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Bullseye! Richard took a sip of his brandy to hide his amusement.

“Gracechurch Street is near Cheapside certainly, but some of the houses there are quite fine. Surely you’ve been through that neighborhood?

It runs somewhere between the East India House on Leadenhall and the Bank of England on Threadneedle.

Really, Cousin, I had not realized that you were so provincial as to know nothing of London beyond Grosvenor Square! ”

Seeing that Darcy appeared bewildered, Richard tried again. “Well, you do know where the new London Bridge is being built? At the end of King William Street? Or at least you still remember where Christopher Wren’s monument to the Great Fire is, yes?”

Darcy rolled his eyes at his cousin’s sarcasm and grunted in an most ungentlemanly manner.

“Well, if you go north on King William and veer right at the Monument… et voila ! You are on Gracechurch Street. Further north it becomes Bishopsgate, after you cross Leadenhall.”

He smiled at Darcy’s expression. Another suspicion clicked into place.

Was his cousin resisting his feelings for Miss Bennet because he believed her to be socially inferior?

“Trade or not, some of the families that live along there are wealthier than any of the cash-strapped peers in Bloomsbury… or Mayfair for that matter. Many with excellent connections, as well— younger sons finding an honest way to support their families and so forth.”

Darcy remained silent, staring into the fire and looking thoughtful. Richard decided that he had given his younger cousin enough to think about on that subject for the moment.

“By the way, are you going to John Stanhope’s wedding tomorrow? It’s at Saint Paul’s, although I can’t imagine he has enough family left to fill his side of the pews.”

Will forced his mind away from the Gardiners’ condition in life long enough to formulate a coherent response. “I saw the invitation but didn’t realize it was tomorrow,” he admitted. “I hadn’t even realized that he was engaged. Who’s the bride?”

Richard rolled his eyes. “Miss Cecily Rickles, Heaven help him.”

Darcy couldn’t help but groan. Miss Rickles had come out the previous season.

Her beauty, wealth, and connections all made her popularity in Society a certainty.

Darcy’s aunt, the Countess of Matlock, had hosted a dinner party and made certain that her favorite nephew was seated beside the young lady.

Darcy himself had approached the introduction with a certain eagerness.

At twenty-six, he had been increasingly tired of bachelorhood and all that he had heard suggested that Miss Rickles was just what he had been taught to look for in a wife.

Unfortunately, it had taken less than one course for him to realize that the pretty face hid a vapid and poorly educated mind.

He had rapidly given up any discussion of literature or current events.

She agreed that she had recently seen a play and he was able to piece together that it had probably been Hamlet only after Miss Rickles commented on the color of the curtains (blue with gold tassels), which he recognized as being unique to one theatre on Drury Lane.

The acting had been “nice,” the staging had been “pretty,” and the plot had been beyond her ability to describe, quite literally.

“I suppose some men might prefer a silly wife,” said Darcy without thinking, then slapped one hand over his mouth.

Richard roared with laughter at his cousin’s loosened tongue. “Well said, my boy, well said! I’m glad to see that wicked sense of humor hasn’t become entirely atrophied while I was away.”

Darcy tried to cover his embarrassment by taking a sip of wine. He couldn’t quite contain his curiosity, however. “How did Stanhope… When did they…” Will trailed off, not quite able to phrase his question without speaking poorly of the lady.

Richard chuckled again. “How did he get himself shackled to the dullest, stupidest girl of our acquaintance? Family dynasties, of course. Mama and Ellen were talking about it at breakfast the other morning. It sounded as if the fathers had the marriage contracts drawn up before the bride and groom had even met.”

Even with his own recent disappointment, Darcy couldn’t help but ask, “Are you serious? Was no account taken for affection?”

Richard snorted. “Old Stanhope has long desired a connection to the Duke of Northumberland, which the Rickles possess. And apparently there is some possibility that John has a claim to the Earl of Ailesbury’s title when old Brudenell finally dies…

or something like that. I have to admit, I wasn’t particularly interested after I’d established the bare facts of the matter. ”

Darcy shook his head. John Stanhope was a few years younger but they were part of the same circle and met socially on occasion.

His wasn’t a particularly brilliant mind but Darcy would never have called him stupid.

He found himself wondering what he would have done in the same situation, if his parents had lived and arranged his marriage to a woman with whom he had nothing in common.

Darcy sat lost in thought for some minutes until he went to take a drink and found his glass empty. He stood and refilled his glass and then did the same for his companion’s after silently gesturing with the decanter.

Sipping his brandy, Richard leaned further back in the comfortable armchair and stared into the fire. He spoke thoughtfully. “It has been very interesting, being back in Society this last month after so long in the trenches.”

Darcy blinked and looked over to his cousin.

Richard rarely spoke of his time in war.

Other noblemen’s sons might have purchased a uniform but avoided any active service.

The Right Honorable Richard Fitzwilliam, however, had earned every advancement with sweat and blood, his most recent promotion coming on the battlefield after his squadron’s previous commander had been literally shot off his horse by a sniper.

“This is a strange world we live in, you know. So much time and money spent on such frivolous nothings. And the angst! I was born into this life, believing that the only thing that mattered was money and consequence. I may have laughed at it but I never really questioned it; remember how I always said that I could only ever marry a wealthy woman?” Richard paused for another sip of brandy.

Darcy’s attention was now fully engaged. “And that has changed?”

The Colonel gave a harsh bark of a laugh. “I feel like I’m observing some strange, foreign culture that I once read about in a book. I can still remember the dance steps—I can flirt and charm with the best of them—but it feels like a charade I’m forced to play when the situation demands it.”

Richard sighed and tossed off the remainder of his brandy. “Bah… I need something stronger than this.” Standing in order to better examine the options, he chose a whiskey that he judged would have the bite his mood required.

“All those primped and powdered dandies. I found myself imagining what Dunn would say… probably how many of them could dress themselves without help!” Richard chuckled.

Not quite knowing what to think (and wondering how long it had been since he had tied his own cravat), Darcy ventured a quiet question. “Dunn?”

Richard looked at him owlishly as if he had just been asked what water was.

“Dunn. Bertie Dunn. Ah, right… of course you wouldn’t know.

He was my batman; not an officer, but the entire company would have fallen apart in a week if he hadn’t been there, myself included.

Food, supplies, horses. Once we were camped in a bog for days—pinned down by artillery on two sides.

Rats would chew on our boot leather while we slept, even as we wore them.

So, there we were, bitter cold with holes in our boots…

even stuffing them with rags didn’t help— just left us with cold, wet feet that felt like lead weights.

Then, two days before we were supposed to sneak out, Dunn appeared with a sack full of shoe leather.

We spent the day sewing new soles on our boots with horse hair and then everyone marched out with dry feet. ”

Richard took a swig of whiskey and enjoyed the burn down his throat. “There’s nothing in this world quite so wonderful as dry feet.”

“How did he manage it?”

The Colonel shrugged with a weary chuckle.

“I’ve no idea and he would never tell us.

Had some of the younger lads convinced he was Merlin reborn.

Dunn came from a big family—fourteen children in some little fishing village near Ipswich—and said it was something he’d picked up from minding the young ones.

Always kept some candies or peppermints hidden in a secret pocket so he could produce them with a flourish.

After that, the kiddies would follow him anywhere. ”

“He sounds like a good man.”

Richard smiled fondly. “He’s the very best of men, the very best of friends.” His voice became rough. “Darce, I don’t think I would’ve made it back this last time without him.”

Sensing that his cousin needed someone to confide in, Will stood silently to refill Richard’s glass. The Colonel nodded his thanks, but his eyes remained unfocused, looking beyond the fire into those nightmares only he could see.

“We were sneaking out through the artillery, a few hours before dawn— that’s when the enemy’s sentries are usually least alert.

Only five miles but it took hours, mostly on our bellies.

We went single file, spaced out with Dunn in the lead as he’d scouted the route, and me bringing up the rear so we didn’t lose any stragglers. ”

Richard closed his eyes. “We made it through the worst and were about a mile from where our regiment was dug in when some fool of a lieutenant saw us coming. Later I heard that he and his mate had been drinking bootleg all night instead of watching their posts.” He threw down the remainder of his whiskey.