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Lord Crampton bestowed a bow upon Lydia along with a flash of his very white teeth and sat down along with the other two men.

“My apologies for my late arrival,” he drawled, his eyes fixed on Lydia’s lovely countenance. “If I had known what I was missing, I would have been careful to be the first to arrive.”

Even three years ago, Lydia would have fluttered her eyelashes at such blatant flirting, but she was a far more sensible young woman now.

“Where did you attend university, Lord Crampton?” she queried as the first course of the meal arrived.

“At the very best college, of course,” the man replied with a smirk. “I am a graduate of Trinity College at Oxford.”

“I believe that Mr. Stanton is currently attending Oxford, is he not?”

“Erm, yes, I am attending Balliol.”

The two men from rival colleges of the great university eyed one another with hostility before Lord Crampton turned his attention back to Lydia.

“I am quite certain,” he declared as he took an appreciative sip of the dinner wine, “that a lovely young lady like yourself has no interest in intellectual pursuits.”

There was an odd huff from Mr. Collins and Lydia Bennet smiled angelically, “In truth, my lord, I find the interests of young men to provide fascinating insight into their minds and characters. Do you enjoy your studies, Mr. Stanton?”

Nathaniel swallowed harshly and restrained an impulse to finger his suddenly tightened collar, “To be honest, Miss Bennet, I do not. I find translating Latin to be quite tedious.”

“I suppose that is unsurprising,” the marquis’s son commented with a disdainful look down his long nose at Nathaniel. “I fear that the lower classes find Latin quite difficult at times.”

Nathaniel flushed with mortification and anger. Mr. Collins smiled, turned toward the nobleman, and rattled off a speech in what was clearly perfect Latin.

Lord Crampton blinked in astonishment and replied in the same language, rather tentatively, which only provoked Mr. Collins to speak at greater lengths.

“Mr. Stanton,” Lydia said, spearing a potato and taking a dainty bite, “please tell me about your own studies. I presume you are not a fluent reader of Latin?”

“I am not,” Nathaniel murmured quietly, hesitant to draw Mr. Collins’s focus.

“Neither am I,” the lady responded with a sigh. “Truly, the only reason I wish to read Latin is because of Newton’s Principia; I understand that it provides great scientific insights and the translation into English is somewhat suspect. But I do not have the gift for learning languages, nor the time, nor frankly the interest. It is a great pity.”

“I am quite willing to translate for you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Collins asserted, abruptly turning from the slightly pale viscount.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins, I do appreciate it. Have you read Newton’s Principia in Latin , Lord Crampton?”

“Erm, no, I am afraid, that is no,” the man sputtered uneasily.

“A pity,” Lydia replied with a disappointed droop of her pretty lips.

To his surprise, Mr. Stanton found himself feeling a little sorry for the forlorn gentleman sitting across from him.

“Where is your family estate, my lord?” he inquired.

“We have an estate in Leicestershire,” the man declared, straightening his spine. “The hunting is splendid this time of year. Do you hunt, Mr. Stanton?”

“I do not,” Nathaniel returned boldly. “I confess that I do not particularly enjoy riding, for pleasure at any rate.”

“My sister, Mrs. Darcy, is the same way,” Lydia commented with a fond glance toward the table where Elizabeth was seated. “Mr. Darcy has kindly purchased her phaetons at all the Darcy estates so that she does not need to ride a horse. Now I adore horses.”

“I appreciate them as animals,” Mr. Collins proclaimed judiciously, “but I would not care to mount one. I have no doubt that most equines would sense my inexperience and promptly toss me.”

Lord Crampton’s expression grew haughty again, “I daresay you have had no opportunities for riding truly excellent horseflesh, Mr. ...”

“Collins,” Lydia finished for him. “Where do you buy your horses, my lord?”

“We buy some at Tattersall’s, of course, but we have been breeding our own horses in Leicestershire for some ten years now.”

Mr. Collins pounced on this, “Have you indeed, Lord Crampton? Do you raise thoroughbreds? Arabians? Work horses? Ponies?”

“Thoroughbreds, of course. There is no other horse worthy of my interest.”

“Nonsense, my lord, nonsense,” Mr. Collins replied irritably. “Race horses are useless except for the pointless recreation of watching horses run in circles. It is the work horses which provide the strength for the farming which feeds us all, and one needs a strong horse, not necessarily a fast one, to draw carriages ...”

“Mr. Collins,” Lydia said in a warning tone.

“Oh dear, I do apologize, my lord,” Collins said regretfully. “My dear Mrs. Collins usually helps me rule my tongue, but she gave birth to our daughter only recently and is still confined to her chambers.”

“Congratulations,” Nathaniel exclaimed. “Is this your first child, sir?”

“My second,” Mr. Collins announced, his homely countenance suffused in delight. “Tobias, our son, is two years of age and dear Phoebe is two weeks of age. Children are truly a blessing from the Lord.”

“Loud blessings,” Lydia added with a chuckle. “I adore my nieces and nephew and your children, Mr. Collins, but it is startling how such small beings can make so much noise!”

“True enough, Miss Lydia. But come, Lord Crampton, you must tell me more about your horse breeding ventures. I daresay I will never breed racehorses but knowledge is always useful. Tell me, how do you choose your stallions, sir? And your mares? What do you feed them in winter? Do you find they often injure their legs? What is their winter diet?”

Lord Crampton, distracted by the barrage of question from Mr. Collins, missed Lydia’s quiet words to Nathaniel.

“Mr. Stanton, would you rather speak of steam engines or plumbing?”

***

“Well, Lydia, what did you think of your table mates?” Elizabeth inquired with an arch lift of her left eyebrow.

Dinner was complete and the ladies had withdrawn to the south parlor, leaving the men to their port. Elizabeth had arranged the various ladies in small, conversational groups before withdrawing to a window to speak in a low tone to her youngest sister.

Lydia huffed, “Lord Crampton is very irritating, Lizzy. He is condescending and proud.”

Elizabeth chuckled, “I once described my dear husband in similar terms, Lydia.”

Lydia shook her head decidedly, “It is not the same. Mr. Darcy’s manners were stiff but not rude. Lord Crampton kept making unkind comments to both Mr. Collins and Mr. Stanton regarding their lineage; it reminded me of Caroline Bingley, to be honest. It was very irritating.”

“It sounds irritating,” Elizabeth agreed. “I am sorry he was tedious, but I felt I must placate Mother by assigning a nobleman to your table. You know she still hopes to see one of us girls marry into the nobility.”

Her youngest sister tossed her head, “Well, I will not marry a man with a title who is an arrogant bore. I am thankful that Mr. Collins was there because he showed Lord Crampton for who he truly is.”

Elizabeth chuckled, “I have found that many men show their true characters in Mr. Collins’s presence. It is a gift.”

“Yes,” Lydia commented with a gurgle of laughter. “It is like that Bible verse about the sons of Jesse, when Samuel the prophet was sent to Bethlehem to anoint a new king of Israel. For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart . Mr. Collins does not look like the genius that he is, and thus many people come to incorrect conclusions by judging his appearance.”

“What of Mr. Stanton?”

The youngest Miss Bennet actually hopped slightly with excitement, “Mr. Stanton is splendid, Lizzy! He is honest about his interests and disinclinations and fascinated with steam engines and plumbing. He has even studied electricity! It is rather a pity he is at Oxford; Cambridge has stronger tutoring in mathematics, but his father wanted him to attend Oxford.”

“I am glad that you like him,” Elizabeth said in some surprise. Lydia had attended four dinner parties at Darcy House and never been so enthusiastic about a dinner partner.

***

“Lord Crampton,” Darcy said with a bow, “thank you for joining us this evening.”

“It is my pleasure,” the viscount replied with a returning bow and a courteous smile. He had been rather thrown off by his dinner partners, but when all was said and done, his goal tonight was to charm Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Miss Lydia Bennet was a beautiful and well connected young lady, but her reputed dowry of ten thousand pounds was not sufficient to refill the coffers of the family estate, which had dwindled of late from bad investments and overspending. Miss Georgiana Darcy was the real prize – if Viscount Crampton could win her, not only would the family fortune be renewed, but he would forge a direct alliance with the Darcys and Matlocks. He had already danced with Miss Darcy at three balls; surely this invitation was a positive sign that he had managed to attract the attention of not only the lady, but her formidable brother.

Mr. Darcy, in turn, cast a rather piteous glance toward the door before turning back to Lord Crampton. In spite of years of experience, he was still not adept at making conversations with strangers; thus, the division of the sexes after dinner was his least favorite part of the Darcy dinner parties. Elizabeth could charm anyone, and he missed having her at his side.

To his gratitude, Charles Bingley sensed his discomfort and appeared at his right hand.

“Ah, Lord Crampton, my brother by marriage, Mr. Charles Bingley,” Darcy said in a relieved tone.

“Mr. Bingley,” the viscount said in a slightly clipped accent. He wanted to talk to Darcy, not to a merchant’s son.

“Lord Crampton,” Bingley returned genially, “I believe you own a breeding farm at your family estate? How are your thoroughbreds getting on?”

In spite of himself, Crampton’s eyes brightened with enthusiasm, “Very well, Mr. Bingley, very well indeed.”

Darcy allowed the tedious talk of racing to wash over him, content to stay silent. A few minutes later, he observed that Mr. Collins had approached the coffee station and was hovering morosely over the bowl of sugar lumps.

Darcy moved discreetly out of earshot of Bingley and Crampton before addressing the parson, “Good evening, Mr. Collins. How are you?”

“I will not be able to stay long as Charlotte needs me,” Collins declared flatly. “Lord Crampton’s racing stables are hemorrhaging money. As you requested, I did a little investigation of his family finances, and they are dire indeed, much more so than is commonly known.”

“So he is a fortune hunter,” Darcy mused softly.

“Yes, and he has his eye on Miss Darcy. I saw him looking at her across the room often.”

Darcy’s lips thinned, and he straightened his back. After the rake George Wickham had nearly run off with his gentle sister, Darcy was determined to keep Georgiana safe from fortune hunters.

“Thank you, Mr. Collins,” he stated. “I appreciate your willingness to attend a dinner party when your daughter is yet so young.”

“It was my pleasure,” Collins commented cheerfully. “Young Nathaniel Stanton is something special. I believe he might be a good addition to our scientific endeavors in Derbyshire.”

“That is splendid,” Darcy answered in a rather hollow tone. On the one hand, he was truly honored to have some of the best scientific minds in England working at his estate; on the other hand, he feared that something might blow up one of these days.