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“Sir!”

Fitzwilliam Darcy was brought back to the present by his valet’s utterance, only to realize that in the moments that Hawkins had turned his back to brush his master’s coat, the gentleman himself had managed to mangle the intricate knot in his cravat.

Will sighed. “I apologize, Hawkins. My mind wandered.”

The servant nodded but couldn’t quite control a sniff. After removing the ruined neck cloth, he moved deeper into the dressing room to retrieve a fresh one and then set about repairing his master’s costume.

Darcy forced himself to keep his mind on the present (and hands at his sides) but feeling the cloth tighten around his throat once again, he objected, “A little looser, Hawkins. The theatre is likely to be overheated and I would prefer not to make a spectacle of myself by swooning from lack of air.”

Hawkins said only, “Of course, sir,” although his mouth twitched slightly at the image. He kept to himself the observation that he had never seen the young master so fidgety.

The valet had arrived in the dressing room at his regular time to prepare Mr. Darcy for an evening out, only to be struck dumb at the sight of his normally imperturbable gentleman standing before the mirror, attempting to button a waistcoat he had not worn since…

Hawkins clicked his tongue, an old habit that he had never been able to break.

To the man who cared for his clothes, Fitzwilliam Darcy had never truly come out of mourning for his father’s death; even after the official year had ended, the young man had persisted in his wardrobe of austere black.

He had recently approved two new coats, one of a deep blue and another of dark green wool (the latter to be accompanied by a canary yellow waist coat), but the valet had not dared take it as any particular sign that his master’s spirits might finally be lifting.

Young Mr. Darcy had never been a flashy dresser, preferring understated styles unlikely to gain comment—he was no follower of Beau Brummell and had no desire to be classified as a dandy.

The one area in which Fitzwilliam had allowed his valet to explore a bit of individuality had been in his waistcoats.

Though never gaudy, he had enjoyed fabrics with subtle patterns of texture or embroidery.

However, these had all been put away after his father’s death.

To himself, Hawkins had suspected that the young man had seen them as evidence of youthful fancy and put them aside for the black that might make himself seem older, wiser.

Perhaps better than anyone, the valet understood the pressures and responsibilities that had descended upon young Mr. Darcy with his father’s unexpected demise.

The waistcoat that Darcy was, even then, straining to fasten, had been ordered only weeks before his father’s death and had never been worn.

A wine-colored silk with a subtle embroidery picked out with silver threadwork, Hawkins observed and couldn’t suppress a small smile.

Mr. Darcy looked like a man readying himself to go courting.

The valet stilled his face into its usual mask when he heard his master curse and observed that the gentleman was about to burst a button.

“Allow me, sir.”

To say that Darcy started was an understatement.

Armed with intelligence from his sister that Elizabeth would be wearing a rose-colored gown that evening, he had explored the depths of his own closets, too embarrassed to ask his valet if clothes tailored for him at twenty-one would still fit his twenty-eight year old frame.

He had discovered that the waistcoat could be buttoned if he sucked in his breath and had been contemplating the result in the mirror when his valet interrupted.

Instantly realizing how embarrassed his master was to be discovered thus, Hawkins spoke quickly to smooth over the awkwardness. “If I may, sir. With a very slight alteration, you would be able to wear that this evening, if you wish.”

Mr. Darcy had managed a nod, aware he was blushing, and Hawkins had assisted him in removing the garment. In minutes, Fitzwilliam was in his bath and the valet was moving the buttons.

Darcy had shut his eyes and leaned back in his tub for a moment, unable to banish the sight of straining buttons from his mind.

Had he grown… heavy? Certainly he was not as active as he had been in his university days, particularly during the winter when most outdoor sports were all but impossible in Derbyshire.

He could not abide by the corsets that some gentlemen had taken to wearing in order to fit the closely tailored clothes currently in style, but might Elizabeth prefer a younger, more svelte figure of a man ?

It was probably lucky that Hawkins had entered at that moment and interrupted Darcy who was working himself into a most unaccustomed dither over his physique.

As his valet moved him efficiently through shaving and dressing, Fitzwilliam had settled into the routine and told himself firmly that there was nothing else he could do to improve his appearance before seeing Miss Bennet again.

When Hawkins was satisfied, Darcy retreated to his private sitting room, hoping to have a few minutes to himself.

He walked directly to the window and stood with both arms braced against the casement, unable to control a groan when he considered all the things he must remember to do (and not do) that evening.

At that moment, a soft giggle alerted him that he was not alone.

He turned quickly and caught sight of his sister curled comfortably in one of the armchairs by the fireplace. “Georgiana.”

She giggled again and put aside the book she had been reading while waiting for him. “Oh Wills, I am sorry… I didn’t mean to intrude; I only wished to see you before you left for the opera.”

Darcy pulled the tips of his waistcoat down and fiddled with his cufflinks. “Shall I embarrass you, do you think?”

Detecting the note of nervousness lacing his jest, Georgiana studied her brother for a moment. “You look very handsome. I almost wish I could attend with you; Rossini may have a reputation for writing too quickly to produce a polished score but I do enjoy his operas.”

Darcy smiled crookedly and sat on the arm of Georgie’s chair. “I wish you could come as well. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“You heard Elizabeth and her uncle discussing their love of opera and invited them to share your box for the opening of La Donna del Lago . It was a wonderful gesture and they were delighted by the invitation.”

“I despise opening nights. Everyone will be flouncing about, seeing and being seen. Opening nights are for Society’s puffery, not for the music.”

Georgiana thought for a moment, studying her brother. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with the Gardiners and Miss Bennet?”

“No!” he responded forcefully. “Not at all. It’s only… I’m not comfortable…”

Georgiana took her brother’s hand and squeezed. “Will, I of all people know what it is like to be uncomfortable at such a gathering but you must try. If you turn into a grim statue, your guests will think that you do not want to be there… with them.”

Darcy shut his eyes tightly and groaned. “And it will be the Meryton assembly all over again,” he muttered to himself. “Perhaps you could send them a note that I’m ill? They can use the box without me.” He was only partly joking.

Miss Darcy stood and crossed her arms. “Fitzwilliam Darcy, if you even consider such a thing I will never speak to you again! If you cannot find the strength in yourself… in your affection for Elizabeth, then do it for me, as I should dearly love to have her as a sister!”

Her brother sighed before standing and making a deep, formal bow to her. “I shall do my best, poppet.”

The two embraced for a moment but pulled apart when the mantel clock began to toll. “I must go if I am to pick up the Gardiners on time.”

“And Miss Bennet.” Georgiana took his arm and they descended toward the front door.

“And Miss Bennet,” agreed Fitzwilliam with slightly more force than necessary.

“Just remember, there are at least three other people in the audience who also wish to listen to the music and conveniently, they will be in your own box.” She smiled at him, willing all of her own strength to her brother for the evening ahead.

In minutes, Darcy was in his carriage on the way to Gracechurch Street. He appreciated his sister’s support but it was good to have a few moments alone to gather his thoughts.

His first meeting with Elizabeth in Hyde Park had been such a surprise that he had not had time to be nervous.

He had not been comfortable (nor had she), but even so they had been able to speak about Bingley and her sister.

He had spent the rest of the evening reviewing her every look and word, over and over in his mind’s eye.

Georgiana had insisted that Miss Bennet could not help but think of him as a knight in shining armor from now on.

He would settle for her no longer believing that he was the villain of the story.

Mr. Darcy and his sister had called on the Gardiners the very next day.

They had spent an extremely pleasant hour with Mrs. Gardiner, exchanging stories about Pemberley and Lambton but Miss Bennet had not appeared until just as the Darcys were preparing to depart.

Fitzwilliam had turned around at the sound of children’s voices in the hall and been struck dumb at the sight of Elizabeth, fresh from the outdoors.

With bright eyes and windblown curls, Elizabeth had swept in like a spring breeze. There had been no concealment in her eyes, only genuine pleasure. “Mr. Darcy… and Miss Darcy! I had not realized you were visiting or we should have returned from the park sooner!”

The Gardiners’ younger daughter—Amelia, Darcy reminded himself—had remained close by her cousin’s skirts. “But Lizzy… you said that you would like to stay in the park forever and live in a tree house!”