husband’s countenance that Captain Wentworth realized the truth. If Mr. Elliot, or someone acting on his behalf, had taken Alfred with the intention of harming him, the deed had likely already been accomplished—or was taking place now—and in a place more remote than his rooms at the Lion.
Wentworth nodded. “Let us go at once.”
“I will come, as well.” St. Clair’s manner indicated that he, too, recognized the reality of Alfred’s plight.
“You cannot, Captain,” Wentworth said. “You are under the admiral’s orders to stay here.”
“If Mr. Elliot is guilty of the child’s disappearance, I can aid you. I have been watching the gentleman closely—”
“So have I.” Captain Wentworth looked at his wife. “For some time. I know what he is.” He paused, then looked back at St. Clair. “Besides, what possible pretext could you give for showing up at Mr. Elliot’s door? He has surely been in communication with Sir Laurence and knows about your arrest. He thinks you are in a brig. What explanation could you offer that would not raise his guard about all three of us?”
The gentlemen moved out of the room and into the hall.
“You are right,” St. Clair conceded. “My appearance would sabotage not only the smuggling investigation, but also the very rescue I was trying to assist.” He released a frustrated sigh. “And yet I feel I must do something.”
Darcy looked past him, through the doorway, to where the ladies yet clustered in the sitting room. Elizabeth had moved closer to Mrs. Wentworth and was offering words of comfort. Georgiana stood a little apart, appearing, to Darcy’s eye, more vulnerable than she had an hour ago. Alfred’s kidnapping made him all the more apprehensive about Mr. Elliot’s fellow conspirator. He did not think Sir Laurence would try to harm Georgiana, but he did not want her former suitor to even attempt to speak to her again. Until Sir Laurence was arrested, Darcy could not be easy about letting Georgiana out of his sight.
He turned to the man who mere days ago he had been determined to keep at a distance from his sister. “Captain St. Clair, only the urgency of Alfred’s disappearance impels me to leave Miss Darcy anywhere but under my direct watch while Sir Laurence remains at liberty, lest he try to contact her. If you would undertake her protection in my absence, I would consider it a great service.”
“Of course.” In those two simple words, an understanding passed between them. Darcy knew he need not have even voiced the request, and St. Clair recognized the trust it represented.
St. Clair walked them to the front entry, offering whatever random points of information he could quickly call to mind about Mr. Elliot and his habits. As they reached the door, where they were entirely safe from the ladies’ hearing, he detained them a moment longer.
“If Mr. Elliot is not at the Lion with Alfred and Mrs. Smith, he may have gone to his property near Sidmouth. There are old quarry caves on the grounds, perfect for hiding smuggled goods.” He paused. “Or…”
The two captains’ eyes met.
“I understand,” Wentworth said.
Captain St. Clair returned to the sitting room to find Georgiana alone. She stood near the window, watching Mr. Darcy and Captain Wentworth recede down the street. The housekeeper had set out tea. No one had touched it.
“Where have Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Wentworth gone?” he asked.
“Up to the nursery. Mrs. Wentworth is terribly distressed, as one might expect, and wanted to wait in there until Captain Wentworth comes back. She wishes she could have gone with him.”
“So do I. It is harder to wait than to act. Why did you not go upstairs with them?”
She took a seat, but perched on the edge of the chair. Except for the briefest of glances, she had not looked at him—not directly—since he reentered the room. “I do not know Mrs. Wentworth as well as Mrs. Darcy does. I felt my presence would be an intrusion at a time when Mrs. Wentworth needs whatever peace she can find.”
She studied her hands, dropped them back in her lap, smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt. At last she rose from the chair but yet maintained her distance, going to the table and bringing a teacup to the pot. She poured, but stopped when the cup was but half full. She set down the pot and simply stared at it.
He took a few steps toward her, but halted when the sound of his approach appeared to distress her. “Are you all right, Miss Darcy?”
“Everybody keeps asking me that.”
“It must be difficult to have had Sir Laurence’s true character revealed to you so suddenly—perhaps the more so for having heard it from me.”
She looked at him then. Her eyes were troubled, but it was not resentment that filled them. “You have been rescuing me since the moment we met. By now you must regret ever catching me on the Walk.”
His answering gaze was earnest and unwavering. “Quite the opposite. You did, after all, save my investigation today.”
“If I have not cost you it.”
“Miss Darcy—” He took another step toward her.
“Lieuten—
He closed the distance between them. “Miss Darcy.” He reached toward her, but withdrew his hand before touching her. “You owe me nothing,” he said gently. “Pray, do not let a sense of obligation to me cause you more distress.”
“I owe you my life.” She looked up at him. “When the boat capsized, and I was under the water—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed again. “I was never so frightened in all my days.”
“Nor was I.”
She studied his face, her own disbelieving. “That cannot be true,” she said. “You have been aboard embattled ships, with cannonballs flying and wounded comrades falling all around you.”
His expression was all seriousness; his voice, little more than a whisper.
“Yes, I have.”
She was the first to break their gaze, turning to busy herself with the tea things once more.
“I—my conduct toward you when we found Captain Tourner—” She picked up the half-full teacup but did not drink, in need not of refreshment, but something to do with her hands. “Forgive me. I did not know what to think.”
“There is nothing to forgive. You were in shock. And even were you not, the evidence was condemning, and I could not at that moment freely speak in my own defense.”
She added sugar to the tea, but the tea had gone cold, and the wet, brown lump sat undissolved in the cup. “I did not want to believe you capable of murder, but Sir Laurence was so persuasive.” She finally looked at him again. “And when my own brother helped take you away—”
“In point of fact, I was grateful for Mr. Darcy’s escort. I knew that once I was in the navy’s custody and had an opportunity to send word to the Admiralty, I would be safe, but Sir Laurence easily could have ensured I never reached the base.”
The teacup clattered in its saucer. “You thought he might make an attempt on your life?”
“You saw what he is capable of.” St. Clair took the teacup from her before she spilled it. “But Sir Laurence could not act with Mr. Darcy present. Here—” He poured her a fresh cup of tea. “Come sit down, and let us talk about something else.”
“It is kind of you to try to distract me, but I cannot imagine a subject exists that could divert my thoughts from Sir Laurence and the present crisis.”
“We shall do our best to find one,” he said, leading her to the sofa. “And should we fail, I believe I still owe you definitions of topsails and yardarms.”
Despite Mrs. Wentworth’s apparent calmness, Elizabeth could feel the anxiety radiating from her, and understood it as only another parent can. Lily-Anne had disappeared once—wandered out of sight one afternoon while they were picnicking beside the stream at Pemberley—and the minutes until she and Darcy found her were the most sickening of Elizabeth’s life. She had held herself together while they searched—then burst into sobs upon her daughter’s discovery.
