Page 100 of Ashes and Understanding
In all his life, he had never seen anyone so brave.
Elizabeth Bennet, with nothing but her courage and wit, had stepped into the center of a secret war and declared she would stand her ground. That she would not falter. That she would protect that child—completely unrelated to her—even if it cost her everything.
It took his breath away.
I love her.
The thought struck him like lightning, burning through every wall he had carefully built. Fitzwilliam had pointed it out a few days prior, but Darcy had not acknowledged to himself.
There was no use denying it now—he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with her. Every sharp word, every clever retort, every laugh, every fierce loyalty—he loved all of it.
Loved her.
Then marry her.
His mind spun—could he do it? Could he marry the woman that he loved?
You are weak, Fitzwilliam.
The words he had heard time and again from his father and, later on, his aunt echoed in his ears. His weakness, his frailty, was what caused Lady Catherine to change her mind about uniting her daughter with him. While that had been fortuitous, the hateful words she had flung at him had cut deep.
Even his aunt Lady Matlock had looked at him with a mixture of pity and disgust the last time he had been seized by a coughing fit in his presence.
But Elizabeth did not shy away; she had helped him.
Just as she had the elderly man in Hyde Park. Just as she had the baby.
It was who she was, and she was glorious.
No matter what came. No matter what danger lay ahead, he would marry her, or he would never be whole again.
“Then we cannot let him win,” she had said, with fire in her voice.
No, they could not.
The colonel nodded solemnly. “We need to smoke him out. But we must be careful—we may not find him directly. We may haveto fool him into thinking he’s won. Perhaps if we push a false suspect forward—make the Crow believe we are looking in the wrong direction—he will grow careless.”
Darcy frowned. “A false suspect?”
“Someone close to the child. Someone plausible.” The colonel gave Elizabeth a hesitant glance. “Perhaps… your uncle.”
“No,” she said at once, her voice sharp as flint. “Absolutely not. My family is already in danger. We have had our home invaded, our safety threatened, and I will not subject my uncle to more scrutiny—especially not when the town is already watching us closely. It would be too much. Too risky.”
The colonel raised a hand. “All right. Then who?”
Darcy drew a slow breath, already knowing the answer. “Wickham.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flicked to him. The colonel straightened slightly. “Wickham?”
“It could work,” Darcy said. “He was in London for the fire and here for the murder. We could put it about that Wickham had been overheard arguing with Mr. Smithson about insurance matters. Then if everyone thinks he’s the suspect, Le Corbeau might relax his guard and make a mistake.”
“We would have to tell Wickham the truth,” the colonel said warily. “It adds yet another person who could inadvertently let confidential information slip.”
“Not the whole truth,” Elizabeth replied. “Only that we are trying to trap the real murderer. That we want to make it appear that he’s the primary suspect—to draw the actual killer into a mistake.”
The colonel leaned back. “Are you sure it was not Wickham? It is entirely possible that Smithson was not killed for being a spy, but for his faux role as insurance agent. After all, Wickham does have motive; he lost his employment due to the extreme delays of unmonitored insurance companies.”
Darcy shook his head. “No. It was not him. I know him too well. He’s impulsive at times, certainly, but he has never been evil or malicious, even at his worst.”
