Darcy smiled reminiscently. “I rather enjoyed Richard’s visits to Pemberley.” As the second son, his cousin had never experienced the sense of responsibility that weighed on Darcy’s shoulders.
Elizabeth gave him a teasing look. “And what do you do for amusement now?”
Darcy absently rubbed his chin. Amusement? He could recall few things he did purely for amusement. Everything advanced some purpose or another. Even when he went into the country, it was with the aim of benefiting from the clean air and the exercise of riding and hunting. Good Lord, when did I grow into such a dullard? However, one thing sprang to mind immediately. “I have had far more amusement since you came into my life.”
Elizabeth blushed, but Adele clapped her hands together. “Well said! Well said indeed!”
After a short pause, Darcy asked Elizabeth, “Have you recollected anything from your time as an adult?” Anything about me, for instance?
Elizabeth hesitated and then shook her head, her eyes fixed on her lap. “No, nothing.”
Darcy did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Had she forgotten him because he was not important to her life? Or should he count his blessings that she could not recall some of their less agreeable encounters? The somberness of Elizabeth’s expression troubled him.
Adele drained her teacup and set it on the table with an air of finality. “Your memories will return in time, I have no doubt.” She leaned over to pat Elizabeth’s hand reassuringly. “In the meantime, I am very pleased fate has brought you here.”
***
Over the next two days, Elizabeth rested and recovered her strength while Darcy worked with Adele to perfect their escape plan. They developed alternative routes in case of unforeseen obstacles and packed away cheese, apples, and other food that would not spoil quickly. With Darcy’s money, Adele discreetly purchased additional clothing for the journey. Elizabeth passed many pleasant hours in conversation with Marie and Adele, who seemed to find her good company. Despite the circumstances, Darcy was pleased he had the opportunity to introduce his former governess to Elizabeth.
By necessity, Elizabeth and Darcy did not leave Adele’s house except for occasional forays into her walled garden. But on the third day, Darcy was forced to venture out to sell the curricle and horse. The carriage was simply too noticeable and too ostentatious for a laborer and his wife; they were fortunate indeed that it had not aroused suspicion on the road to Paris.
The very act of slipping out of Adele’s back door made Darcy’s palms sweat. His mind instantly conjured up a variety of horrific consequences, from the French army descending on the house to Elizabeth suffering a terrible relapse.
Darcy traded the curricle for a dogcart and a sturdy mare. Such a conveyance would slow their pace, but it was a necessary inconvenience. To avoid drawing attention to Adele’s house, Darcy arranged for the man to deliver the cart and horse the following morning, when they planned to depart.
His head full of last-minute preparations, he returned to Adele’s house from the back alley, muddy and strewn with refuse as it was. However, as he unlatched the garden gate, the hairs on the back of his neck lifted, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Something was not right.
The windows on the first floor were wide open. Despite the heat and the pleas of her niece and nephew, Adele had steadfastly refused to open any windows because of her distaste for flies. Now, however, the lacy curtains in the rear windows fluttered in the lazy summer breeze. Also, the cat was sitting on the back step. A rather elderly yellow tom, Adele’s cat always stayed indoors. Fearing it had grown too old to fend for itself, the older woman allowed it a quiet retirement at her fireplace hearth. Yet here it was on the doorstep, extremely disgruntled and meowing piteously to be readmitted.
Something was not right at Adele’s house.
Darcy slipped through the gate and closed it softly behind him. Rather than stroll up the back pathway, he skulked along the wall where he was partially concealed by vegetation. Drawing closer to the house, he could hear voices; clever of Adele to open the windows. The rumble of a deep masculine voice did not belong to anyone in the household. Darcy inched closer until he crouched under the windowsill where he could discern the words.
“When will your husband return?” the man demanded.
The voice that replied was Elizabeth’s; her French was halting and heavily accented. “As I said before, monsieur, he traveled to Toulon. He is looking for the work. He will be far away for plenty of days.” Whoever their unexpected visitors were, Elizabeth did not want Darcy to encounter them.
“If you do not wish to tell me, madame, we will wait.” The man’s tone was mocking.
“I assures you my husband is a French citizen.” Darcy winced at her conjugation of “assure.”
The man, who must have been a gendarme, chuckled. “And no doubt his French is as good as yours.”
Elizabeth huffed indignantly. “Yes, I am from the England, but Georges is French—born in Normandy. It is not a crime for marrying to an Englishwoman.” She tries to protect me, Darcy thought sadly.
“No, but being an English spy is a crime,” said a different male voice. There were at least two gendarmes. How had Darcy been discovered? They had been so careful.
“Georges is not an English spy,” Adele scoffed. “Why would you think this?”
One of the men cleared his throat. “Your neighbor heard English being spoken in your garden.”
“Which neighbor?” Adele asked shrilly. “Was it Mr. Renard? Was he eavesdropping from his side of the wall? He is a senile old man. You should not listen to anything he says!”
Elizabeth’s voice was calmer. “Me and my husband do talk in the English. It means nothing.”
“We will make that determination for ourselves,” the gendarme said coolly.
A long silence followed. Darcy pictured Adele and Elizabeth sitting on one side of the drawing room, glaring at the gendarmes in the tense stillness.