Darcy and Deception

Darcy had exerted tremendous effort to banish such thoughts. “She cannot be in love with Wickham!” he said savagely. Bingley said nothing, waiting for his friend to grow calmer. “But I can woo her away from Wickham.”

Bingley raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever courted a woman before?”

“Of course.”

“Ladies have pursued you. It is not precisely the same,” his friend said with a grin.

“It cannot be that difficult,” Darcy grumbled irritably.

“It would not be difficult if you were not the last man on earth she would ever consider marrying.” Bingley shrugged.

Of course, Bingley was right. Who was Darcy fooling? He and Elizabeth had parted on the least amicable terms imaginable, following the world’s most disastrous offer of marriage. Sinking back into his chair, Darcy closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I would welcome any advice you might have on the matter.” He had no pride remaining when it came to Elizabeth Bennet.

After a moment Bingley shook his head. “I have none to offer, my friend. I have properly bungled my courtship with Jane.”

“She appears to have forgiven you.”

“Yes, as long as I make no more blunders.”

Darcy would give anything to be in his friend’s place.

“Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you to Brighton?” Bingley asked.

The offer was tempting, but Darcy shook his head. “You must remain here and woo your lady. I will either stand or fall on my own merits.” He fervently hoped she would listen to reason—that her future happiness did not rely on Darcy’s paltry courtship skills.

“I have all the confidence in the world,” Bingley said with a hearty smile. “Just be yourself.”

Darcy snorted. “That is what created this mess.”

Chapter Three

Three days was a long time to be constantly in Mr. Wickham’s presence. Elizabeth had gained his trust, and he willingly passed time in her company; however, she had gained no useful information about his associates or the possible location of a hideout. Colonel Forster had cautioned her that gathering intelligence could be a tedious process requiring patience, but Elizabeth had still hoped for a quick conclusion to the proceedings. The sooner she learned Mr. Wickham’s secrets, the sooner she could return home.

Brighton itself was pleasant enough. Elizabeth adored the beach, which she had visited only a handful of times. The town of Brighton offered a wide variety of diversions; indeed, the men of the regiment enjoyed so many balls, dinners, and card parties that she wondered when they could spare time to train.

However, other aspects of the visit were less pleasant. The discovery of Mr. Wickham’s treachery made her more eager than ever to quit his company—at the precise moment when she could not do so. Elizabeth also wanted to remove Lydia from the influence of Mr. Wickham in particular, and militia officers in general. Absent even her parents’ meager supervision, Lydia became even more flirtatious and outrageous. Elizabeth warned her youngest sister about the repercussions of unchecked behavior, but Lydia paid her scant attention, complaining that her older sister was “dull.”

Today, as the men of the militia were to have rifle practice, Mrs. Forster had invited Elizabeth to accompany her and Lydia to the ladies’ beach. Having no more useful occupation, Elizabeth accepted, reflecting that at least her sister could cause limited embarrassment at a beach that admitted no men.

Mrs. Forster was pretty, fashionable, and gracious in society, but she was…young. Elizabeth would guess her to be no older than eighteen, and she might very well be younger. For a married woman, her behavior was often just as silly as Lydia’s. Elizabeth could not imagine what had possessed the steady and sober colonel to marry such a young and flighty woman, but she knew nothing of their situation. Perhaps the marriage had been arranged by their families. Or perhaps Colonel Forster simply admired a pretty face.

Although the colonel treated his wife affectionately, they spent little time in each other’s company. Mrs. Forster was usually accompanied by a coterie of female friends and a not insignificant number of male admirers—primarily soldiers—with whom she flirted extravagantly. Elizabeth had previously observed such behavior in young married women. Since they were now attached, they believed themselves safe to inflict their most flirtatious impulses upon every unsuspecting man in the vicinity.

Elizabeth had been surprised at the invitation; she was hardly a favorite of Mrs. Forster’s, and there were many flighty officers’ wives in the town who could have accompanied the two women. However, as they walked down to the beach, she recalled that many of those women had expressed a great fear of the sea—particularly the prospect of being bitten by fish.

As they neared the beach, it became clear that the invitation had been at Lydia’s instigation. She was excited to have a chance to try real sea bathing but also demonstrated substantial anxiety about the endeavor. Elizabeth had been to Ramsgate with her aunt and uncle Gardiner, so she was familiar with visits to the sea. But it was all new to Lydia, who slipped many glances at her older sister as if seeking reassurance. Elizabeth was secretly touched that her sister found her presence comforting.

Elizabeth had been silent during the walk as Lydia and Mrs. Forster dominated the conversation. First, the colonel’s wife complained about the dreariness running a household on a militia salary—although she appeared to have a copious supply of jewels and gowns in the latest fashion. Then the conversation turned to who was in Brighton that week. Lydia was excited that the prince regent was in residence at the Marine Pavilion, but Mrs. Forster dashed the girl’s hopes for encountering royalty. “The prince rarely leaves the Pavilion when he visits the town,” she said with great authority. Lydia pouted, but Elizabeth thought it was just as well given what she knew of the prince.

As they drew closer to the beach, Lydia grew more visibly anxious, twisting her hands in the hem of her skirt. Finally, a question burst from her: “What if the fish nibble on my toes?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Ladies’ toes are not in any fish’s diet.”

“But the

y might mistake my toes for a worm! Do fish have good eyesight?”

“I have been sea bathing many times,” Mrs. Forster assured her. “And the fish have never paid me any heed.”