Darcy and Deception

by Victoria Kincaid

  “You have a pistol, too?” Lydia wailed. “Everyone has a pistol except me!”

  “The boat is departed,” Darcy said to Mrs. Forster. “You cannot escape now.”

  “How unfortunate for you,” she sneered. “Since I am condemned to this benighted island, it is imperative that nobody reveal my true identity.” She would kill me and Lydia without any compunction.

  Mrs. Forster gestured for Darcy to raise his hands, and he obliged, silently fuming at himself that he had not previously identified her as the traitor. If the realization had arrived even seconds earlier, he might have captured her.

  She shook her head in a parody of sympathy. “What a waste. Mr. Darcy, such a handsome man. So unfortunate that he was shot by smugglers in Brighton.”

  “There are smugglers?” Lydia gasped, looking about with wide eyes.

  Mrs. Forster smirked at Darcy. “She is so delightfully dull it is almost a shame I must shoot her as well. But there is a chance—well, a remote chance—she might accurately report on today’s events.”

  “Who are you shooting, Mary?” Lydia asked.

  The other woman gestured to Lydia with the pistol. “Go and stand beside him.” As Lydia edged closer to Darcy, he could not help noticing that they were conveniently positioned at the very end of the pier, where their bodies would simply fall into the water. Well, I will not have long to mourn Elizabeth.

  But he did not want this evil woman to triumph. Desperately, Darcy thought about any way he could distract or delay her. “Are you the one who killed Mr. Denny?” he asked.

  A brief expression of regret passed over her face. “When he discovered my ‘activities,’ I offered him the opportunity to join our band and make his fortune, but the fool declined. Wickham was supposed to do the deed, but he grew too squeamish at the last minute.” Darcy found it less than reassuring to know she had murdered one man already.

  Lydia gasped audibly, finally comprehending the gravity of their circumstances. “You can’t shoot me, Mary! I’m your friend. I lent you my bonnet!”

  Ignoring the other woman, Mrs. Forster shook her head, and her expression turned steely. “Enough talk. I should take my leave.” She aimed the pistol right at Darcy’s heart.

  ***

  With Harrison and Wickham rowing rapidly, the boat quickly pulled away from the pier, which was soon lost to sight. As the sound of William’s voice was swallowed by the fog, Elizabeth tried not to imagine the agony he was experiencing. Instead, she focused on implementing her plan, thankful that the two men had their backs to her.

  Fortunately, she had worn a front-lacing dress, so she could untie her own laces and draw the overdress over her head, leaving her in the shift underneath. Keeping her feet tucked under the hem of the skirt, she then unbuckled and removed her half boots. The bonnet was one of her favorites, and she laid it on the bottom of the boat with a pang of regret.

  Now she was ready. She gathered her feet underneath her, preparing to jump before the boat was too far from the pier. Once she was in the water, the two men were unlikely to waste time searching for her, assuming she would drown. Elizabeth just prayed that assumption would be wrong. She had never swum such a long distance.

  Just as she was about to plunge off the side of the boat, Mr. Wickham turned and noticed her. “What the hell? Damnation, woman—!” He reached out—rather unwisely in Elizabeth’s opinion—with an oar in a vain attempt to keep her seated in the prow. At the sound of Wickham’s voice, Harrison whirled around, smacking his oar into the other man’s jaw.

  Elizabeth did not hesitate. She jumped only seconds before the momentum of the blow propelled Wickham into the water. The impact of two bodies falling over the same side of the boat immediately caused it to capsize.

  Get away! Get away! Get away! Elizabeth swam as fast as she could under the water, putting as much distance between herself and the boat as possible.

  She surfaced only when her lungs were screaming for air. Already she was far enough away that the boat was a dim shape in the fog. The silhouette told her it was upside down in the water while two dark figures clung to it, yelling profanities. Elizabeth was relieved that neither man had drowned.

  “I cannot swim! I cannot swim!” Harrison cried out again and again.

  “And you suppose I can?” Wickham shouted.

  The frantic sounds of splashing were followed by Wickham’s voice. “Where is she? Where’s the hellcat? I will shoot her the instant I see her!” In the dim light his head moved back and forth, scanning the water, although he never looked in the right direction.

  “You idiot!” Harrison screamed. “Wet gunpowder won’t work. Help me right the boat!”

  Elizabeth did not wait to hear more. It was sufficient to know that they would not pursue her. She turned toward the faint pinpricks of lantern light that led her to Brighton. It seemed dreadfully far. Farther than she had ever swum before.

  William is waiting for me. Taking a deep breath and saying a prayer, she started to swim.

  ***

  At this range, there was no way Mrs. Forster’s bullet could possibly miss striking Darcy. Her finger curved around the trigger. Watching the tiniest movements of her hand, Darcy prepared himself to jump. If he launched himself at Lydia at just the right moment, he could knock them both off the pier and into the water before the gun fired. At least that was his hope. Once they were in the water, the dim light and fog would prevent Mrs. Forster from finding and shooting them. It was a feeble plan, Darcy knew, but he refused to surrender to despair.

  However, before the woman could pull the trigger, footsteps thundered at the far end of the pier. The fog concealed the identities of the newcomers, but a voice called out of the mist. “Ahoy! Darcy, are you there? Maria thought she glimpsed you. I brought her for a walk on the beach!”

  Darcy cursed his bad fortune. There were many people he would have been pleased to see at that moment, primarily Richard or one of Forster’s soldiers. The prince regent was not high on that list—not on the list at all, in fact. Darcy had already sent the woman he loved to her death. Would he now be responsible for the demise of a royal prince?

  The prince waddled precariously into view, causing every board on the pier to groan under his weight. Mrs. Fitzherbert held his arm, propping him into an upright position, but there was no sign of his guards. Why had the prince left them behind now?

  “I even slipped away from my guards for a bit. Ahoy, Darcy and Miss…Benson!” he called to them, the picture of good cheer.

  “Bennet!” Lydia corrected loudly.

  “Oh yes, Bennet; forgive me!” The prince giggled as if he found his own mistake amusing.

  As the man lumbered toward them, Darcy sought the words that could alert the prince to the danger—without encouraging Mrs. Forster to consider him a target.

  A cleverer man might have noticed the tension in the air—or the gun in Mrs. Forster’s hand—but the prince was oblivious. “What, ho? You have two ladies now!” the prince exclaimed. “You are a sly one, Darcy!”

  Mrs. Forster’s eyes were wide with shock. “Is that…?”

  “No,” Darcy said quickly.

  “La! It’s the prince regent!” Lydia squealed. “Now I’ve seen the prince regent! Maria Lucas will be so jealous.” She took a few steps toward the prince. “Would you please, please invite me to your next ball? I could wear my new green silk gown!”

  The prince frowned at Lydia. “Was Miss Bennet not shorter? Is this a different one?”

  Darcy did not bother to reply; he could not allow his attention to waver from Mrs. Forster’s pistol—which was now aimed at the prince. A nasty smile thinned her lips. “His death would be worth a lot to Napoleon…”

  Darcy’s heart pounded against his ribs; this was precisely the realization he had hoped she would not have. “Mrs. Forster, do not be foolish,” he warned her. “All of England would be out for your blood. You would never escape the country.”

  She had backed into the far corner of the pi
er; from there she could shoot either the prince or Darcy. “But I would be handsomely rewarded in France.” Her eyes narrowed as she trained the pistol on the prince, who was nearly within range.

  “Your Highness,” Darcy yelled, “come no farther! She wants to shoot you!”

  The prince squinted at Lydia. “But she doesn’t have a pistol—” His eyes swung over to Mrs. Forster. “Oh!” He drew himself up to his full height, which was not terribly impressive, and glowered at the woman. “Miss, it is a hanging offense to threaten a member of the royal family with a firearm. Cease at once!”

  Mrs. Forster laughed rather maniacally but made no move to drop the weapon. Hoping to take advantage of her momentary distraction, Darcy edged closer to her location, but she immediately targeted him with the pistol. “Come no closer! I will shoot.”

  Damnation! How could Darcy protect the prince, not to mention Mrs. Fitzherbert and Lydia? Success would require tackling her at precisely the right moment—and there was a high likelihood Darcy would be shot. But there was nothing for it; he would not have the prince regent’s death on his conscience.

  Mrs. Forster was taking aim at the prince—her attention all too focused. Knowing he had only seconds to act, Darcy prepared to leap at her. If only her concentration could be momentarily disrupted—

  Without warning, a sea monster erupted out of the water and onto the opposite corner of the pier. Dripping water and trailing a few pieces of seaweed, it grabbed the edge of the pier and pulled itself onto the weathered boards. Gaping in shock, Mrs. Forster swung the pistol in the monster’s direction. Seizing his opportunity, Darcy launched himself at her, knocking her off her feet and onto the wooden planks. The pistol discharged, but the bullet fired harmlessly into the air.

  Finally grasping the danger, the prince regent fell to the wood of the pier and pulled his mistress on top of him.

  Mrs. Forster struggled to escape, but Darcy kept her pinned to the pier with the weight of his body, trying not to think about how inappropriate the contact was. Unwinding his cravat, he used it to tie Mrs. Forster’s hands behind her back, ignoring her protestations and curses.

  Then he turned to face the sea monster—which resolved itself into the figure of a dark-haired woman wearing a wet shift. She was dripping and panting for breath; a piece of seaweed was draped over one shoulder. He had never seen a more beautiful sight. “Elizabeth!” Darcy crossed the pier in two strides and pulled her into his arms, heedless of his clothing. “Oh, Good Lord! I thought I had lost you forever.”

  Placing his hands on both sides of her head, he drew her in for a deep kiss. She kissed him back with abandon, only to pull away from him a few seconds later. “William, we are in public!”

  “Yes, we are,” he agreed and kissed her again.

  She had miraculously returned to him; he was not about to allow nonsensical rules of propriety prevent him from expressing his gratitude and deep abiding love.

  He did take a minute to examine her, surveying her from head to foot. Her hair fell in wet clumps about her neck and shoulders, and she shivered in the cool night air. She appeared exhausted but unharmed. “Are you well?” he asked with some urgency. “Did they hurt you?”

  She shook wet hair from her face. “I am well, but I must say, Mr. Darcy, that when I suggested a walk on the beach, I did not anticipate obtaining quite so much exercise.”

  He chuckled.

  Urgently, she grasped both his arms and held his eyes. “You are aware that my declarations of devotion to Wickham were false, are you not? I only said them to save Lydia.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “I did not believe for one second that you truly preferred Wickham.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “Good, because my heart belongs to you.” Darcy’s breath caught. “I love you, William.”

  His heart was so full it might burst from his chest. “I love you, too.”

  The subsequent kiss was interrupted by the arrival of the prince regent’s guard. The captain of the guard was pale and frantic after searching the beach for their charge, who seemed to suffer from no guilt or regret. Guards and servants hastily surrounded the prince, and one man took custody of Mrs. Forster. They tried to chivvy the prince back toward the town, but he insisted on lumbering over to speak with Darcy and Elizabeth. “Today you have saved the life of the prince regent!” he thundered grandly.

  Elizabeth made a wet and sloppy curtsey while Darcy bowed. “It was my honor, Your Highness.” He could only be relieved that the prince had not chosen to blame them for placing him in danger in the first place.

  “You shall be rewarded!” the prince said with great solemnity. After a pause to consider, he nodded. “Yes, I will have both of you to dine at the Royal Pavilion! Darcy, write to my secretary to secure the engagement.”

  “I will, Your Highness,” Darcy replied, reminding himself that excessive royal approbation was better than royal condemnation. The prince inclined his head with the air of a man bestowing a great favor and then allowed himself to be escorted back toward the town.

  Despite the warmth of the evening, Elizabeth was shivering in her wet clothing. The shift clung to her curves rather becomingly, but Darcy preferred not to share that view with others. Pulling off his jacket, he placed it around Elizabeth’s shoulders, unconcerned if sea water ruined the fine fabric. The garment hung off Elizabeth’s slender frame, but it covered her to her knees.

  Darcy was particularly pleased with this precaution when Richard arrived with a group of soldiers a few minutes later. After returning from their fruitless wait at the cave, the two colonels had encountered the prince and his guards. Colonel Forster had accompanied the royal guards to the magistrate, where his wife would be jailed. Discovering his wife’s treachery must have been a cruel shock to the man.

  Elizabeth told Richard the story about her escape from the boat, prompting Darcy to thank providence she had survived. How easily he could have lost her! Richard dispatched a few soldiers to obtain a boat so they might search for Wickham and Harrison. Hopefully the scoundrels had not managed to right their vessel and escape to France.

  For several minutes, the end of the pier was the source of much activity. Richard issued orders as soldiers raced away on various tasks. A shivering Elizabeth answered questions from many different sources while Darcy hovered protectively. And somehow Lydia managed to get in everybody’s way.

  Noticing how Elizabeth was drooping with fatigue, Darcy stacked some empty crates into a makeshift bench and sat huddled beside her, trying to share his body heat while she patiently described the location and direction of Wickham’s boat.

  Finally, one soldier brought a blanket, which Darcy wrapped around Elizabeth. It calmed her shivers, but he was still eager to get her into a house and warmer clothing. She was determined to remain as long as she might be of assistance. Darcy grew more anxious as the lines of fatigue around her mouth deepened.

  Colonel Forster arrived to take command of the situation, shooting Darcy more than one disapproving glare. I suppose I am sitting rather close to her—and my arm is around her shoulders. He did not remember placing it there. Perhaps I earned the glare. But Darcy refused to move away from her.

  Maybe he should have been more concerned about Elizabeth’s reputation, but he was fairly confident they would shortly be betrothed—and she was perfectly capable of objecting to the placement of his hand. She did not object, and even leaned more heavily on his shoulder as fatigue caught up to her.

  Darcy would have been pleased to focus all his attention on Elizabeth and forget Lydia, but the girl refused to be ignored. Despite the noise created by multiple officers shouting and tromping around the pier, Lydia’s wails could be easily discerned. “Did you see that bruise? I believe my arm might be broken! And my nerves are in such a state! I must tell you—”

  After several minutes of such recitations, Elizabeth summoned her sister to her side and gestured for her to sit on a nearby crate. “Did you notice my bruises, Lizzy?” the girl
demanded immediately.

  Elizabeth examined them with far more seriousness than they deserved, but at least Lydia had ceased wailing. “Thank providence you were not more grievously injured,” Elizabeth said finally. “Or worse.”

  “Worse?” Lydia repeated blankly.

  Elizabeth nodded solemnly. “We are blessed to have learned Mr. Wickham’s evil nature now, as painful as the discovery was. It would have been ever so much worse to learn of the flaws in his character if you had eloped with him.”

  Lydia stuck out her chin. “I would never have eloped with him! I did not like him so very much.”

  Elizabeth exchanged an amused glance with Darcy but merely said, “I am happy to hear that.” The following silence was broken only by Lydia’s complaints about the breeze.

  Apparently, the youngest Miss Bennet had been observing the soldiers over several minutes, for she finally said to Darcy, “Your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, looks very well in his regimentals.” Not believing a response was required, Darcy said nothing. “Is he married…or betrothed?”

  This does not bode well for Richard. Briefly, Darcy considered inventing a betrothal for his cousin. “No, he is not.” He felt like a traitor simply by relaying the information.

  Lydia bounced up from her seat. “Perhaps I might be of some assistance to him.”

  Bounding toward Richard, she commenced pestering him with questions, which he answered with a bemused expression. After several minutes of Lydia’s attention, Richard gave Darcy a beseeching look, but Darcy just shrugged; he was not about to leave Elizabeth’s side. If his cousin could not handle a girl of fifteen years, he was not much of a soldier.

  Another shiver wracked Elizabeth’s body, and Darcy pulled the blanket more tightly around her. How soon will she wish to return to Longbourn? Would she want to leave tomorrow? The next day? The thought sobered him; he did not want to be separated from her for any length of time.