Page 92 of Triumph at Pemberley

It was unsettling to see him in this condition. “I have had my solicitor prepare a document to protect your wife in case of your arrest. It settles her entire inheritance on her and her children. You will retain the right to live at Longbourn and an allowance of fifty pounds a year, unless you are convicted of a crime.” It was more than Bingley deserved, but Jane Bingley had insisted. He held it out to his former friend.

Bingley took it to the small writing desk and signed it, then handed it back with the ink still wet.

“Are you not going to read it?”

“No.” Clearly he wanted to be asked why.

Darcy was in no mood to oblige. Bingley had endangered Coquelicot and all the other dragons, and they would have had no warning if not for Granny. “It is time for another letter to your sister. This one should include that the dragons have gone to Scotland, and Elizabeth and I went with them, but the two of us will return within a fortnight.” Napoleon would know better than to think the dragons could leave without their companions.

“Fine,” Bingley snapped. He reached into the drawer of the small writing desk. “Here is the confession you told me to write. Why did you want two copies?”

Darcy took the papers bearing Bingley’s scrawl. “One will go to Mr. Bennet. I will save the other. Given the invasion, there is no one to report your actions to now, but someday there may be again.” If they were very, very lucky.

Bingley suddenly seemed to rouse himself. “I might be able to help you when the French take over, you know. They owe me a favor.”

For once, Darcy did not try to restrain himself. “I would rather die than be saved by your blood money. You betrayed my dragon,” he snarled. “I will keep fighting till the end.”

Bingley turned away. “Fine, if that is what you want. I was only trying to help.”

Chapter 36

Jack squinted out at the masts of the approaching French ships from his position in the highest point in the spit of land between the marsh and the Channel. He was tired of riding from place to place to kill the enemy, like some sort of Grim Reaper. How many thousands of Frenchmen had he drowned by now?

Their commanders must have felt the impact, since the big landings had stopped. Until today.

Only one French force had made it past him, landing west of Bexhill. He had felt it but was too far away to reach it before they established an encampment and sent out troops. Over a thousand English soldiers had been killed. Since then, Jack had been chasing the remaining Frenchmen.

He was tired of battles. He wanted Will to suddenly appear with Coquelicot again. Or to go to London and see Mrs. Hartung and play horsie with little Friedrich. Anything but all this fighting.

Unfortunately, the French had other ideas. He could spot a few dozen ships, but not the hundreds of barges Gentiane had reported seeing from the air. “Something is wrong,” he said to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“One of Boney’s tricks.” Richard peered through his spyglass. “He is checking to see if you are here. Or whoever he thinks is holding the Bond.” Their prisoners had told them Napoleon had guessed someone was using the King’s Bond, though he assumed it to be one of Prinny’s younger brothers. Apparently he was furious.

“Sending a small force as a test before committing all his ships,” Jack agreed. “Sacrificing all those men.”

“We could double-cross him. He does not know we have Gentiane’s information. If we let these troops land and fight them only with guns, we could hold you in reserve until the full fleet comes close.”

Jack shook his head. “We would lose too many men in the meantime.” The militia might be a makeshift group of half-trained soldiers, but they were his and he would not allow them to be slaughtered. Not when he could sink the ships as soon as they were close to shore. He had learned a great deal since that first landing.

Apparently, so had the French, for the ships turned aside when they were just out of his reach. What were they doing? It was as if they were waiting for something.

The militia was as ready as they would ever be, lined up with what few cannon they had. Jack had raised a low bulwark to hide them, not tall enough to tell the French he was there, but enough to protect them from gunfire. All he needed to do was to sink the ships, then the soldiers would deal with any stragglers who swam ashore.

Jack hated this waiting.

Take cover! Gentiane roared in his head. Now!

Take cover? When the only place to run was back into the marsh? Jack glanced around, and then he saw it. Three dragons in flight over the Channel, hurtling straight towards them.

A dragon attack! Like the one in Spain he still could not recall, which had massacred tens of thousands of English soldiers with dragonfire. And even now, he could see smoke coming from their nostrils.

“Into the water!” Jack roared, using his Bond to amplify his voice. “Everyone, now!” No idea if it would protect them, but it was all he had.

But he and Richard, standing beyond the bulwark, would never make it. He had survived dragonfire once and was supposed to be immune to it, but Richard was not.

“On the ground!” He threw his own body over his cousin’s, just as the first screams of horror began.

Jack struggled to open his heavy eyelids. A blurry face hovered over him, and he blinked until it resolved into Mrs. Hartung’s familiar features, watching him intently.