Chapter 9
The transition from a territory to a state brought a change to New Orleans that was more felt in the legalities than in the humidity of the air.
On the thirtieth of April, the bells of the St. Louis Cathedral rang with a persistence that suggested either a great victory or a significant collective relief.
Louisiana was the eighteenth state of the union, a fact that Mr. Bennet greeted with a shrug of his shoulders and a fresh application to his book.
"It is a remarkable thing," he said, turning a page. "To wake up as an inhabitant of an outpost and go to sleep as a citizen of a state. I feel no different, Elizabeth. Do you feel more American than you did at breakfast?"
"I believe the local inhabitants feel the difference in their pockets, father. Governor Claiborne seems satisfied."
"He has every reason to be. He has successfully absorbed a French population into an English-speaking republic without a single guillotine being erected. It is a triumph of patience over temperament."
The celebration lasted deep into the night.
Bonfires were lit along the levee, casting long, flickering shadows against the hulls of the ships.
Thomas and Cécile walked together near the outskirts of the crowd, their newly affirmed status as a couple allowing them a certain license in the company of the Bennets.
"The American flag has more stars now," Thomas said.
"It still lacks the Fleur-de-lis," Cécile replied.
"You are a state now, Cécile. There is no turning back to the crown."
"We shall see."
Mr. Darcy remained at the edge of the festivities, his gaze fixed more on the river than the fireworks.
He had spent the afternoon ensuring that his reports reached the hands he intended, though the contents of those reports were now a matter of private sabotage.
The expedition was becoming a necessity rather than a choice.
The rumor of war with England was no longer a shadow but a thickening cloud, and his position in the city was increasingly precarious.
The month of May arrived with a heavy, wet heat that turned the streets into a swamp of odors.
The excitement of statehood settled into the routine of a tropical summer.
Elizabeth found the pace of life slowing to a crawl.
The letters from England were their only connection to a world that felt more distant with every passing week.
It was during the final week of May that the mail arrived. Two letters were delivered to the house, one addressed to Elizabeth in the distinctive, fluttering hand of her mother, and another for Mr. Darcy, bearing the seal of a firm of London solicitors.
"Your mother has discovered the use of the quill again," Mr. Bennet said, handing Elizabeth her packet. "I fear for your eyesight."
"It is thick enough to be a volume of history."
"Or a catalog of grievances," Mr. Bennet said.
Elizabeth retreated to the small balcony overlooking the garden. The air was still, and the scent of the garden was almost cloying. She broke the seal and read.
Mrs. Bennet's prose was a sea of exclamation and underlined words. She spoke of the weather, the price of lace, and the intolerable state of her nerves. But halfway through the second page, the tone shifted into the sharp, eager tone of gossip.
You will never believe, my dear Lizzy, what has happened in the neighborhood.
A regiment has arrived, and with them a young man of the most agreeable manners.
His name is Mr. Wickham. He is a lieutenant, and every lady in Meryton is in love with him.
But there is a darkness behind his smile, or so says Mr. Collins, who has it from Lady Catherine herself.
It seems this Mr. Wickham was once a favorite of the late Mr. Darcy, the father of your friend in New Orleans.
Can you imagine? The man is a scoundrel of the first order!
He attempted to elope with Mr. Darcy's own sister, a girl of only fifteen, at Ramsgate last summer.
It was only discovered at the last moment through a fortunate intervention.
The poor girl was nearly ruined, and the Darcy family has been in a state of the most wretched secrecy ever since.
Mr. Wickham tells a very different story, of course, claiming he was cheated of a living, but Mr. Collins is adamant.
To think you are living in the same house as a man whose sister was so nearly lost!
I hope you are careful, Lizzy. A man who cannot protect his own sister may not be the best guardian for our interests.
Elizabeth sat very still. The paper rattled slightly in her hand. She thought of Mr. Darcy's reserve, his sudden flashes of anger, and the protective wall he built around his private life. The duty and conscience he had spoken of now had a face.
She looked down into the garden. Mr. Darcy was standing near the fountain, his own letter open in his hand. His face was a mask of controlled tension. He did not look up. He did not know that she now possessed the key to his most guarded secret. She knew the name of his enemy.
The man who stood below her was not a proud aristocrat or a reluctant diplomat. Rather, one who had nearly seen his family name dragged through the dirt by a predator. His silence was not arrogance; it was a shield.
Elizabeth folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket. She would not speak of it. To reveal her knowledge would be to violate a sanctuary he had spent months defending.
Later that evening, the party gathered for dinner. The tension in the room was palpable. Darcy was more silent than usual, his responses to Mr. Bennet's queries being brief and distracted.
"You have received news, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Bennet asked.
"I have," Darcy said.
"Is it of a nature that allows for sharing, or must we remain in the dark?"
"It is a legal matter. My solicitors wish to confirm certain arrangements regarding my estate."
"Legal matters are rarely a cause for such a grim expression," Mr. Bennet said. "Unless the estate is being sold from under you."
"The estate is secure."
Elizabeth watched him. She saw the way his fingers rested on the edge of the table. He was a man contemplating a move in a game where the stakes had suddenly doubled.
"The Governor is anxious to begin the expedition," Thomas said. "He believes the Choctaw are becoming restless near the northern border."
"The Choctaw are not the problem," Cécile said. "It is the men who stir them up."
"And who might those men be?" Mr. Bennet asked.
"Men who seek profit in chaos."
Mr. Darcy looked at Thomas. "The route is mapped?"
"As well as it can be without setting foot on the ground," Thomas said.
"Then we depart soon," Darcy said.
"We?" Elizabeth asked.
"I have decided to lead the expedition myself," Darcy said. "The report I am to provide requires more than second-hand observation. Since the status of this state is now settled, the security of its borders is the primary concern of my mission."
The subtext was clear of his words. He was not going for the report. He was going because New Orleans was no longer safe, or perhaps because staying still was no longer an option. The letter from London must have contained more than legalities. It must have contained a warning.
"Is it wise for you to go?" she asked.
"Wisdom has little to do with it. It is a matter of necessity. And anyway I have enough Scottish blood from the Firth on Forth flowing through my veins to help me survive, if that is what you are implying, Miss Bennet."
"A necessity for the Crown, or for yourself?"
"They are often the same," he said.
Mr. Bennet leaned back. "A trip into the wilderness. I should offer to join you, if only to escape the heat, but I fear my constitution is more suited to the library than the bayou. You will take Thomas, I assume?"
"Thomas and a local guide."
"A guide?"
"The Governor has selected one," Darcy said. "A man with knowledge of the upper river. He arrived in the city three days ago."
Elizabeth thought of the lieutenant in her mother's letter. Could the coincidence be so great? No, the world was large, and Wickham was in England.
"What is the man's name?"
"I have not yet met him," Darcy said. "He is a former officer. The Governor speaks highly of his skills."
The conversation turned to supplies and horses, but Elizabeth remained focused on Darcy.
Here was someone who had decided to walk into a fire to see if it would burn him.
She knew, with a certainty she could not explain, that his decision to lead the expedition was tied to the sister he had almost lost and the honor he was determined to keep.
"And what of us, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth asked, her voice quiet. "Are we to remain here, waiting for news of your success or failure?"
"The city is safe for you," Darcy said.
"Safety is a relative term in Louisiana."
"You have your father," he said.
"And my father has his books. We are not as fragile as you seem to believe."
"I do not think you are fragile, Miss Bennet. I think you are remarkably resilient. It is for that reason I wish you to remain where the risks are known."
"I find known risks to be the most tedious."
Mr. Darcy did not answer. He looked at her, and for a moment, the distance between them seemed to vanish. He was looking at her not as a guest regards a duty, but as a person who understood the burden of a secret.
The dinner ended, and the house settled into the quiet of the night. Elizabeth returned to the balcony. The letter from her mother was still in her pocket, a heavy reminder of the world they had left behind. She thought of the name Wickham. She thought of Georgiana.
The expedition would depart within the week. The preparations were already beginning in the courtyard below. She could hear the sound of crates being moved and the low murmur of men's voices.