Chapter 15
“Do not touch her,” Darcy growled, his command carrying across the courtyard with such menace that several officers stepped back. The words escaped before he could stop them, driven by a possessiveness and protectiveness that overrode every consideration of propriety or social convention.
Wickham’s hand arrested mid-gesture and then dropped to his side.
His smile never wavered. If anything, it grew more satisfied, as if he had intended to provoke Darcy into that exact reaction.
“Darcy.” His greeting was said with surprised pleasure for the benefit of their audience.
“Old friend, your manners are as lacking as ever.” His calculated comment was delivered with enough wounded dignity to make Darcy appear the aggressor.
Elizabeth drew back, each syllable controlled. “While it is reassuring to see that you arrived safely despite the storm, Mr. Darcy, your attitude is most unexpected.”
The formality in her tone was like a knife to Darcy’s heart. But then he noticed her confusion, the questions forming in her intelligent eyes.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, restraining his desire to tear her away from Wickham’s vicinity. “I must speak with you. Privately. It is a matter of utmost importance.”
“I hardly think that is appropriate.” Wickham positioned himself subtly between Darcy and Elizabeth. “Miss Bennet has endured a terrible ordeal at sea. Surely any business you have can wait until she has had time to recover.”
The protective concern was masterfully performed, and Darcy could see its effect on the assembled officers. They were viewing him as an unreasonable brute disturbing a lady’s well-deserved peace.
“Mr. Wickham is correct,” Elizabeth said, though Darcy caught her uncertainty. “I am fatigued from our crossing, and―”
“Elizabeth.” Darcy abandoned all pretense of proper manners. The use of her Christian name visibly shocked her, and he seized her attention with the intensity of a drowning man. “You do not know who this man is or what he is capable of.”
“Really, Darcy.” Wickham laughed, the sound rich with apparent amusement. “Your jealousy is showing, I am afraid. The lady is perfectly capable of judging character for herself.”
The word “jealousy” hung in the air like an accusation. To tip the balance in his favor, he must ignore the uncomfortably public circumstances and bare his feelings.
“Yes,” he said, his gaze never leaving Elizabeth’s face.
“I am jealous. Jealous of every moment you spend in his company, terrified of every word he speaks to you. I know what he is beneath that engaging facade.” In the sudden stillness of the courtyard, every word carried.
“Because you matter to me more than my own life, I would rather die than see you hurt by him.”
The frank and unaffected truth in his declaration had an obvious impact on Elizabeth. For a moment, the noise and bustle of the garrison faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended inside a bubble of perfect understanding.
“How touching.” Wickham’s voice broke their trance-like state, his malice evident despite his continued smile.
“I wonder, Miss Bennet, if you are aware of Darcy’s peculiar habit of seeing threats where none exist?
His suspicious nature has caused a bit of trouble for those unfortunate enough to depend upon his goodwill. ”
The subtle reference to past grievances—grievances Elizabeth was all too familiar with—brought a fragment of doubt, making Darcy desperate.
Whatever else she might think of him, she would not doubt the sincerity of his concern.
“Elizabeth. Miss Bennet,” he said. “I know I have given you little reason to trust my judgment in the past. I know you may question my motives. But I beg of you, for your own safety, for your father’s safety, do not trust this man.
Do not be alone with him. Do not believe a word he tells you about his circumstances or his intentions. ”
There was a long pause. Then she looked between the two men. “I suggest we continue this conversation at a more appropriate time and place. I find myself curious about these allegations.”
Although it was not the immediate trust Darcy hoped for, it was a crack in Wickham’s influence upon her that might be expanded upon.
Judging by the flash of anger that crossed Wickham’s features before he quickly suppressed it, Darcy knew his enemy recognized the danger.
This was a battle where everything would be won or lost.
Because you matter to me more than my own life.
The words echoed in Elizabeth’s mind, carrying a weight and sincerity that could not be feigned.
Mr. Darcy was not a man given to dramatic declarations or false sentiment.
And he had spoken so openly in front of a crowd of strangers.
The ground beneath her feet had tilted, leaving her struggling to find her footing in a suddenly unfamiliar world.
Her understanding of the man she thought she knew was shifting at its foundation.
Her thoughts were interrupted by measured footsteps. Colonel Fitzwilliam was approaching, his manner that of a military man assessing a threat. His usual easy smile was nowhere in evidence. Every line of him hardened as his gaze fixed on Mr. Wickham. Steel where there had been warmth.
The effect of his presence upon Mr. Wickham was striking. The confidence that had marked Mr. Wickham’s demeanor seconds before suddenly wavered like a candle in a strong wind. He took an almost imperceptible step backward and could not mask his fear.
The tableau before Elizabeth revealed a great deal more than words had yet to explain.
Mr. Darcy radiated controlled fury, his stance positioned protectively.
Colonel Fitzwilliam’s purposeful approach reminded her of a wolf scenting prey.
And Mr. Wickham―charming, handsome Mr. Wickham―was visibly unnerved.
Her world tilted back into proper alignment as she read the truth in their faces, their postures, and their unguarded reactions.
Mr. Darcy was a man of honor. He could be trusted.
She stepped forward and wrapped her fingers around his arm.
His response was immediate. The rigid tension in his muscles eased at her touch. His free hand came up to cover hers, where it rested on his sleeve, the gesture both protective and possessive.
Ignoring Mr. Wickham, she addressed the man whose side she had chosen. “Did your ship sustain a great deal of damage in the storm? We were battered and lost part of our mast. It was a near thing.”
“The Meridian will require extensive repairs. Weeks, according to Captain Shanklin.”
“I am grieved to hear it.” She turned to include the colonel in her concern. “It must have been a harrowing experience.”
The simple exchange established new allegiances, drawing clear lines that excluded Mr. Wickham from their circle.
Elizabeth continued, “Would you join my father and me for dinner this evening? We have modest quarters in the village within the garrison. I believe we could accommodate you comfortably. There is much we should discuss.”
“We would be honored.” The formality of Mr. Darcy’s acceptance did not disguise his appreciation for her belief in him.
As they made arrangements to meet later, Elizabeth was acutely aware that Mr. Wickham lingered at the edge of their group. He had recovered somewhat, but he listened to every word with calculated attention.
She felt foolish. Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had warned her.
The quarters Elizabeth shared with her father were simple but comfortable—two small rooms overlooking the garrison’s central courtyard with a sitting area adequate for their party.
He greeted their guests with his usual dry humor, though Elizabeth noticed his sharp eyes taking careful measure to assess how each of them had fared.
He had suffered greatly during the storm.
Even now, his skin was pale, and his arms hung limply at his side, increasing her fear of longstanding effects on his health.
“Well,” he said once they were all seated around the small table.
“This has certainly been an eventful few days. I confess my curiosity about the infamous Mr. Wickham. I witnessed your dramatic reunion with him from my window this afternoon. The gossip arrived at this house even before Lizzy did. Would you share why you are convinced he is so dangerous?”
What followed was a tale that left Elizabeth reeling with shock and self-recrimination.
Mr. Darcy spoke with careful precision, detailing Wickham’s dissolute behavior, his debts, his seduction of servants and tradesmen’s daughters, and, most damning, his attempted elopement with Georgiana Darcy.
The picture that emerged was of a man utterly without honor or conscience, willing to destroy an innocent girl for the sake of her fortune.
“I owe you an apology.” She was sick with shame. “I believed his lies. I thought you were horrid, and I never questioned…”
“You had no reason to trust my word over his,” Mr. Darcy said. “I gave you little cause to think well of my character.”
“But that is precisely the point.” Elizabeth held his gaze with painful self-reproach. “I should have reserved my opinion and sought confirmation of his claims. Instead, I was all too ready to think ill of you and well of him based on nothing more than first impressions and wounded vanity.”
Her father had listened with alarm. “This is all very concerning. The immediate problem is that Mr. Wickham garnered enough information from Viscount Levinson to get him to Rome. Unless we can devise a way to send him on a wild goose chase, he will follow us.”
Mr. Darcy said, “Wickham is lazy, and he does not have the intellect to solve the puzzles himself, so he will not attempt to conduct his own search. I am sure he wants us to unravel the clues and determine the treasure’s location, and then he will steal whatever we discover.”
“He would steal the scrolls?” Elizabeth asked. “How would the lost library be of any benefit to him?”
The colonel scoffed. “I suspect that the treasure he thinks we are looking for includes gold and jewels, antiquities worth their weight in good British sovereigns.” He addressed Elizabeth’s father.
“Sir, you also should know that we are not the only ones pursuing the scrolls. While we were in Porto, I received information confirming Professor Drye’s suspicion that the French have launched their own expedition seeking Alexandria’s lost library. ”
Her father rubbed the whiskers on his chin.
“We must pray that we are several steps ahead of the French team. Since we are now united in our determination to outwit Mr. Wickham and outpace the French, I have a suggestion. The Mary Catherine is expected to be fully repaired by Friday. Captain Morrison has assured me she will be seaworthy for the remainder of our journey. Several quarters carried a large supply of provisions that are currently being offloaded for the garrison. This means at least one room will be unoccupied for the rest of the trip. With the permission of Captain Morrison, would you consider joining us aboard our ship?”
The prospect of weeks in Mr. Darcy’s company―weeks to become better acquainted with the man behind the mask―filled Elizabeth with an anticipation she hardly dared acknowledge.
What in heaven is happening to me?
“Are you certain?” Mr. Darcy asked. “Two additional passengers will strain your own accommodations considerably.”
“Nonsense,” Her father replied with a wave of his hand.
“Lizzy and I are hardly taking up much space. We will all be more at ease knowing exactly where everyone is. Besides, this will allow us to discuss the clues leading us to Rome and beyond without fear of Mr. Wickham or any Frenchman gaining information.”
“If it is satisfactory to Captain Morrison, then we accept,” Mr. Darcy said. “And might I also suggest that we make Mrs. Bell aware of our purpose? She is a discerning woman who knows the lay of the land far better than we do.”
The colonel quickly agreed.
As they made their plans for the next phase of their journey, Elizabeth observed the man seated across from her.
The arrogant, disagreeable gentleman she thought she knew had disappeared.
She was humbled at the realization that she had so thoroughly mistaken his character.
More than that, her new understanding of him was undeniably comforting.