The Unforgettable Mr. Darcy - Page 57

“I shall attempt to make the acquaintance of some of the smugglers,” he murmured in her ear, “in the hopes that we can identify one who will help us.” And will not turn us over to the French authorities, he added silently.

Elizabeth nodded, her grave face suggesting that she understood the risk he had not articulated.

They forged ahead, plunging into the bustling marketplace. Darcy scanned the crowd, seeking likely captains. They had not gone far when Darcy’s attention was caught by a figure at one of the lace merchants’ stalls. A familiar figure.

No, it was not possible. The man’s head turned toward the light, providing a clearer view of his features. The man did bear a close resemblance to Richard Fitzwilliam, but surely his cousin had never worn such ill-fitting rough clothing in his life.

It could not be. Still, as he had mentioned to Elizabeth, Gravelines undoubtedly served as a convenient location for English spies. Could he possibly be so fortunate?

Grasping Elizabeth’s elbow, he maneuvered her toward the man. If Darcy had mistaken his identity, they would simply walk away.

But he was not wrong.

Chapter Sixteen

The man turned just as they reached him, and his eyes alighted on Darcy. They widened, and a relieved smile spread over his cousin’s face. Then Richard noticed who accompanied Darcy, and he started violently; for a moment he seemed on the verge of apoplexy.

Of course; he thought Elizabeth was dead.

Darcy extended his hand to Richard. “I am Mr. Thibeaux, silk merchant,” he said in French-accented English. “Would you, perhaps, be interested in purchasing some silk?”

His eyes fixed on Elizabeth, Richard rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, I believe I am. Shall we go somewhere private to discuss the particulars?”

Elizabeth gave Darcy a questioning look, but he gave a minute shake of his head as they followed Richard to a far corner of the camp, sufficiently deserted that nobody was near enough to overhear them.

Once there, Richard gave Darcy a warm embrace. “Darce! Good Lord, it is good to see you! When we received no word from you, we feared the worst.”

Darcy laughed. “Why are you here, Richard? Are you meeting with an agent?”

Richard snorted. “Why am I here? The

War Office lost track of the master of Pemberley, who failed to contact any of our agents on this side of the Channel. My superiors were very concerned that some evil had befallen you. I was sent with one of the smugglers’ boats in the hopes I could slip into the countryside and search for you.”

No doubt his cousin had volunteered for the mission; Darcy was touched. “I ran into various unforeseen circumstances,” he said, thinking what a grave understatement that was.

“Indeed.” Richard’s eyes darted to Elizabeth. “This is most unforeseen. Miss Bennet, you look very well for a woman who has been dead for weeks.”

Elizabeth stared at Richard with a dazed expression on her face. Darcy winced. Of course, she would not recall his cousin; Darcy should have thought of that earlier. “Elizabeth,” he said quietly, “this is my cousin Richard.”

Richard gave Darcy a puzzled look, no doubt wondering why he was being introduced to a woman he knew quite well. When she did not immediately reply, Darcy prompted, “Elizabeth?”

“You are Colonel Fitzwilliam,” she said slowly.

“Yes,” Richard said warily. His brows drew together as he looked to Darcy for guidance.

“She suffered a blow to the head and experienced some memory loss,” Darcy explained without taking his eyes from her face. But apparently she recognized Richard; had she recovered the missing year of her life?

Richard’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. “Memory loss? What the devil, Darcy?”

They both ignored him. Elizabeth fixed Darcy with an accusing stare. “I remember everything now. Everything.”

“Excellent!” Richard said cheerfully while Darcy’s heart sank into his boots.

“I trusted you,” Elizabeth said in a choked voice.

Darcy felt like the worst blackguard. Worse than Napoleon or any of his generals. Worse than a scoundrel who cheated a widow out of her last shilling. Worse even than Wickham.

“Darce, I pray you, explain,” Richard said.

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