Chasing Elizabeth—Chapter Two!

First of all, I want to give a special shout-out to Sarah Powell, who was instrumental in helping me settle on a spy name worthy of Fitzwilliam Darcy. (We couldn’t let Richard choose The Purple Pansy, now, could we?) Thank you, Sarah! Mr. Darcy is ever grateful.

Photo by Barby Dalbosco on Unsplash



Chapter 2

Fitzwilliam Darcy rubbed his thumb over the monogrammed casing of his compass as he oversaw the packing of his last trunk, eager to take his leave before his return to Pemberley was postponed yet again. He had not set foot on his estate for nearly three years. A reprieve was well past due. Lord knew he had earned it.

He was tired. Weary. In sore need of a brief retreat to the familiar. To the verdant fields he knew as intimately as the back of his own hand; away from mucky roads and crowded towns. To families and tenants he had known his entire life; away from malicious strangers and two-faced traitors. To the warmth of his own fire and the comfort of his own bed; away from smoky tavern chimneys and bug-infested mattresses.

Darcy needed to go home. He needed to see his sister.

Since his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had recruited Darcy, Georgiana had taken residence with their aunt Matlock. It was safer and Georgiana enjoyed the company of her cousins in town.

Surely, she must miss the place where she had been born and had grown into a young lady. Surely, she missed it as badly as he did. Georgiana had not implied otherwise in her last letter. Other young ladies might resent being pulled away from the entertainments of town at the height of the season, but not Georgiana.

Darcy would collect her that morning, and together, they would return to Pemberley.

Pemberley. The tension in his shoulders melted away. He thought more clearly at Pemberley. Problems became more manageable at Pemberley. He could forget about the war and his role in it at Pemberley. Darcy opened the lid of his compass, looking down at the engraving on the inside. “Home is where the heart is.” Darcy’s father had often quoted Pliny the Elder’s words.

Though Darcy stood in his bedchamber at Darcy House, his heart was already at Pemberley. At his home.

One fortnight. That was all he required. One fortnight after a three-year interim. Then he would get back to work. He would see his assignment through to his satisfaction.

A knock on the door pulled Darcy’s thoughts back to the present. Gone was the glorious silence he had anticipated at his Derbyshire estate, replaced with the noise of London — clambering carriage wheels, horses’ hooves, and voices getting louder as they drew nearer.

Wilson, Darcy’s trusted valet, closed the trunk and hobbled to the opening door. Wilson never complained of his old army injury, and Darcy never spoke of it. They each bore scars in their own manner.

“The colonel is here,” Wilson said as the gentleman in question breezed past the valet, charging into the room.

Darcy’s stomach twisted. Richard was highly respected among the tightly knit circle who knew of their clandestine activities, but Darcy would not disguise his displeasure in seeing his cousin in uniform in his house. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“What? Nary an offer of brandy? How do you know I have not come to congratulate you on the success of your latest mission?” Richard teased.

Darcy did not laugh. Richard always used charm and humor to get what he wanted, and his use of it put Darcy’s senses on alert. If anything, it convinced him that this was not a social call. Leo had sent him.

Wilson did not send the last trunk downstairs where the carriage awaited to convey him and his master to Pemberley. He stood at attention at the door, awaiting orders. He, too, knew something was amiss.

“What do you want?” Darcy asked, watching as Richard helped himself to the contents of the decanter on the bedside table.

Pouring another glass and handing it to Darcy, Richard said, “To a job well done! I salute you, Cousin.”

“It is too early in the day to imbibe.”

Richard shrugged, tossing back the contents of his glass. Smacking his lips together, he grinned. “It is not too early when one has been up all night, and it is never too early to celebrate. The papers caught wind of the story, and they have printed a flattering account of how the French spies were thwarted once again by an anonymous son of England.” He produced the offensive article from his breast pocket.

Darcy turned away from it. “They glorify unlawful rebels in the same paragraph in which they extol the cleverness of the men who prevent them from selling secrets to the enemy.”

“Allow me to reassure you on that point. They said nothing of your cleverness.”

Darcy glared at Richard.

The ingrate’s grin widened. “You ought to embrace your fame, Darcy. When the war is over, they will proclaim you a hero. Already, there is talk of your nom de guerre. I am rather partial to The Oxford Orchid, although I admit there is a romantic appeal to The Crimson Carnation.”

Darcy’s fists clenched. “Ridiculous!”

“Do you prefer The Purple Pansy?”

Darcy should have accepted the drink Richard had offered him. Then he would have had something to throw at his cousin’s smirking face. But Richard would love to provoke Darcy to anger, and so that was precisely the reaction of which Darcy would deprive him.

Taking a deep breath and feeling his cheeks cool, Darcy said levelly, “I do not wish for fame. My sole desire at this moment is to see Georgiana and return to our proper place.”

Richard sighed. “I suspected as much. Left to your own devices, you would hide away at Pemberley like a hermit as you did before. You do know that is why I convinced you to occupy your time for a more worthy cause?”

“I have not set foot on my estate in three years, Richard. Three years!”

“Has it really been that long?” Richard rubbed his hand over his face, looking every bit as exhausted as Darcy felt.

Seizing the opportunity presented to him, Darcy said, “I am leaving. Do you want a lift as far as Matlock House? I intend to collect Georgiana and be on our way within the hour. She is expecting me. I already spoke with our director at Leo, and he agreed that a fortnight at Pemberley was reward enough for the latest capture.”

“About that,” Richard said, gesturing to the chairs by the unlit fire. “Pray hear me out before you decide on the direction of your coach.”

“It is already decided,” Darcy enunciated, wishing to Heaven he had told the butler to deny Richard entrance until he could depart. What had been a mere twist in his stomach seconds ago was quickly turning into a sinking sensation.

“Yes, well, The Four Horsemen rallied quicker than we had supposed. We received word only this morning.” Richard’s eyes bore into Darcy’s.

Darcy sat, his ears buzzing while his cousin prattled on. The Four Horsemen were the plague of England, disguised as modern-day Robin Hoods. Their supposed generosity had bought the allegiance of an immense network of smugglers and ruffians who lined their pockets with blood money.

He had been so close to catching them. He knew their names. Sir Leonard Sharp. Sir Benedict Voss. Sir Harcourt Grant. Sir Erasmus Clark. Gentlemen of fortune. Gentlemen held in high esteem. Gentlemen influential among the upper classes as well as the lowest. All knighted by King George and friendly with the Prince Regent. All suspected of treason by the elite branch of the British government with whom he worked.

Darcy had been so close to catching them, but just as they had done many times before, they vanished, leaving a middleman who guarded his silence as vigilantly as a monk to take the fall. The middleman’s family had since come into some money — enough to purchase a comfortable cottage in the country. Darcy pressed his fingers against his throbbing temples. Had life become so cheap, a price could be put on it? A life for a country cottage?

The Four Horsemen denounced the extravagances of the Prince Regent while they grew their wealth at the expense of those who would offer their lives in exchange for a meager cut of the spoils. They were despicable. The lowest of the low. They had to be stopped.

“I knew that would get your attention, Darcy.” Richard nodded at Wilson, who immediately began unpacking the trunk.

Darcy was too numb to stop him. Duty trumped desire. Pemberley would have to wait. Georgiana would have to wait. Drat it all! Cooling his disappointment, he asked, “What can you tell me?”

Richard leaned forward, clasping his fingers together. “Only enough to alert our agency to upcoming trouble. Leo suspects The Four Horsemen have ties to a family in Hertfordshire. As you know, the men themselves are never seen together, but each of them individually has been seen in the presence of a gentleman we wish for you to befriend. He may very well prove to be the link which will lead us to the vipers’ den … and, we pray, to their capture. I have made all the arrangements.” He sat back, squirming in his seat.

Darcy watched his cousin warily, his sense of foreboding growing with every crossing and recrossing of the colonel’s feet. Why was he nervous?

Clearing his throat, Richard added, “Next week, it is my hope you will accompany Bingley to a comfortable estate he recently let near Meryton.”

“Bingley?” Darcy shot up from his seat, unable to remain still. Pacing before the fireplace, he demanded, “What on earth convinced you to involve Bingley in this?”

Richard joined him, stopping Darcy with a firm grip on his shoulder. “Only my confidence in your extreme discretion and incomparable skill.” There was no humor in his voice now.

Charles Bingley had been Darcy’s friend since their Cambridge days. Bingley’s innocent belief in the good of people had often put him at a disadvantage to which Darcy’s skepticism often came to the rescue. Darcy had saved Bingley from harm, and Bingley kept Darcy’s optimism from dying (no small feat when every day his faith in the good of humanity was put to the test.) It was a friendship of opposites restoring balance, and Darcy resented Richard for manipulating, and potentially endangering, his one truly good friend.

Darcy shoved his hands through his hair. “But Bingley? Of all people, Rich, why him?”

“I am sorry. Truly, from the depth of my soul, I am. Bingley was interested in letting an estate in Hertfordshire. You know how he is.”

Darcy groaned. “Half of London knows of his plans.”

“Exactly. So, when we found out the property was located right where we need you, and he was finally convinced to let the estate—”

Darcy interrupted, “Convinced by you, I presume?”

Richard bunched his cheeks with a grunt. “It was not difficult. Persuading Miss Bingley was another matter, but her objections calmed considerably when I suggested the almost certain possibility of you joining their party.”

“I hate you.”

With a wide grin and another squeeze, Richard released his hold on Darcy’s shoulder. “That is the spirit! I will give you details as I am informed, but for now, all I know is that you must travel with Bingley to Hertfordshire in a week’s time. Miss Bingley will ensure her brother sends you an invitation to accompany them. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to travel with them to Netherfield Park so you may befriend the gentleman we have seen in the company of The Four Horsemen. Do you accept?” Richard extended his hand.

Darcy stared at the appendage, the enticing vision of Pemberley blurring Richard’s hand. How badly he wanted to refuse. But he could not. Bingley was no match for The Four Horsemen, and Darcy would hate himself for all eternity should his friend come to danger when he could have prevented it.

Softly, Richard added, “I am sorry, Darcy. I did not intend to involve Bingley, but Leo does not have the freedom to spare one man when the lives of thousands are at risk.”

Darcy could only nod. He knew how it was, as callous and unjust as every war fought before.

“This is the last one, Darcy. I feel it. One last mission, and then you may ensconce yourself at Pemberley.”

Richard did not understand how cruel it was to kindle his hope after he had snatched it away. “You cannot know what you are doing to me. I miss it so badly, I ache.”

“That ache has nothing to do with Pemberley, Darcy. It was there when I dragged you away after your father died. It is the people you miss. You are lonely.”

Darcy shot him another glare.

Richard held up his hands. “When you meet the right young woman, you will learn the true meaning of home.”

Utter nonsense. They were spies. They did not get close to anyone. It was too dangerous. What did Richard know of love and women?

“What shall I tell Georgiana? She is expecting me.” Would she be as disappointed as Darcy was?

“My mother has taken care of that. With the London season in swing, there is much to distract her here. Georgiana will not have time enough to miss her grumpy older brother. In fact, I believe she was relieved when I gave her the news.” Richard shoved his hand closer to Darcy. “Do you accept?”

Darcy shook before he could convince himself not to or take offense at his cousin’s presumption. “The gentleman I am to investigate, what is his name?”

“Sir William Lucas.”

Darcy mulled the name over in his mind as Richard detailed the connection between him and The Four Horsemen.

Sir William was a gentleman of fortune with an estate bearing his name. His humble origins in trade made him a favorite with lower classes, but the gentle class also respected him. More significant was this: Sir William had been knighted by King George. Just as each member of The Four Horsemen had.

There were too many similarities to ignore. By all appearances, The Four Horsemen had recruited another member.

Sir William Lucas, a spy? What?!
So, when will Chasing Elizabeth be published? VERY soon, I promise!