in his stomach. This is unavoidable. That thought did not help either.

  His conversation with Elizabeth at Hunsford Parsonage had elucidated several facts to Darcy, among them how wrong he had been about Jane Bennet’s feelings for Bingley. Elizabeth’s distress could only be a result of her sister’s deep suffering. It was also true that Bingley had been mired in melancholy since leaving Netherfield. Darcy had a duty to both Miss Bennet and Bingley to reveal what he knew to his friend.

  How would Bingley react to the news? He would be within his rights to challenge Darcy to a duel for meddling in his life. More likely, he would simply toss Darcy out of the house with a command never to darken the door again. Darcy would be unable to argue; he certainly deserved such treatment.


  Nothing matters as long as I repair the damage I have done. If he repeated this frequently enough, he might start to believe it.

  Hopefully he could enjoy a moment alone with Bingley. Miss Bingley and her sister, Mrs. Hurst, were liable to monopolize the conversation, and Darcy could scarcely discuss Jane Bennet in their presence. If only Bingley had his own townhouse in London. Instead, his friend had stayed at Darcy House until Darcy’s departure for Rosings Park, and then he had repaired to the Hursts’ house in Grosvenor Square. Bingley was a forbearing sort, but even his formidable patience must be wearing thin after a month here.

  Enough dawdling. Darcy steeled his spine and banged the knocker sturdily three times.

  By the time the footman had taken his coat and directed Darcy to a drawing room, he was convinced this was the worst idea he had ever conceived. But he was committed now.

  Darcy did not have long to wait before Bingley bounced into the room, giving Darcy’s hand a hearty shake. “Darcy! You are just what I need to liven up a dull day! Caroline and Louisa have gone shopping, and Hurst is off taking a nap somewhere.”

  Thank God.

  Bingley sat and immediately leaned forward eagerly in his chair. “I have not seen you since your return from Kent—what, it must be nearly two weeks now!”

  Darcy fiddled with his watch fob. “Yes, I apologize for not visiting earlier. Quite a bit of business had accumulated during my absence.” Not incorrect, but it certainly did not reveal the whole story. In truth, Darcy had been dreading this conversation and taken a while to work up the courage.

  Bingley waved away the apology. “No matter! No matter! Although you are a welcome sight. London has been rather dull while you were gone.”

  Darcy could only hope that Bingley was still as enthusiastic about their friendship in a half hour. Best to get it over with. He took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.”