Fitzwilliam Darcy, Traitor

by Jennifer Joy

  Mr. Darcy grimaced.

  Elizabeth perked up in her chair. “Did you receive word from an officer Jolly?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded, leaning back in his chair. “A fine young chap. He will work his way up in the ranks quicker than most.” Tugging on his whiskers, the colonel asked Mr. Darcy, “Is there anything else I should know about your recent adventures before I read about it in the papers on the morrow?”

  Elizabeth cringed. “The horses we ‘stole’ were Lord Chadwell’s.”

  Mr. Darcy corrected, “My horse and Bingley’s horse.” Under his breath, he added, “Only, Lord Chadwell does not know that.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. “You do not know how to do anything by halves, do you, Darcy? While I have always admired that trait in you, I wish you might have shown a little restraint in this case.”

  Darcy did not crack a smile as he said, “Too much impropriety for your taste, is it, Richard?”

  The colonel pinched his chin, grinning devilishly. “Come to think of it, I could turn you in myself and make my fortune.”

  Mr. Darcy replied, “Your mother would never allow it.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam visibly shivered. “There is no one I fear more than Mother when she is in a rage. She is a fearsome thing to behold.” Looking at Elizabeth, he added, “Forgive my presumptuousness, Miss Elizabeth, but I think you and my mother will get along swimmingly.”

  Elizabeth was in awe at the camaraderie between the two gentlemen. They were as comfortable and relaxed in each other’s company as she was with Jane.

  Mr. Darcy’s lightheartedness did not last long. His jaw clenched again and he swallowed hard. Mr. Darcy’s eyebrows knit together as he asked his cousin, “Has no one spoken up for me?”

  The colonel pressed his hand against his heart, saying in an offended tone, “I am not enough for you? Some friend you are.”

  Elizabeth’s heart broke for Mr. Darcy. She applauded the colonel’s attempt at humor to cover a less than favorable truth, but it did not make the harsh reality any less bitter. Nobody had been willing to testify to Mr. Darcy’s character. Not one person besides his own cousin, who could not be seen with him without risking his own life and those of his family — and Mr. Darcy would never ask him to do that.

  All Mr. Darcy had was her. Granted, Elizabeth stood to benefit from helping him as it would also free her from all accusation. But for Mr. Darcy’s sake, she would not disappoint him.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “My mother and father will soon arrive at Matlock House with Georgiana.”

  “No, they must not come!” Mr. Darcy exclaimed. “They must stay away from me until I am able to clear my name.”

  The colonel leveled his gaze at his cousin. “It is hardly your choice, Darcy. They will come because you are family, and they love you.”

  “I wish they would not,” Mr. Darcy grumbled.

  Elizabeth understood. She would not want her family near danger … no matter how badly she wanted them near her.

  “We will work together to defend you as best as we can. You too, Miss Elizabeth. You can count on us. Besides,” the colonel added with a grin at his cousin, “with your whiskers and that impressive black eye you are sporting, you will avoid discovery. Stay away from people who know you and keep your head down for a couple of days. I will see what I can do.”

  Mr. Darcy stared down at his boots. His voice trembled. “You are a good man, Richard. I cannot…” He rubbed his hand through his hair, his chin bunched up. “Georgie,” Mr. Darcy gasped, rubbing his hands over his face, heedless of the bruises and cuts covering his features. Sitting up taller, he said with a strained voice, “Should anything happen to me, will you…?”

  “I will. You know I will,” the colonel said firmly.

  “Thank you. I needed to hear it.” Mr. Darcy breathed deeply.

  Elizabeth breathed deeply too, hoping that perhaps she might partake of the valor Mr. Darcy had.

  She needed to be brave not only for herself and Mr. Darcy, but for Mr. Bingley and Jane as well.

  Elizabeth’s chest tightened, and worry strained her voice. “We left Mr. Bingley and my sister behind in the village. After our escape, I fear they might be accused because of their association with us.”

  The colonel said, “I will do my best to help them. I give you my word, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “How will we know what you have found out?” she asked, blinking furiously and willing her tears not to fall.

  “I have just the thing. Leave a message for Mrs. Barry at Matlock House.”

  Mr. Darcy asked, “The cook? She lives still?”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Very much so. If you leave a message for Mrs. Barry that we found the last strawberry tart, she will know what to do.”

  A hint of a smile crossed Mr. Darcy’s lips, and he shook his head. There was a story there, and Elizabeth was curious to hear it, but there was one more matter she wished to discuss with Colonel Fitzwilliam before they departed.

  She asked him, “You said there have been more articles in the paper. What proof do they offer of the accusations brought against Mr. Darcy?”

  He replied, “Nothing that has appeared in print, but I have a friend who is an associate of the inspector hired by Lord Chadwell to work on this case. It was why I was unable to leave immediately when Officer Jolly told me what had happened. I could not very well show up without proof and expect them to free you.”

  “I knew you had a reason,” Mr. Darcy said.

  The colonel looked at Mr. Darcy, his eyes sad. “What they found implicates you, Darcy. The personal effect left at the scene was your pocket watch.”

  “Wickham,” Mr. Darcy said in unison with Elizabeth.

  The colonel added, “They have also printed the wager Marquess Malbrooke made against you in White’s betting book. They claim it is a motive.”

  Mr. Darcy rubbed his hands against his breeches. “We must find Bingley’s housekeeper. We must also search for my footman. Perhaps he has communicated with one of his relatives, in which case the servants at Darcy House will have heard something useful. And … we must find Wickham.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam stood, leaving the room for a few minutes and returning with a pile of clothing in his arms. Handing it to Mr. Darcy, he said, “I cannot convince you to stay out of trouble while I resolve this mess?”

  Mr. Darcy smiled. “I believe Miss Elizabeth made our stand clear on that point.”

  Elizabeth was pleased Mr. Darcy included her when only moments ago he had been seeking a way to rid himself of her company. His reasons were honorable, but they were entirely wrong.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam gave her an elegant Indian silk shawl. She looked at him inquisitively. Why did he have a woman’s shawl in his apartment?

  He smiled roguishly and said, “Best not to ask, but pray do not mention it to my mother.”

  Elizabeth contained her curiosity, grateful for the warmth a forgetful female had left with the colonel.

  Mr. Darcy left the room to change into the clean clothes lent to him, returning in a new wardrobe complete with a long, wool coat and a hat.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam opened the case his batman had left on the floor beside their chairs, pulling out a bottle and putting it in Mr. Darcy’s coat pocket. “This liniment will help your injuries heal and ease your pain. I wish I could do more, but I fear this is all I am able to provide.” The colonel produced a leather coin pouch from the top drawer of his sideboard and placed it in Mr. Darcy’s pocket as well. “Do not worry about repaying me,” he said generously.

  Mr. Darcy pulled the pouch out of his pocket. “This is my coin pouch. How did you find it?” Pouring the coins into his hand, Mr. Darcy pulled out the lining where the initials FD were stitched in white thread.

  The colonel shrugged. “You need better hiding places, man. I only kept it for safekeeping. Are you not glad you have a resourceful cousin to help you in your time of need?”

  Mr. Darcy grunted, and Elizabeth tried
not to laugh aloud. Mr. Darcy’s family was far more interesting than she had supposed.

  Opening the door, the colonel said, “Out with you. Do not forget to mention the strawberry tarts. I will have news for you.”

  Elizabeth stepped over the threshold as a whistle pierced through the courtyard and up the stairs.

  Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes darted about, reaching into his waistband and pulling out a pistol. “That was Wilson. There is trouble.”

  Mr. Darcy squeezed his cousin’s shoulder, saying, “We must not be seen here. Go inside.”

  At that, Mr. Darcy grabbed Elizabeth’s hand, and she had to run to keep up with him.

  There was no other way down but through the one stairwell. Wilson was at the bottom. Without openly acknowledging them, he jutted his chin down the dark side of the street to indicate where the danger lay.

  Mr. Darcy’s grip around Elizabeth’s hand tightened, and he slowed his pace, smiling down at her. He whispered, “We must not draw attention to ourselves. We are merely another couple enjoying an evening stroll. The crowds will give us protection.”

  She smiled back, doing her best not to walk to the rhythm of her heartbeat lest she take off running again.

  They had reached the corner of the street and were about to cross it when a man behind them shouted, “That is him! He is mine!”

  Elizabeth had no difficulty keeping up with Mr. Darcy. Her nerves lent her wings.

  The tavern loomed ahead. If only they could slip into the crowd unseen. How far behind them were their pursuers?

  She glanced over her shoulder … and tripped over her skirts.

  The next thing Elizabeth knew, she was pressed against Mr. Darcy’s chest. He carried her as if she weighed no more than a feather.

  They turned a corner just past the tavern, blessedly dark with shadows.

  Mr. Darcy did not set her down until they stood in the same dark alcove she had seen the lady and the officer disappear into earlier.

  Pulling up the collar of his dark greatcoat, he turned so that his back faced the street and placed his hands on either side of Elizabeth’s head, shielding her with his body completely.

  She had no hope of catching her breath, nor of finding her balance. Not when she felt Mr. Darcy’s breath caress her forehead … then her cheek … then her lips.

  His whiskers brushed against her skin, tickling and sending a tingle from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

  Elizabeth inhaled the scent of him — earth, brandy, and the slightest hint of oak. Slipping her arms around his neck before her knees gave out, she pulled him closer, twining her fingers into his curly hair.

  Time stood still, and had Mr. Darcy not wrapped himself around her, she might have floated into the clouds.

  Elizabeth lost herself in Mr. Darcy’s kiss — bewitched by him, body and soul.

  Chapter 24

  Darcy pulled away from Miss Elizabeth with a jerk. What had come over him?

  “Forgive me,” he panted, leaning against the side of the tavern to catch his breath. How could he have acted on the impulse of the moment? It was the height of impropriety — nay, brutish behavior. He deserved a slap across the face, not her forgiveness.

  Miss Elizabeth whispered, “Forgive you?”

  Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, flogging himself for his lapse in control. He would accept the consequences for offending her. He opened his eyes. Not that it helped. He could not see her in the darkness. But he could feel her. His body tingled at her nearness. “Pray accept my apology for imposing on your…” He paused, the word he was searching for evading his grasp.

  “Lips?” Miss Elizabeth finished for him.

  Was she laughing at him? Or was she using humor to cover over her mutual embarrassment by lessening his? Darcy had observed her do it before. He did not need her pity.

  “Miss Elizabeth, I hold you in the highest regard…” Though his actions said otherwise. Gentlemen did not take advantage of young ladies. He was the worst sort of brute.

  “Then you must allow me to beg for your forgiveness, Mr. Darcy, for I returned your kiss.”

  She had. She had curled her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer and filling his senses until he thought he would burst.

  But Darcy could not allow Miss Elizabeth to accept responsibility for his impropriety when he was the gentleman present. “Miss Elizabeth, it is my duty to uphold the highest standard. Since I met you, I have failed miserably.”

  Her breath tickled his neck. “Perhaps your standards are too high.”

  Darcy groaned. He wanted nothing more than to lean down and kiss her fully on the mouth again, but he must restrain himself. Distraction was dangerous. Darcy’s heart raced, and he turned around to inspect their surroundings. He had forgotten where they were and why they were running. They could have been captured so easily.

  He had made them vulnerable, and Darcy refused to allow it to happen again. Their lives, and the safety of their friends, depended on it. They depended on him.

  He said, “I will never forgive myself if my carelessness causes you harm. Pray, forgive me. It will not happen again.”

  “I know you to be a man of your word, Mr. Darcy. I forgive you on the condition you forgive me for trying your restraint. It was not intentionally done, nor do I wish to torment a respectable gentleman.” She sounded disappointed.

  Well, Darcy was disappointed — with himself. It was no wonder Miss Elizabeth was too.

  “You are not to blame,” he reassured her.

  “If it is not me, then, it is you? It has always been my understanding that the happiness, or lack thereof, in any relationship — be it between family members, friends, or business partners — depends upon both parties. I can no sooner allow you to accept full responsibility than you would allow it of me.”

  “But I am a gentleman. It is my duty to protect you,” he said.

  “And I am to allow you to protect me without lifting a finger to help? Am I so incapable, I am only expected to embroider cushions and trim bonnets while you see to my future?”

  The heat in her tone suggested Darcy proceed with caution.

  He said, “Surely, you cannot object to my protection when I have your best interests at heart. I will not take a false step, nor place your needs beneath my own. I will guard you with my life.”

  “Are you always this punctilious? Must you always be…” Miss Elizabeth huffed and puffed before blurting, “… right?”

  “What is wrong with being right?”

  “When it leaves you with no friends, no allies to sympathize with you in your distress and support you when all the world believes the worst.” She paused. “I apologize, I—”

  “Let us be done with apologies.” Darcy rubbed his chest, the stab of the truth Miss Elizabeth had so plainly expressed piercing him to the core. “I do not want sympathy. I have no need for it.”

  Miss Elizabeth reached up to his cheek, and Darcy’s breath caught in his throat. She said, “You are wrong. You need sympathy more than anyone I have ever met.”

  What did she mean? He was not weak. He stepped away, a rush of cold wind a bitter reminder of how warm her body had been next to his.

  Clearing his throat, he said, “We cannot stay here, and we cannot go anywhere they will think to look for us. With the price on my head, there will be all manner of ruffians chasing after us.”

  He heard the stiffness in her voice. “We cannot go anywhere you are known to frequent, Mr. Darcy. That was why we were nearly captured at your cousin’s apartment. In this, I have an advantage over you as nobody in London society knows me nor the places I might seek shelter for myself and my friend.”

  Darcy scoffed. If Miss Elizabeth still considered him a friend, he could not imagine the abuses she must have suffered in her other friendships. “You are generous,” he said.

  “No, I am merely determined to be happy with the cards we have been dealt. I only hope you do not expect perfection from me as I am destined to fail to reach
the lofty standards to which you miserably adhere.”

  He squinted through the darkness to read her expression. How long had he left her in the room with Richard? It could not have been long enough for them to discuss what Richard insisted on calling his “great flaw.”

  Miss Elizabeth tugged on his coat sleeve. “Come. I know a place where we shall be safe, but we must make haste.”

  “You lead. I will follow,” he said, hoping to placate her should she still be irritated.

  She chuckled softly, and Darcy stepped lighter for it. Miss Elizabeth’s anger was like a burst of flame — hot and scorching for the few seconds it burned before cooling into her usual good humor. How he wished he could forgive and forget so easily.

  “I would wager you have never agreed to follow where you would prefer to lead,” she said.

  There was truth to that, and Darcy wondered how she had developed such an intense insight into his soul. It disturbed him to know she had seen the weaknesses he struggled to cover when he did his blasted best to crush them.

  On the other hand, Darcy felt comfortable with her. He admitted, “Perhaps the reason is that there are few I trust enough to guide me well.”

  “I am honored, but I must warn you that the place we are going may fall short of your expectations.”

  As if they had the option to be choosy. “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “My uncle, the one in trade, has a warehouse near Cheapside.”

  He sensed she expected a reaction from him, and Darcy took great pride in depriving her of one. Instead, he said, “We cannot risk being seen with your relatives. It would put them in danger.”

  “I would not think of it,” Miss Elizabeth said, explaining, “My uncle keeps an apartment above his warehouse for use during his busiest seasons. In my aunt’s last letter, she wrote of how happy she was that it will be another month before he expects a shipment of goods. That was two weeks ago, and so I suspect his apartment will be empty … in which case, we are safe to occupy the room.”