Darcy and Deception

The only noises were the creaking of the wood in the small rowing boat and the slap of water against the pier’s pilings.

Elizabeth could not imagine trying to cross the Channel in such a small boat, but perhaps they planned to rendezvous with a larger French vessel.

Still threatening Lydia, Mr. Wickham waited warily as his friend hauled on the boat’s moorings, pulling it up to the pier so he could clamber aboard. Elizabeth waited until Mr. Wickham had gestured for Lydia to climb aboard before she shouted. “Wait! Take me instead!”

“Elizabeth!” Darcy’s voice was a horrified rasp.

She ignored him, slowly closing in on the end of the pier—step by step—holding her hands away from her body to show that she was not a threat. All her attention was focused on Mr. Wickham; success depended on convincing him of her sincere attraction to him. “Take me with you. I have no desire to remain here without you!”

He hesitated, considering, but Mr. Harrison, standing in the boat, rolled his eyes. “Damnation, Wickham, we can’t take two women with us!”

“Elizabeth, no!” The agony in Darcy’s voice seared itself into Elizabeth’s heart, but she did not dare to glance in his direction.

“If I stay here, my parents will force me to marry Darcy,” Elizabeth said. I pray to God that William understands this is a ploy.

“Darcy wouldn’t marry you!” Wickham scoffed.

“Oh? He has already offered once, and I refused. I know he will propose again.”

Mr. Wickham turned a dumbfounded expression on William. “You offered marriage to her?”

“She tells the truth,” he said in a miserable voice.

“Lizzy, you sly thing!” Lydia said. “You never breathed a word.”

Ignoring everyone else, Elizabeth concentrated on convincing Mr. Wickham. “Lydia will be a far more troublesome creature than I would. You know that, George.”

Lydia stamped her foot. “That’s not true!”

“We have no time for this! We must depart,” Mr. Harrison yelled from the rocking boat.

The officer shrugged at his compatriot rather apologetically. “Elizabeth makes a good point.”

“Et tu, Wicky?” Lydia protested.

Elizabeth leaned forward, giving him an enticing peek at her cleavage. “And…I speak French,” she said as seductively as she could manage. “I have always longed to visit France.”

“She’s right,” Mr. Wickham tossed over his shoulder at his friend. “She would be less trouble than this one.”

“Fine. Pick one of them. I don’t care which. I want to be gone before your ‘friend’ arrives!” the other man urged.

“Not my friend,” Wickham grumbled.

“Lydia has a tendency toward seasickness,” Elizabeth said quickly. “Do you want her casting up her accounts in the middle of the Channel?”

“Oh, Good Lord.” Mr. Wickham rolled his eyes, and even Mr. Harrison paled at this news.

“I do not!” Lydia protested. “Well, not most of the time.”

“Very well,” Wickham growled at Elizabeth. “Come here.” He gestured her toward him with the gun.

Just as Elizabeth was nearing the rowing boat, William made his move. Launching himself forward, he tried to tackle Wickham around the knees, but the officer was prepared for such a maneuver and swung Lydia bodily toward her would-be rescuer.

She smacked into William’s chest, and his arms flew around her in a parody of a lovers’ embrace as they fell together onto the rough wood of the pier. Meanwhile, Wickham grabbed Elizabeth and pulled her onto the swaying boat.

Lydia squawked and cried, “Mr. Darcy, I cannot breathe!” as William muttered, “I beg your pardon, Miss Lydia.”

Ignoring the distress of two people she loved was difficult, but Elizabeth resolutely seated herself in the prow of the boat. By the time she peeked up again, Lydia and William had disentangled themselves, and the rowing boat had pushed away from the pier. As Mr. Wickham and Mr. Harrison were rowing in earnest, it was falling behind them at a rapid pace.