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Anderson shook his head, smiling fondly.

“I could never resent such a kind-hearted woman. But I could easily take exception to the circumstances that gave me this countenance, or my grandmother her failing mind, or my grandfather such a devoted wife that his face would be the only one she recalled after the rest of her memories had faded. Resentment is not confined to people, Darcy. Circumstances—or the want of them—are often equally deserving.”

“You need not convince me of that. I resent the circumstance of not yet being married equally as much as I resent the man responsible for it.”

Anderson said nothing. Resentful natures were evidently a family trait, and the way to make Darcy talk was clearly to poke at his. It was not something he took any pleasure in doing.

“I see that you wish me to make the comparison to you and your grandmother,” Darcy said, looking and sounding exceedingly cross about it. “That the timing of my marriage is one of very few matters not of my choosing, and therefore I ought to resent the delay less.”

“It would be futile for anyone to tell you what you ought and ought not to resent. But, perhaps knowing you have been free to make the choices that please you best in so many other respects will make the teasing of those with less opportunity to do so more tolerable.”

Darcy made another small noise of contempt. “You have observed my cousin’s provocations, I take it?” He banged open a door onto the passageway that led to the library. “He only succeeds in vexing me about it because he is right. I ought to have been able to marry by now.”

“I am afraid I must disagree with your cousin on that score. In my opinion, you are doing the only right thing by waiting. It would be inadvisable to force Miss Bennet to oppose her father. She would not thank you for it. And, for what it is worth, I would think better of any man who did not impose his will on the woman he purported to love. As must she.”

Darcy gave him a shrewd look. “Are you still speaking of my situation?”

Anderson grinned. “There are simply some women in this world worth waiting for, Darcy. I am a patient man, with little cause to repine.”

The sound of raised voices interrupted them. They frowned at each other and followed the sound to the library.

Georgette gave up attempting to cajole her cousins into accord when Lady Aurelia set fire to the drawings.

Up to that point, she had found the entire argument vastly entertaining, but Lady Aurelia was evidently in her cups again, and no matter what her objection to Saye’s plans, it did not excuse the destruction of what had been beautifully wrought sketches.

She retired to the large leather sofa in front of the fire and watched as two footmen swept up the ashes.

The rest of the guests all stood about whispering to each other, some visibly shocked, a few appalled, most amused. Sir Phineas was fuming.

“Good God, Aurelia, you have scorched the table! You might at least have put them in the hearth. What possessed you to set them alight here? What the devil am I to tell your father?”

“My brother charged me with safeguarding the innocence of all these young ladies, and that is what I intend to do. Those pictures were a corrupting influence.”

“I hope you do not feel the need to set fire to every threat of corruption, else half the men in this room will be ablaze,” said Saye, coming into the library behind his sister.

He had shed his pique, Georgette noticed. That was the thing about Saye; his temper burnt hot, but it cooled just as rapidly, and he never held a grudge. Lady Aurelia did not deserve his clemency, in her opinion.

“You have not found Darcy, I see?” said Mr Emerson.

“Oh, I found him. He was not inclined to help, ungrateful wretch. But I have the next best thing.” He stepped sideways, revealing Mr Darcy’s betrothed. “Elizabeth tells me she has discovered a section in here that contains copies of a number of these paintings. Would you show us where, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth walked to the dark corner of the library beneath the balcony ladder, with which Georgette was well acquainted, and not because she had been admiring the books there.

“What is that face for?” said Saye, dropping heavily onto the sofa next to her.

“I heard some whispers in that corner recently. I was just reflecting that I hope it is not haunted.”

Her cousin gave her an assessing look. “What have you been up to?”

“It is odd you should ask me that. I meant to ask you the same thing.”

“Oh?”

Georgette glanced around to ensure nobody was within earshot, then spoke in a low voice. “My maid tells me there was a bit of confusion below stairs yesterday. Somehow—and I cannot imagine how—the chamber pot from your apartments was discovered by one of the charwomen in Lilly’s bedchamber. ”

Saye gasped theatrically. “The minx stole my Minton? I shall summon the magistrate directly.”

Georgette cast him a sidelong glance that she hoped conveyed all the doubt, censure, and amusement she felt for such a pointless demurral.

“I shudder to think what manner of diversion resulted in the swapping of your chamber pots, but you will be pleased to know that your dalliance has not been discovered. My maid informed them all that I did it as a dare to get you into trouble.”

“You are all that is noble, fair cousin, but there was no need.”

“There was every need,” Georgette replied, her voice still quiet but her tone firm. “Lilly is a dear friend. When I agreed to come here, it was on the condition that you would not toy with her.”

“I am not.”

“You quite clearly are, and I insist you stop.”

Saye adjusted himself to face away from her and crossed his arms petulantly. “I cannot stop until I have changed her mind. She is determined to have Ball-Sack, and it is the biggest mistake she will ever make.”

“If you will not step up to the mark, then you must put up with whatever decision she makes, whether or not it is a mistake. I would not have you ruin her reputation. And I will not have you play fast and loose with her heart.”

“It is not her heart I wish to play with but the lovely hillocks situated directly—blazes, that hurt!” He stared balefully at Georgette, rubbing at the spot where she had pinched him hard.

“I am in earnest, Saye! This is not a game.”

A flash of irritation showed on his countenance before he covered it with insouciance. “You are one to talk. I need not ask why it is that Blanderson follows you around the place like a puppy.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I do hope you are not about to tell me women may not enjoy the same diversions as men.”

That she did not deny it clearly surprised him, which she enjoyed, and then so did he.

“We always did take pleasure in the same things,” he said with a smirk.

“Indeed, but notwithstanding our similarities, there is one very important difference. I have made no promises that I am not willing to keep.”

“Tosh! You cannot possibly mean to tell me that you have promised yourself to that starched prig.” He affected a mocking voice. “ Samuel David Anderson . Heaven’s sake, even his name is dull!”

“David Anderson?” said Lord Mickels from alarmingly close behind them. “Was that not the gent whose wife went mad and tried to jump off the roof of their house in town?”

Georgette twisted to see him pass behind their sofa on his way to another part of the room. Following Anderson’s example, she did not answer, but the conversation, instead of petering into nothing, ricocheted around the room, swelling in volume and folly alike .

“Good Lord!” Mr Clarke exclaimed. “Are you telling me Blanderson’s mother was that Mrs Anderson?”

“Which Mrs Anderson?” enquired Miss Parker. “I never heard of her.”

“And you have not suffered for it, so there can be no need to hear of her now,” remarked Lilly, sending an expressive, questioning glance at Georgette.

“I heard about it from my mother,” Miss Barlowe said in an absurdly proud voice. “Mrs Anderson lost her wits when her son died. It was said she pulled out all her hair in grief and was completely bald when they took her to Bedlam.”

A soft gasp drew everyone’s notice to the doorway, where Sarah had just arrived. Had she heard the disagreeable origins of the discussion, she would likely have held her tongue. Instead, she directed a pitying look at Georgette, and exclaimed, “Mr Anderson’s brother died?”

Then, of course, the idiotic Miss Parker wished to know what it was that had killed him.

“He was born addled in the head,” Miss Barlowe replied.

Georgette’s jaw ached from being clenched, and her chest was full to bursting with the set down she could not deliver. She could feel Saye looking at her, but she continued to stare directly ahead, her chin held high as the nastiness flowed around her.

“Nay, he was left enfeebled after a childhood illness,” Mr Clarke corrected her. “Almost died and was rendered simple thereafter. Nasty business.”

“Just so,” agreed Mr Withers. “I daresay it would make any mother a lunatic to see her child thus afflicted.”

Georgette sent Saye a plaintive look, and he spoke up, giving everyone a frown. “There now, that is enough. Surely there are pleasanter things we might speak of.”

“Pleasanter than what?” enquired Mr Emerson, emerging from the corner of the library where he had been inspecting books with Elizabeth.

Miss Morgan, who had been wafting her assets under Mr Emerson’s nose all week, leapt out of her chair and thrust her breasts at him along with the answer. “Than talking about Mr Anderson’s crippled brother.”

Several of the girls closest to her admonished her use of such callous language, and Mr Emerson frowned at her in distaste, but Mr Wigsby was not quite as averse to the topic.

“Anderson has a crippled brother? I say, he is not the same Anderson who owns that institute for freaks and unwanteds in Golders Green, is he?”