Page 56

A Fortnight Thereafter

T he note he received was nothing short of hilarious, but laughter aside, it required an answer. Uncertain of what answer he should give, Saye thought it best to talk it over with Fitzwilliam and Darcy. He found them together in Darcy’s study, having only just returned from Rotten Row.

“You should have come with us,” Fitzwilliam said. “Delightful morning, perfect for a ride.”

“My nights are no longer my own,” Saye replied. “I need my beauty sleep.”

“You seem to be in uncommonly good humour,” Fitzwilliam observed as he took the missive from his brother’s hands. “What is this?”

“Do read it. I daresay you will be as diverted as I.” Saye helped himself to some of the coffee they were drinking and settled himself on the chair nearby.

Darcy had leant over Fitzwilliam’s shoulder to read, and straightened, more alarmed than either of his cousins. “Balton-Sycke wants to meet you on the field of honour?”

“I know,” Saye said with a grin.

“I suppose I am your second, then?” Fitzwilliam asked with a chuckle.

“Only if Sarah is unavailable,” Saye replied. “After all, she has already proved her worth on the archery range.”

“What right has he?” Fitzwilliam asked. “They were not engaged.”

“No, but he had spoken with her father.” Saye took a large swallow of the coffee. “It seems he felt it sufficient to stake his claim on her.”

“Her father? But not her?” Darcy asked, still studying the note. Did he think it was written in ancient Egyptian symbols?

Saye reached out, jerking the page from Darcy’s hands. “He had not spoken to her. Of this I am sure,” Saye said firmly. “More’s the pity, I should have liked to see the lobcock jilted.”

“So you will offer an apology,” Darcy said. “See a peaceful end to it.”

“What am I to apologise for? Being handsomer than he? Cleverer? Richer? I cannot apologise for what I am, men.”

“So you intend to fight him? What if he tears your hair out? What if you bleed on Florizel? ”

Saye finished the last of his coffee and set the cup down firmly on the table in front of him. “Those are the chances I shall take, and gladly.”

Being engaged in London exceeded all of Lilly’s dearest expectations.

Congratulations and felicitations abounded, her mother was proud of her and already calling her Viscountess, and her father had told her no expense would be spared for her trousseau.

It was a rarefied time, exciting and love-washed, and she intended to commit every morsel of it to her memory—even this bit, entering a party on his arm as the whispers of admiration went up around them.

She was smiling and nodding to their friends as they passed when she heard Saye mutter, “Well, this is dashed awkward.”

“What is?”

“Your friend is over there.” Saye gestured across the room where stood Balton-Sycke, evidently attempting to appear fearsome.

“We all got on well enough at Matlock. Why should it be awkward now?”

“Because he is hoping to kill me tomorrow,” Saye replied.

Lilly halted immediately, her former delight fled. “Wants to kill you?”

Saye shrugged and gave her hand a little pat. “ Not to worry, my darling, there is no sacrifice too great for your honour.”

Shocked and more than a little horrified, Lilly tugged him into the relative privacy of a small space behind a column nearby. Her cheeks had flushed hot and panic made her shaky. She could not allow it! He could be hurt, or maimed, or sent to gaol…nothing good ever came of a duel!

“You cannot duel,” she said urgently. “I forbid it in every respect.”

“Forbid me?” He gave her an imperious look, one brow raised.

“Yes, forbid you,” she replied anxiously. Then she whispered, “Or next time you come calling at night, you will find my window closed!”

“That is as much to your detriment as mine,” he hissed back. “If we kept score?—”

“I know! But I am better able to withstand the lack! I already have for above two decades!” She felt her eyes fill with tears, and her voice shook a little as she said, “But what I cannot withstand is to be without you.”

Saye’s eyes softened, and he ran the back of two fingers down her cheek. “He will not?—”

“Saye, I beg you not to do this.”

“—kill me. I can shoot a pigeon?—”

Her heart now throbbed in her throat, such that she could barely utter the next, most necessary words. Indeed she was ashamed that she had been too shy to speak them previously, but if they could now stop him from some manly foolishness, time was of the essence.

“—from two miles away and?—”

“Saye! Listen to me!” She swallowed to gather her courage. “I love you. I do—I love you too dearly to let you endanger yourself in this careless, stupid way.”

Her words had a shocking effect; Saye stopped talking. “What did you say?”

She laughed nervously, blinking madly through a blur of tears. “You heard me. Vain creature, I shan’t puff your head up with more.”

“Dear girl.” He pulled her into his arms and murmured into her ear, “Do you truly?”

“Would I marry you if I did not?”

“Maybe,” he said, pulling back to peer into her face. “After all, I am sinfully wealthy, devilishly handsome, and titled.”

She smiled at him. “If you were a shabbaroon born of a stonemason, I would still be madly in love with you.”

“I cannot believe how you have ruined me,” he exclaimed. “I am tied to your apron strings! I might as well be one of these insipid poets who languishes about caterwauling about love. Or worse! I have become just like Darcy!”

At this, she laughed aloud, then kissed him once again before saying, “You have won my heart, and in some few weeks will have my hand as well. Do console poor Balton-Sycke with whatever apology his pride demands, and let us all part ways in peace.”

He sighed heavily. “I shall go and speak to him. For you. And then I shall take you and your mother home, pretend to leave, and sneak up the back stair.”

He left her then; she followed him around the column, watching as he moved through the crowd towards a fellow he scorned, to humble himself for her. We shall be the happiest couple in the world , she thought.

Five Months Thereafter

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was the happiest of men—or he expected to be, within a very few days. He was pleased now to greet Mr and Mrs Darcy from his own home, Bridgelands Manor.

It was a jewel, and though nothing to Pemberley, he did not require grandeur.

All he needed was Sarah’s happiness in creating a home to be treasured by them both.

The ruggedly beautiful countryside appealed to something within him, and he had already begun the improvements recommended by his brother and cousin that would increase their income and the wellbeing of all who resided here.

“A long wait is almost finished,” Darcy remarked once his wife had been shown to their chambers and they were alone in Fitzwilliam’s study. “I must say, I thought you would take your own advice and beat Saye to the altar—instead of delaying the ceremony so long.”

“And you will never allow me to forget it, will you?” Fitzwilliam asked, without heat. He deserved Darcy’s mild ribbing, and a good deal more.

“Oh, in a decade or two the joke will grow old, I suppose,” Darcy said, smiling. Darcy smiled often these days. “But seriously—you did seem eager to marry at the end of Saye’s party. Mrs Darcy and I both were surprised at a delay of five months.”

Fitzwilliam stretched his feet out before the fire.

“Sarah has always felt like an outsider looking in upon society, observing more than experiencing. Her life, while it is a life she has enjoyed, has not always been an easy one, and she was unable to spend as much time with her friends as she may have wished. Even then, she is older than they are, and…”

Darcy nodded, and Fitzwilliam knew he need not explain more.

His Sarah was different, and there was no getting around it.

She was also the most joyful woman he had ever known, and loving beyond his wildest dreams. He could not wait to make her his wife in all ways, and complete the love he felt for her, to wake every morning in her bed or her in his…

Stop it , he warned himself, conscious of Darcy’s knowing look.

He was accustomed to bridling his passions, but it was not easy.

“I wanted her to have the rest of her Season, and dance attendance upon her with the world watching me do it. I wanted her to…to have some fun. Besides which, my mother had distinct ideas about what bringing her into the family should mean, in the way of balls, a trousseau, et cetera, et cetera.”

“How does Miss Bentley do with your dear mama,” Darcy said, with another hint of a smile. Everyone knew that Lady Matlock was as formal as any countess in the realm.

“It was difficult in the beginning,” Fitzwilliam admitted. “But the Easter visit to Lady Catherine’s…well, let us just say that Sarah’s conversations with our aunt managed something that my mother, with all her flinty politeness, never managed. She shut her up.”

Darcy’s brows rose. “Shut up Lady Catherine? Impossible!”

Fitzwilliam’s answering smile was sly. “Indeed. It is just that Sarah was so genuinely interested in what Lady Catherine had to say, questioning her, in the most well-bred way, on her feelings about nearly every subject—and then rhapsodising about imperial three-tongued maggots or the like, with anecdotal evidence to prove they felt the same way. I believe our aunt grew afraid to say anything for fear of being compared to a cockchafer.”

Darcy laughed aloud. “And our aunt did not attempt to put her in her place? I am astonished!”

“Well, she did, of course. But clever Sarah would only find another marvellous similarity, until Lady Catherine evidently decided silence was her only recourse. Never even suspected Sarah was putting her on, what with Father encouraging her. But what truly won Mother’s heart was how she treated Anne. ”

Darcy’s brows rose, because, as they both knew, sickly, cross Anne was not known for her affability.