One Darcy Too Many (Pride & Prejudice Variations)

Chapter One

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam slumped on a stool before the counter at one of London’s public houses, nursing an ale over a lunch of what the proprietor assured him was steak pie.

The establishment in which he sat was not fine.

Nor was it disreputable. Mostly, the low-ceilinged, heavily beamed room was middling.

As was Richard’s garb and the accent he employed this evening.

For, in service of King and Country, he was not away across the sea fighting in the regulars as everyone believed, but rather carrying out his duty in a more clandestine manner right here in London.

A role he usually enjoyed but which, of late, had begun to wear somewhat.

This particular evening, he awaited an opportunity to stage a ‘chance meeting’ with a warehouse manager who worked for B.B.B.

Shipping & Co. Someone within B.B.B. Shipping & Co.

was not simply smuggling in French goods, something the Crown often ignored, but smuggling out English secrets, which could not be.

Richard was tasked with learning who, and which members of B.B.B. Shipping & Co. were culpable.

As he pushed back his plate, a young man took the stool beside him.

Richard sighed. The man’s middling coat, not flashy or fine but sturdy and well made, the simple knot in his cravat, which implied he had no valet to tie it for him but still wished to appear a gentleman, even his shoes, worn but shined, all echoed the tactics Richard employed to appear quite average.

Shifting to regard his new tablemate, Richard asked, “What does Padgett want?” He kept his voice soft, knowing that the general din of the public house would swallow up his words.

The fellow, over a decade Richard’s junior, blinked in surprise. “How did you know Gen—” He broke off with a grimace. “That is, that Padgett sent me?”

“For one thing, your shoes are too worn.”

“I was told to wear worn-out shoes.” Pique colored the young man’s voice. “Our instructor said new shoes do not fit the role of a moderately successful London merchant, so I bought these off an older fellow with feet about my size.”

“I imagine you did.” Richard tried not to let his amusement show.

He’d been new to this game once too. He also didn’t further embarrass the other man by reminding him to speak more softly.

Richard’s target had yet to arrive for his daily helping of definitely-not-steak, and no one was paying them any heed.

“Which is why those shoes look nearly as old as your, what, twenty years? You must have had quite the nickname, with feet that size when you were barely out of strings.”

The fellow frowned down at his shoes.

“What message do you have for me?” Richard prodded.

“Only that Gener—Er, that is, Padgett wants to see you.”

“Now?” Worry stirred in Richard. Padgett knew he was close to cracking this case. He wouldn’t call Richard in without a good reason.

“He said, ah, yesterday?”

“Is that a question or a statement?”

“It is what he said, sir, and he sounded angry when he said it.”

Nodding, Richard stood. “Seeing as I am already late, I had best be off.” After a moment’s thought, he knocked back the remainder of his ale. For a middling sort of place, they served good drink, and Richard might require the fortification if General Padgett were in one of his moods.

“Do you want me to take over for you, sir?”

Richard stifled his inclination to decline. No one of interest drank or dined around them, and the youth could obviously use some experience. “I want a description of the garb of everyone in this place, right down to their shoes, on my desk by tomorrow morning. Do I make myself clear?”

Wide-eyed, the man nodded.

“And do not call me sir in a place like this,” Richard added, not quite able to hide his annoyance. What were they teaching new recruits these days?

“Yes, ah…that is…” The still-seated youth floundered.

Richard sighed. “A simple yes will suffice.”

“Yes, sir.”

With a shake of his head, Richard scooped his hat off the counter, making certain not to depart with any alacrity.

No one, fortunately, had been near enough to listen in on them, not over the din of the room, but he never knew who might be watching.

He’d long ago learned to mitigate the purposeful stride of an officer.

Outside the pub, he donned his hat and permitted a grin. How long would it take the lad to realize that Richard hadn’t asked for his name and didn’t even have a desk? Richard worked in the field, not in General Padgett’s secret headquarters.

Hat tugged low, Richard strode London’s streets, occasionally whistling.

He made a show of going through the market as if seeking something, all the while checking about him.

No one appeared to follow him. No one showed him any undue interest. Whatever had Padgett worked up enough to send that novice out to find him didn’t appear to have anything to do with Richard’s current assignment.

Nearly an hour later, he entered the firm of Watson, Hastings, and Vane, both a functional establishment and a front for Padgett’s work.

The clerk there looked up, his expression blank, as if he did not recognize either the middling level merchant Richard played or Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, second son to the Earl of Matlock.

“Harold,” Richard greeted. “I have been summoned.”

“Third door on the left, Colonel.”

Richard nodded, familiar. “He is alone?”

“He is.”

Richard drew in a fortifying breath. “Very well, then.” Few were the people in Richard’s life who possessed the authority to dress him down, but Padgett was one of them. Why Richard required such treatment, he had no notion, but the tone of his summons suggested he must.

He went down the hallway on quiet feet, then knocked softly. There was no need for more. Padgett had the hearing of a bat.

“Enter.”

Trying not to feel like an errant schoolboy called into the headmaster’s office, Richard went in.

Padgett looked up from the papers scattered about his large desk. “Fitzwilliam. Sit.”

Richard closed the door and crossed to the upholstered chair. He wasn’t lulled by the chair’s addition to the room. In his years of reporting to Padgett, Richard had never been able to find rhyme nor reason in when he was asked to sit and when he must remain standing.

“It is good to see that you were where you reported you would be, for once,” Padgett added.

Richard paused in the act of sitting, then, with a frown, resumed his descent into the plush chair. “I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I assume you were at the Cross and Beam, as your last report said you would be, or young Edwards would not have been able to locate you.”

“I was.” Richard studied the compact, painfully tidy man across the desk from him. “But why the, ‘for once?’”

Padgett tapped a closed file. “Did it not occur to you that Mrs. Younge would include your doings in her weekly reports? I do not know which disappoints me more, your neglect of your duty or your lack of subtlety in executing that neglect.”

Richard shook his head. “I honestly have no notion of what you speak, sir.” A quick search through his brain and he added, “I believe Mrs. Younge is my cousin Georgiana’s chaperone?”

“She is.” Padgett watched him through narrowed eyes. “She is also one of ours. You are aware that we do not like to leave the members of England’s most elite houses unprotected?”

“I am perfectly aware, but I still have no notion what Mrs. Younge has to do with me improperly executing my duty.” Did the woman have something to do with the French spy ring? But how? “Is Georgiana not in Ramsgate?”

“You know very well that she is.” Padgett tapped his folder again.

“Mrs. Younge has dutifully reported your presence there these past four weeks. One, or even two, trips to Ramsgate would not trouble me. Your mission does not require you to be constantly in London and the man you pretend to be may be expected to travel, but you have featured in nearly every day of Mrs. Younge’s weekly reports on Miss Darcy’s wellbeing. That is unacceptable, Fitzwilliam.”

“I agree, it would be, except that I have not left London in months.”

Padgett stared at him.

Richard stared back.

Padgett’s eyes narrowed further, into dire slits of anger. “Do you expect me to believe that Mrs. Younge, Mr. Darcy, and Miss Darcy have all been fooled by someone pretending to be you? I find that quite impossible to accept.”

Richard did as well. “I have not met Mrs. Younge,” he said, his mind sorting through possibilities. “And I do not believe Darcy has yet gone to Ramsgate. Georgiana is there on her own.” With Mrs. Younge.

Padgett plucked a bell from his desk and rang it. Almost immediately, the door opened to a serious-looking young man. “Bring me the last four weeks of reports on Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“Yes, sir.” The man pulled the door closed.

Padgett turned back to Richard. “That still leaves Miss Darcy. Do you feel someone could portray you in a convincing enough manner to fool your cousin?”

Richard shook his head. “I cannot see how.” He only saw his young cousin, over whom he was a co-guardian with Darcy, perhaps once every six months, but she’d known him for the entirety of her fifteen years. Could Mrs. Younge be lying? But to what end?

Unmoving, Padgett continued to regard Richard across the desk, his stony silence calculated to unnerve. Familiar with the gambit, Richard kept his frame relaxed while his mind pored through possibilities.

Finally, a knock broke the tableau. The man who’d stuck his head into the room reappeared to hand Padgett a file. He didn’t even glance at Richard.

Opening the file, Padgett skimmed, rapidly flipping pages.

Richard tried not to fidget. If Padgett truly thought Richard had been in Ramsgate, because Mrs. Younge was reporting as much, something was exceedingly wrong.

Either someone was convincingly portraying him, or Mrs. Younge was lying.

Richard wasn’t certain which would be worse.

“You are correct.” Padgett snapped the file closed. “Mr. Darcy has not been to Ramsgate yet this summer. As well, a quick analysis of summaries of his correspondence with his sister indicate no mention by Miss Darcy of your presence there.”

Dread settled over Richard. “Mrs. Younge might be lying.” But why would she?

“You know there is a second possibility. Miss Darcy may be lying to Mrs. Younge about the identity of this gentleman with whom she is associating.”

“Yes, she might,” Richard admitted. “Mrs. Younge has never met me, so it would be simple for Georgiana to lie.” And Richard could think of only one man who could both charm his young cousin into doing so, and who was familiar enough with both the Darcys and Fitzwilliams to convincingly play a member of the family.

“I suspect that Mr. George Wickham is in Ramsgate.”

Padgett’s expression went blank, which meant he had not been expecting that. “The son of the late Mr. Darcy’s steward? Why him?”

“I can think of no one else who could entice Georgiana into such bad behavior.”

Padgett shook his head. “I disagree. She is what, fifteen? Any skilled rake could be the culprit. Thirty thousand pounds is a significant enticement. Or the rogue, whoever he is, may have more nefarious intentions. We cannot afford for Mr. Darcy to be subject to blackmail, or any other form of coercion. The Darcy name is too important, and too closely linked to Matlock.”

“I concede that it could be any ne'er-do-well, but it will not be.” Certainty lodged in Richard.

“It is Wickham. Despite your uncharitable view on fifteen-year-olds, Georgiana is too well behaved for it to be anyone else.” Richard pushed up from the chair.

“I will go to Ramsgate and put this right.”

“Sit down.” Padgett ordered and, though he’d spoken quietly, Richard dropped back to the chair.

“You will do no such thing. Mrs. Younge will be informed, and Mr. Darcy will visit his sister. This is unlikely to be a matter of national interest but rather a young woman behaving badly. That is well within Mr. Darcy’s province. He is her brother.”

“You cannot simply order Darcy to Ramsgate.” And Richard could be there much faster. In fact, now that he knew of the matter, he felt the urgent need to ride to Ramsgate immediately to stop Wickham.

“No, I cannot order your cousin anywhere, but we have people in his household.” Padgett shrugged. “A few subtle prods and Mr. Darcy will think going to see his sister to be his notion.”

Richard frowned. He didn’t like the idea. Manipulating outcomes was General Padgett’s job, but that was in the interest of keeping their nation safe. Influencing Richard’s cousin had nothing to do with Britain’s security. “I should go.”

“Are you close to unveiling who is smuggling information to the French?”

“Yes,” Richard admitted. “I have narrowed it down to someone in B.B.B. Shipping & Co.” Though he hoped he would not discover the traitor to be one of the owners, for he knew relations of the two men, as did Darcy.

“Then you will remain at your post.”

“But—”

“There is no ‘but,’ Colonel. That is an order. You are dismissed.”

Richard came to his feet. When Padgett used that tone, nothing would sway him. “Yes, sir.”

The general looked up with sympathetic eyes. “Do not fear. A rider will be dispatched to Ramsgate within the hour, with warning that Mrs. Younge must not trust the man posing as you.”

Richard could hardly reach Ramsgate more quickly than Padgett’s messenger. He only hoped the man wouldn’t be too late. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

With a final nod, Padgett reached for another folder, his attention no longer on Richard.

Richard left the general’s office, but did not immediately depart Watson, Hastings, and Vane.

Instead, he made his way to the office of one of the clerks.

If Darcy did go to Ramsgate, and Richard knew he would because Padgett was not one to be overconfident, he would pass through London.

When he did, even though Darcy believed him to be on the Continent, Richard had a very specific document he wished drawn up for his cousin to sign.

One that would go a long way to easing Richard’s worry for Georgiana.

A document that would, should the worst happen, at least keep Wickham from getting his hands on Georgie’s dowry.