Page 49 of Tempted (Heart to Heart Collection #2)
Chapter 49
Matlock
G eorgiana’s smile was the most radiant Darcy had ever seen. She met him in the hall in her travelling attire, still laughing about some silly quip by Lady Matlock and beaming airily at the earl. She made a playful curtsey when he approached and gave him her hand with a theatrical flourish worthy of Drury Lane.
It was a pity it was all fake.
Darcy had toyed briefly with the idea of going directly to London from Matlock, but Georgiana’s plea had eventually won out. “Pemberley,” she had urged him. “I will have my fill of the city while I am in Boston. Let us retire quietly for a time.”
He had been reluctant to grant her request at first, because Elizabeth’s memory was so much more intimately woven into the fabric of Pemberley than anywhere else for him. Georgiana’s next point, however, persuaded him—that society in London had begun to take note of his fetching and enigmatic fiancée, and they would be sure to ask after her. To Pemberley, therefore, they were to go.
“Darcy.” His cousin greeted him in the entryway.
“Reginald.” They clasped hands, exchanged understanding and empathy with a deep look, and said no more.
He swept the rest of his family—what remained of them—with a smile just as forced as Georgiana’s, then turned for the door. This patch of life, the era belonging to her , must now pass into memory. How to open the next chapter, though… how to reach for what lay ahead, when he could not let go of what lay behind—that was a mystery too daunting to consider.
He and Georgiana descended the steps to their waiting carriage, but just as he was handing her up, a company of sweating and blowing horses swept into the drive. His Majesty’s soldiers—all grim-faced and coated with road dust. The officer at their head called for a halt, then pushed his way in front of Darcy’s carriage and ordered his men to surround it.
“See, here!” harrumphed the earl and Darcy together. “What business have you?”
“By order of His Majesty, King Edward VII,” the officer barked, “I am here to arrest Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of the 4th Battalion of the Derbyshires as a traitor to the crown.”
“Arrest him? How can you arrest a dead man?” Reginald barked. “He died months ago in Africa. I assure you, Captain, not even his corpse is here.”
The officer withdrew a paper from his breast pocket with a cynical sneer down his nose at Darcy. “I have it on excellent authority that a man sick nearly to the point of death was brought here from Liverpool on the First of this month, accompanied by His Lordship, the Earl of Matlock, and Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Do I address those men now?”
“You do, and your information is false. The man we brought back was a tenant of mine, too ill to travel alone. And it was on the Twenty-Fourth, a week earlier than you claim.”
The flesh around the captain’s eyes tightened. “We shall see. I have my orders, my lord, and I am afraid I must insist on looking about for myself.”
Darcy caught his cousin’s warning glance. “Georgiana,” he murmured, “go to Lady Matlock.” She nodded and quietly slipped from his side.
“—highly irregular! I will speak to your superiors! I shall call Whitehall immediately.” Reginald was foaming and sputtering, putting on a splendidly imperious manner and generally acting as an affronted nobleman might be expected to when a military contingent arrives on his doorstep.
“I am not asking permission, my lord,” the captain replied coldly. “My orders come from the top.”
“See now, my lord,” Darcy intervened—precisely on cue. “The good captain is only doing his duty. Surely, Your Lordship can permit him to satisfy his curiosity and report the truth back to his superiors.”
Reginald thrust out his jaw and pretended to consider—all while the ladies were withdrawing from the sight and vicinity of the officers. “Indeed, Darcy, you present a sound point. I’ve nothing to hide, but I am damned curious about who makes such a vile report. Indecent, it is, to toy with the sentiments of a grieving family in this way.”
The captain nodded smartly and gestured to his men to dismount. “I am ordered to make a thorough search, my lord.”
Reginald made some haughty scowl, as if the captain and all his posturing were mere trifles delaying his midday tea, and drew out his pocket watch. “The estate is large, captain. I hope your men brought their own rations.”
D arcy and the earl were not precisely under guard, but a young officer was posted at the door of the room where they had withdrawn to partake of a bit of refreshment. Reginald played his part well—casually drawing now and again on an exquisitely aged Havana that probably cost a week’s worth of that soldier’s wages, and bellowing at frequent intervals about his affronted rights as a landowner. Darcy’s role was more insidious, for it was he who, by silent contract, dropped the comments meant to be overheard and reported back to the soldier’s commanding officer.
“This is a sham, I tell you,” he expounded to the earl. “I went to South Africa myself, you know. Nothing to find there but the body. I had the official report!”
“I mean to go to London at once and settle this matter,” puffed the earl. “What sort of uncivilised way is this to treat a loyal subject, an earl, and brother of a war hero?”
“No, I know what this is,” Darcy declared. “You recall that little matter last autumn, I suppose?”
Reginald’s brow wrinkled, and he nodded in pretend understanding as he set the cigar to his lips. “Indeed, I do. Perfectly shocking.”
“I think that troublemaker is still seeking to cause a disturbance and is feeding false reports, simply to antagonise you.”
Reginald scoffed. “Who could do such a thing? Why, these are His Majesty’s troops, not some incompetent bobbies waving their fool batons and blasting away at their tin whistles. These officers would not run about the countryside chasing anonymous leads. No, Darcy, this is a direct insult from the War Office upon the Matlock name!”
“Do not be so hasty in your assumptions,” Darcy urged, with a quelling move of his hand and a calculated glance at the officer by the door. He dropped his voice in what appeared to be an effort at secret conversation. “I would hate for this poor captain to be stripped of his rank, after you have had done with his superiors. Perhaps there is some more logical explanation. You ought to write to your friends in the House of Lords. Lord Wexmere remains in your debt after that last affair—surely, he would be more than happy to oblige by helping to investigate the matter.”
“If you are right…” Reginald released a puff of smoke and flicked his eyes to the door, indicating that the young officer was obviously attending their words. “I say, Darcy, ‘twould be a tremendous scandal. Do you really think this could be that same incendiary, out to cost me a night or two of decent sleep? Such a waste of effort!”
“I think rather he means to put a black eye on the Army. Accusing an earl’s deceased brother of treason, searching an honourable man’s estate by force? Why, think if the papers got word of it! I wonder if the captain knows whence these tips have come, because I can nearly guarantee your old foe’s next move is to leak falsified information to the press, or perhaps to Parliament. What would that do to sympathy for the war effort? That would be a bloody inconvenience for Whitehall and Addington, and perhaps even His Majesty. I say, if you count yourself a loyal subject to the crown, you ought to tell the captain all you know about that ‘source’ so the rot can be cut out and done away with.”
Reginald pursed his lips and glanced at the officer. He had been joined by a second soldier now, and they were exchanging low words. “You may be right, Darcy. You, there! Call for your captain, will you? There’s a good lad. Oh, and as you are standing by the door, I hope you do not mind summoning a footman to send in a bit of brandy for us.”
“T he corporal says you have information leading to the capture of the accused?” The captain had declined the offer of a glass and a smoke and stood at rigid attention several feet from the earl’s desk.
“I have information,” Reginald drawled. “Not that which you seek, for your quest is patently absurd and impossible, but perhaps I have the very information you need .”
The captain’s expression hardly flickered. “I will not take a bribe, Lord Matlock.”
“Good man, good man. Nor would I offer one. My cousin Darcy here brought it to my attention that I may be able to save you some face, Captain. I mean, of course, after your search proves a fruitless embarrassment. We both know the ‘traitor’ you seek lies presently in a shallow grave in some god-forsaken South African prison camp, but you come here claiming to have been led by an informant. Obviously, your source is unreliable.”
A smirk lifted the captain’s lip. “And I am certain you would like nothing better than for me to divulge classified information and reveal the source’s name.”
“If you did, I would have yet another reason to dress down your commanding officer for your disgraceful conduct. However, you came here seeking information, and I may have some. However, perhaps you are right. You must know all the pertinent facts, so how should I be of any assistance? Carry on, then, Captain.” Reginald leaned back in his chair and drew out his cigar cutter and another long, brown cylinder. He raised it to the light, then expertly sliced off the end. He set it between his teeth and was about to flick his striker when he looked up as if startled.
“What? You are still here? Be off with you, Captain, if your business is so critical. I would hate to hear of you being reported for overlooking your duties.”
The captain tightened his arm over his cap. “What information do you claim to have?”
“Oh! Well, if you truly find it of use, I had been receiving odd notes from an unnamed hand with the most outrageous claims. Some of them did make preposterous statements that my brother lived after he was known to have been deceased. A mischief-maker, that is what I had determined, and it nearly broke my poor mother’s heart.”
“You did not report the matter?”
“Report? Why, my good sir, there was nothing to report. What, shall I run like a tattling stripling to the Army every time someone tries to insult my brother’s memory? Your officers would turn me out for a doting lunatic, and rightly so. I did have a fair notion of who the fellow was, but then—” Reginald snapped his fingers— “nothing more. It was like the fellow vanished, or, perhaps, found someone else to tempt with his admittedly savoury falsehoods. I only meant to caution you.”
“And who was this person?” the captain asked, clearly modulating his voice to conceal any interest.
“Now…” Reginald shook his head knowingly. “I cannot possibly cast suspicion on someone unless I know there to be sufficient cause. Why, what if I were mistaken? It would be a more grievous wrong than someone falsely accusing me of harbouring a fugitive.” Reginald took a deep draw from his cigar, then set it gently aside and held up a finger. “But I could do this for you. I would recognise the hand if I saw it again. I suppose you were not such a fool as to bring your evidence with you—”
“I was not privileged to see it myself,” the captain retorted. “If you truly have something of use, my lord, I suggest you produce it at once.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Reginald scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “It was a bit of rubbish, and I had it taken out with the dust bin months ago.”
The captain’s brow lowered. “Months ago?”
“Why, yes. Come to think of it, it has been nearly half a year. I am certain your information was far more recent, was it not?”
The captain gave a condescending snort and shook his head. “My office does not delay in acting upon information. We received this tip only yesterday.”
Reginald nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Well, then, I suppose I am of no use, after all. My cousin and I were about to enjoy a few drinks, however. Care to join us while your men complete their search? No? Then, carry on, and do let me know if you find any deserters skulking about the shades of the estate, will you? Glass, Darcy?”
The captain was nearly rolling his eyes in contempt when he clicked his heels and went out. Darcy and Reginald remained where they were for some minutes, in quiet contemplation of their brandy, until something diverted the soldier outside Reginald’s study.
“Only yesterday?” Darcy murmured under his breath. “Richard has been gone three days now. Their agents are more inept than I imagined.”
“Or they really did get the information yesterday. Which would mean that either we are speaking of two different informants, or the same one with a peculiar sense of timing and curiously divided loyalties.”
“You did not destroy the other notes, did you?”
“Of course not.” Reginald pulled out his desk drawer and took a small key from his pocket to unlock a hidden compartment behind the drawer. He checked them over to see that they were the correspondence he sought, then passed the pages to Darcy.
Darcy blinked, and his hand trembled. “These are what you received?”
“Yes. See, that one on the bottom is the one that arrived the day of Bingley’s wedding. And this one here, that came the day Richard left.”
Slow, burning breath trapped idly in his lungs until he forced himself to release it. He scanned the notes again, then inspected certain letters more minutely—particularly the way the informant had shaped his W’ s.
“Darcy? What is it?”
“I… I wish you had shown me these sooner,” he gasped.
“What, you recognise the writing?”
“Like it was my own, for we had the same master as boys. This is from George Wickham.”