Page 34

A PROFOUND AVERSION TO GOSSIP

A nderson heard his man tut quietly and turned to face him, wash cloth in hand. McLeod was folding his discarded, muddy clothes, a look of weary disgust on his face.

“Sorry about all that. I had a small dash across the countryside on a rather impressive brute of a horse.”

“Just so, sir.”

McLeod disappeared into an antechamber and came back without the pile of clothes but with a letter, which he placed on the dresser next to the washbasin.

“This arrived while you were out, sir.”

Anderson glanced down. The seal was Randalph’s. He was sorely tempted to tell McLeod to burn it, but he refrained. He dried his face and, steeling himself for whatever outrageous demands his little brother had made this time, opened the letter.

Samuel,

Mrs Thornbury has sent word. Grandmother is ailing again. I am in Southampton; I shall never reach her in time. You will have to go.

Randalph

He threw the letter on the fire, wishing he had not read it first. Matlock was as far from their Somerset estate as Southampton, and his brother knew it.

What Randalph evidently meant was that he would not trouble himself to go.

Anderson sighed heavily. Thus ended his heavenly interlude with Georgette.

“Be a good fellow and pack our trunks, McLeod. We must leave for Gilchester Hall as soon as may be.”

His man complied without question, and Anderson went in search of Georgette, not anticipating breaking the news one bit.

The house was unusually quiet. It was a vast, sprawling mansion with more rooms than could ever be necessary, and whilst that provided many convenient places for clandestine assignations, it made locating anyone absurdly difficult.

Every saloon or parlour into which he looked was deserted.

Supposing the exotic tableaux vivantes Saye had planned might require a grand setting, he wandered through the gallery, the grand entrance hall, and the ballroom.

All three were empty. He was so turned about that he considered going outside and walking the exterior of the house to regain his bearings, but a faint noise arrested him, and since it sounded somewhat human, he followed that instead.

In a chiefly bare room at the rear of the house, he discovered Darcy, conducting a furious and decidedly one-sided fencing match with a straw-stuffed mannequin in the centre of the floor.

Anderson could guess whom Darcy was thinking of as he jabbed at it.

His and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s horns had been well and truly locked when Anderson left them half an hour ago.

It had not surprised him overmuch. It was evident from their talk in the alehouse the colonel had some deep-rooted misgivings to overcome before he would let his cousin slink off care-free into connubial felicity.

“You thought to go straight to the fencing and miss the tableaux , Darcy?”

Darcy drew himself up and turned to face him, revealing a split lip he had not possessed half an hour earlier. “The tableaux have been postponed. Have you time for a couple of rounds?”

Anderson sighed inwardly. Darcy was a man in obvious pursuit of relief, and he was not sure he had the fortitude to play nursemaid to two grown men in one day.

He had only tackled the colonel because the man was Georgette’s cousin, and she had been exceedingly persuasive in her arguments as to why he should.

But she did not give two figs about this man; thus, he was not sure he did either.

He supposed, however, if he could in some way reassure Darcy, then Fitzwilliam might vicariously be induced to get himself under better regulation.

It would be nice to present Georgette with something to soften the disappointment of his departure.

“Very well,” he answered. “Though I should warn you, I am far from proficient. I should be grateful if you would refrain from skewering me.”

He stripped off his coats and took the foil Darcy handed him.

Five bouts were enough to confirm Anderson’s suspicions that Darcy was a master swordsman, and he was no match for him.

He watched with wry amusement when his blade was knocked from his hand and sent skittering across the floor to the far corner.

“I yield, sir. You had much better find a more skilled opponent.”

Darcy did not reply, and when Anderson glanced back at him, he was surprised to discover that he looked vaguely appalled.

“I apologise, Anderson. That was ill done on my part. You told me fencing was not your forte, and I played to my best form regardless. I was angry, but that was no excuse to take it out on you. I hope you will forgive me.”

Anderson shrugged. “I shall take it as a compliment to my skill that I managed not to come off any worse than I did, in that case.”

Darcy accepted his forbearance with a firm nod but gave no false platitudes.

Indeed, he said nothing more as they both put their swords away and donned their coats.

Anderson had a strong suspicion that maintaining a silence would never induce Darcy to fill it as it had with the colonel.

He was also certain a direct question about what had angered him would be seen as an impertinence.

In that instant, he gave up the notion of talking to Darcy about anything.

The man was far too private to draw out. He held out his hand for him to shake.

“I must leave Matlock today, Darcy, so I shall say goodbye. I wish you luck with your wedding. Miss Bennet seems a wonderful young lady. Well worth the wait. I wish you every joy together.”

“Are you mocking me?” Darcy said angrily. “I warn you, Anderson, I am in no humour to be ridiculed.”

Anderson withdrew his hand. He resisted backing away, though he remained wary in the face of Darcy’s greater strength and unprecedented outburst. “Certainly not. I apologise if it seemed I was.”

Darcy ran a hand over his face. “No, I apologise. That was ill done as well. My cousin made a similar remark earlier about me waiting to marry, and his meaning was less ingenuous than yours, but that is hardly your fault. I beg your pardon.”

“No harm done.”

It would have been the perfect time to end the conversation, with no hard feelings between them and nothing said to make either feel awkward.

I must be a glutton for punishment , he thought with a sigh as he held the door open for Darcy and said to him as he went through it, “I apologise if your cousin was in an agitated state before. I may have encouraged him to have one too many ales at the Pig therefore, Anderson gave none. The matter was dropped, and they passed through the ballroom and a series of smaller chambers before either spoke again.

“What calls you away?” Darcy enquired.

“My grandmother is unwell.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“It is not a new illness, but she is not sound of mind, and when she has a turn, it is usually only my brother or I who seem able to recall her to the present. We think probably because we both look so much like our late grandfather.”

“Cannot your brother go, then?”

Anderson grimaced tightly. “Not on this occasion.”

“That is a shame. You will miss the masquerade.”

“Regrettably, I have no choice. My grandmother will not eat when she is in this state, so one or other of us must always go when it happens. If you had met my brother, you would not need me to explain that it is usually I who does.”

“A heavy burden indeed.”

“I might consider it so, were it not such a starkly finite problem. Besides, it is easy not to begrudge those parts of my life over which I have no control when there are so few of them. I am, like you, my own master and therefore largely free to do as I please. It might be different had I more limitations placed upon me. A man without any opportunity to do as he chooses might have more reason to be resentful.”

Darcy cast him a dubious glance, undoubtedly not fooled into thinking they were talking about his grandmother anymore. “Are you suggesting that, had you generally less liberty, it would justify resenting your grandmother more?”