Page 42 of A Rational Man (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

M r. Darcy journeyed to London at the end of January.

He had sent word ahead to the housekeeper, so the house was fully staffed and the larders were full when he arrived.

He sent a message to the Matlocks, informing them of his presence; an immediate reply came inviting him to dinner that very evening.

He was welcomed warmly by his aunt and uncle; his cousin Daniel, Viscount Middleton – Richard’s older brother and the heir to the earldom – was present as well.

“I am given to understand that you and I are in Town on the same errand,” he drawled lazily.

Mr. Darcy eyed his cousin warily. The man was very fashionably dressed, with an intricately tied, snowy-white cravat, an embroidered waistcoat, and Hessians shined to mirror polish.

His blond hair was arranged to look deliberately casual, with a curl arranged on his forehead.

Mr. Darcy managed not to roll his eyes. “What errand is that, Daniel?” he asked.

“Why, finding a wife, of course! I shall be brave in the attempt, a veritable Daniel in the lion’s den!” He roared with laughter at his witticism.

Mr. Darcy had never found this cousin to be particularly amusing, but he smiled politely at the jest.

The Earl rumbled, “Choosing a wife is a serious business, Daniel.”

“Is it, though, Pater? It seems to me that one must simply pick the best of the lot, offer for her, and get her with child a time or two. No need for all the fuss that is made about it!”

“You will need to find a young lady who is as cold-blooded as you are on the subject,” Mr. Darcy observed.

The Viscount shrugged. “I am generally mobbed by young ladies and their mamas, as are you, Darcy. Worse, in fact, given that I can offer a title.”

Mr. Darcy could not help frowning at this.

“Ah, you disagree, Darcy? But why? You style yourself as a rational man; is that not a rational approach to the matter?”

“One might wish to be able to have an intelligent conversation over the breakfast table,” Mr. Darcy argued.

“Why?” the Viscount challenged him. “What rational reason have you for that?”

“Because to be tied for life to someone with whom only the merest pleasantries and trivialities may be discussed would be intolerably dreary, Daniel. You forget how much time you will have to spend with the lady in question.”

“Very little time, I think. Court her, wed her, take her to the country until one has done one’s duty – which should be pleasant enough, if one has chosen wisely – and then return to Town while she rusticates and nests and whatever else females do.”

The Countess stared at her son. “A pretty picture you have of your own mother, Daniel.”

“I mean no offense, of course! But my father is a political creature, as well you know, and I am not. I will take my seat in the House of Lords, of course, but I shall devote as little time as possible to such endeavors; I shall have no need for a political hostess.”

“And instead you will devote yourself to racing horses, I suppose,” the Earl said, sighing heavily. He glanced at his wife.

The Viscount saw the glance and interpreted it correctly. “Yes, of course, everyone wishes that it was Richard who was the eldest son and not trivial, good-for-nothing Daniel. Sorry that I am unable to oblige you!” And with that, he stomped off.

The Countess covered her face with her hands. She took a few moments to recover her poise, and then turned to her nephew. “I am sorry you had to witness that bit of family drama, Darcy.”

“No matter; his character is well-known.”

“Sadly, his suspicion that we wish the birth order of our two sons had been reversed is quite right, which makes these discussions all the more difficult. I love both my sons, as mothers do, but it is a hard truth that Richard has always understood his duty and performed it admirably, while Daniel…”

“Is a wastrel of the highest order,” the Earl added, flatly.

“George!”

“You know it is true, Elaine.”

“In any case, I am sorry, Darcy. Tell me,” she said, brightening. “Would you like to see my list?”

“Is it complete?”

“It is. I just added a young lady this morning, a Miss Penelope Armstrong, who is the daughter of a country gentleman with twenty thousand pounds. She is certainly not the wealthiest young lady to come out this year, nor has she a title, but she is pretty, and is reputed to prefer country living, which would suit you.”

“I look forward to meeting her.”

They were then called to dinner. The Viscount, apparently over his sulks, joined them and regaled his listeners with tales of his racing adventures.

He was a proud member of the Four Horse Club, more generally known as the Four-in-Hand.

He had much to say about his club’s rivals, the Bensington Driving Club, which he claimed was a group of old men too frightened to put their cattle to the test.

Mr. Darcy was not at all interested in such a topic, which was more a monologue than a discussion, and he allowed his attention to drift as the dinner progressed.

He had been quite put off by his cousin’s description of matrimony.

Was this what would happen to Georgiana when she had her come-out in two years’ time?

Would she fall prey to a wealthy, titled young man such as Daniel, and be relegated to a lonely life in the country while her husband amused himself in Town?

Meanwhile, the Viscount had indulged in a good deal of wine, which must be the reason he decided to attack his cousin.

“So, Darcy, you seek a bride this year. Will she be as dull as you, reading books all day? A bluestocking! She shall be a bluestocking, I am certain of it. You care not what the lady looks like, I suspect, as long as she is a dried-up, book-reading prune. A rational prune, of course!” He laughed and slopped wine on the table cloth.

“Stop it, Daniel,” the Earl growled.

“What, I cannot tease Darcy? Your precious Richard teases Darcy without mercy, but I am not allowed to do so? Well, Darcy, let us see who has the best bride at the end of the Season! The prettiest, the wealthiest –“

The Countess rose, signaling the end of the meal. The Earl murmured, “I see no reason for the gentlemen to linger,” and he followed his wife to the drawing room, with Mr. Darcy on his heels.

***

The Season was soon in full swing, and the moment word was out that the eligible Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy was in town and on the hunt for a bride, invitations for balls, routs, musical evenings, and every other sort of entertainment poured in to Darcy House.

He consulted with his aunt and chose to accept those invitations that were likely to bring him introductions to the young ladies she considered most eligible.

Mr. Darcy soon found that Viscount Middleton was in attendance at the same events.

There could be no doubt that his cousin was considered one of the great “catches” of the Season.

Mr. Darcy was the recipient of Viscount Middleton’s triumphant glances as hopeful mamas clustered around him with their chicks by their sides, praising the merits of said chicks: Miss Cassandra’s musicality, Miss Amanda’s languages, Miss Deborah’s embroidery, and so on.

Mr. Darcy was subjected to the barrage as well, but to a lesser degree.

Mr. Darcy was at first irritated, and then rather glad; for any young lady who could be attracted to the Viscount was certainly not the right wife for himself.

He had generally been a reluctant dancer – though he had danced a good deal while he was in Meryton, he recalled – Mr. Darcy made it a point to dance with at least five eligible young ladies when the opportunities presented themselves, and so he became familiar with the various Miss Cassandras, Miss Amandas, Miss Deborahs, and so on.

He made it a point to become acquainted with Miss Penelope Armstrong, whose preference for country living had given him brief hope that she might be suitable; unfortunately she seemed unable to utter more than ten words without tossing her blonde curls, a habit Mr. Darcy found annoying in the extreme.

In point of fact, every young lady with whom he had danced had proved disappointing in one way or another.

But he persevered, certain that somewhere in these various ballrooms and drawing rooms, he would find another Elizabeth Bennet.