The Deception at Lyme: Or, the Peril of Persuasion (Mr. And Mrs. Darcy Mysteries) by Carrie Bebris

wonder that shortly afterward she had fallen prey to the reprehensible George Wickham, another lifelong acquaintance who looked dashing in uniform. She had learned, nearly too late, that impeccable regimentals cannot dress up a scheming, selfish soul.
    The conversation ebbed temporarily, one of those quiet pauses when new acquaintances are unsure where the discussion should next lead. It was Georgiana who broke the silence.
    “We were told that Gerard died in action,” she said. “I have always wondered about the particulars.”
    “He died bravely,” Lieutenant St. Clair said. “We were escorting two merchant ships back to England when we encountered a French frigate—the Dangereuse —traveling with a sloop of war. Her cannons crippled our rigging, but when her boarding party breached our deck, they found us rather disinclined to surrender. We forced them to retreat, but Lieutenant Fitzwilliam took a pistol ball during the melee.”
    Darcy knew St. Clair was leaving much unsaid. War was a brutal business; Andrew St. Clair and Gerard Fitzwilliam had lived the violence merely summarized in the battle accounts published for public consumption in the Naval Chronicle. While Darcy appreciated the officer’s discretion—the horrors of battle were no subject for ladies’ ears—he himself longed to hear more. He had no taste for gore; rather, he wanted to fully understand his cousin’s final moments. For all of Darcy’s responsibilities, many of them settled upon him at an early age, his own life seemed sheltered and safe compared to Gerard’s and that of Colonel Fitzwilliam. Darcy had faced danger, but only when it came looking for him—he had not deliberately committed himself to a profession that actively sought it, as his two cousins had.
    “Did Gerard suffer a great deal of pain?” Georgiana asked.
    “I did not see him take the shot; I came upon him afterward. By that time he had lost consciousness. A seaman and I carried him down to the surgeon, but we had scarcely laid him on the table when he died.” He paused. “This may seem small consolation, Miss Darcy, but the final expression of his countenance was peaceful, so I believe he was insensible to pain at the end.”
    “I was under the impression that my cousin’s request to you regarding his sea chest had been a deathbed wish,” Darcy said.
    “No, he had asked me some time earlier, after we lost two of our midshipmen in another engagement, and a number of seamen to fever, all within a se’nnight. Ours is a hazardous profession, and we try not to dwell upon its risks, but the spectre of death does hover, and after a week of seeing dead crewmen’s belongings sold before the mast, the possibility of an untimely demise was much on everyone’s minds. An officer’s belongings, of course, are not subject to such an auction, but Lieutenant Fitzwilliam asked me, should he perish at sea, to personally convey his sea chest to his family were it within my power to do so, rather than leave it to be transported by unknown personnel with the rest of his effects. It was a promise I readily gave, and regret that duty prevented me from carrying through until now. I appreciate your meeting me here in Lyme, though I gladly would have traveled to Buckinghamshire to deliver the chest to the earl.”
    It was just as well that Darcy’s travel plans had coincided with Lieutenant St. Clair’s arrival in Lyme, for the Earl of Southwell—Darcy’s eldest Fitzwilliam cousin—was not the most tactful individual, nor did he hold the navy in particularly high regard following his youngest brother’s death. His reaction upon receiving Gerard’s sword and other effects forwarded by the navy had been acrimonious; Darcy winced to think of what Southwell might have said to Lieutenant St. Clair upon receiving the chest in person.
    “It is amazing to me that you have been so long from England,” Georgiana said. “Is it usual for a ship to be away for such an extended period,