Page 34 of Cads & Capers

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“For the love of all that is holy!” Fitzwilliam muttered as he stormed back to the inn where his horse was tethered. It was obvious what had happened: Mulhall had delivered Darcy’s message to the wrong Miss Bennet. “ ‘Definitely her’ my eye! Of all the stupid bloody mix ups!”

There was some vague similarity between the sisters, recognisable only once Fitzwilliam had comprehended the mistake, but that would have been immaterial to his batman, since Mulhall had not accompanied him to Rosings the previous Easter and therefore had never set eyes on Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

That it was not her Mulhall had agreed to meet would be a relief to Darcy. Less so to Mulhall, who had been uncommonly vituperative upon hearing that his plans would be waylaid. The young woman, too, had seemed genuinely disappointed by the failed assignation, which was the reason Fitzwilliam had done what he could to rekindle the flirtation. He did not think Darcy would mind; considering the lengths to which he had gone to secure Miss Lydia Bennet’s welfare, Fitzwilliam was reasonably confident that his cousin would prefer that this sister not be miserable either.

That was not the problem that concerned him.

Darcy’s sole object in giving the warning about Rutherford had been to keep Miss Bennet safe. It was not unreasonable to hope that warning had served its purpose—that she would know to stay away from the man—but no! Rather, it had persuaded her to thrust herself directly into the blackguard’s path in the pursuit of some other woman’s safety.

Had it been up to him, Fitzwilliam would have left her to it. Not that he did not care for her wellbeing, but she was a woman grown, and what business she involved herself in was up to her. But he knew Darcy would be out of his head with guilt if he knew the consequences of his interference. There was no time to ride to Darcy House and inform his cousin of what was occurring at the exhibition, for her sister had said Miss Bennet was there now. Fitzwilliam could see no other solution than to ride there himself and at least try to ensure she was safe.

“What an absolute ruddy shambles!”

“Sir?”

Fitzwilliam had reached the inn—out of breath and sweaty—and his complaint put a frightened tremor in the stableboy’s voice. He reassured him with a sixpence and mounted his horse, setting out as fast as the busy streets would allow for the British Institution. He was positively roasting in his regimentals by the time he arrived. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and he was sure his face must resemble a baboon’s arse after his ride in full summer sun. Still, better that Miss Bennet think him unpresentable than Darcy rough him up permanently for leaving her to meet Rutherford alone.

Nodding to the odd familiar face, he wandered around the exhibition for ten minutes without seeing her. About to give it up as a lost cause, he performed one last turn of the upper rooms and chuckled when he noticed the two columns sticking up above the milling crowds at the far end of one of the rooms. One of them, he supposed, had provided Darcy’s hiding place when he saw Miss Bennet here on Monday. He walked closer, more and more diverted by the thought of his cousin cowering behind one, for they were not as large as Darcy had made out—and his cousin was not a small man. He must have been barely concealed.

Between the two columns was a couch, the sight of which stirred a memory of Miss Bennet’s sister mentioning that this was where Rutherford had arranged to meet his new paramour. And as happenstance would have it, upon the couch sat a lady, who at that very moment looked up and met his eye. Fitzwilliam’s dishevelment, which had moments before been nothing more than a nuisance, instantly became a catastrophe. Just his luck that he should look his worst when the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld was before him. Still, his scruffiness notwithstanding, if this was the woman Miss Bennet intended to save, he was more than happy to perform the rescue in her stead. He tried to smooth his damp hair into some semblance of order and tugged his jacket straight as he approached.

She watched him, unabashed, until he was standing directly in front of her. She did not look perturbed by his approach. Indeed, she did not look like the sort of woman who needed rescuing from anybody, but that was his excuse, and he was not about to abandon it. He bowed. She raised an eyebrow. He felt a twinge of excitement at her boldness.

“Madam, I beg you would excuse my forwardness. I recognise we have not been introduced, but I must ask—are you here for Lord Rutherford?”

He did not miss the flicker of surprise in her countenance as she replied, “In a manner of speaking.”

“Ah. I feared as much.”

“Feared?”

“Yes. May I?” He indicated the empty space next to her, then sat in it.

“You already have,” she said with an air of annoyance.

“Pardon me, but it would be better if I said this quietly.”

“Said what?”

Fitzwilliam glanced at her. She was even more striking up close, and he found himself unusually stupid. “Might I, um…might I introduce myself first?”

“You may not.”

Fitzwilliam’s face flamed even hotter, though not with embarrassment. Something else, much pleasanter, was making him hot under the collar. “Very well,” he conceded with a small smile. “But I must say my piece all the same, for I could not bear for a lady as fair as you to be ill-used. Lord Rutherford is not to be trusted. I am sorry if this pains you, madam, but so it is. I beg you not to put yourself into his power, for your reputation would be at stake.”

Two spots of colour appeared on the woman’s cheeks and her lips plumped deliciously as she pursed them in apparent displeasure. “Pray, what has his lordship done to you that you should have such a low opinion of him?”

Fitzwilliam stumbled over his response. He had not considered that she might require him to support his claim. Between his senior rank and Darcy’s elevated consequence, they were, neither of them, often required to account for themselves. “I confess—nothing,” he replied. “It is a warning my cousin tasked me with passing on.”

“Well, you may tell your cousin that my cousin is as decent a man as ever lived, and I do not appreciate him attempting to convince me otherwise.”

Fitzwilliam recoiled. “Lord Rutherford is your cousin?”

“He is, and I could not be prouder to own it.” She was hissing her words in anger now, her lips no longer plumped but snarling —though strangely all the more captivating for it. “You and your ilk ought to be ashamed, going about slandering a good man for no reason but spite.”

“It is not for no reason, madam. I have it on excellent authority that he has persuaded an innocent young girl to meet him here, this very afternoon.”

“Persuaded? You make it sound as though he tricked her into it! I assure you, the invitation was sincerely made, and Miss Darcy accepted it freely and gratefully.”

Fitzwilliam almost choked. “Miss Darcy? Miss Georgiana Darcy?”

“Yes.”

“Over my dead body—she is my cousin!”

“That is difficult to credit, since your cousin apparently thinks my cousin is a scourge of London!”

“I have more than one cousin, madam.”

She lurched to her feet and stood, looking furiously down at him. “Then I hope for Miss Darcy’s sake that more of them are like her than the one who thought it politic to spread slanderous gossip about an innocent man all about town! At least my cousin is not lost to all sense of civility and honour.”

Fitzwilliam stood, too, and found himself toe to toe with her. “Tell Lord Rutherford to leave Miss Darcy alone.”

“Do you see him here, sir? Or her? From where I am standing, the only person accosting a woman he does not know in a public place, forcing her to listen to his nonsense, is you .”

Damn! He stepped backwards to put some space between them. “I beg your pardon, madam, it was not my intention to alarm you.”

“You did not alarm me. You disappointed me.”

Somehow, that was the worst slight Fitzwilliam had ever received. She walked away without another word, and he watched her go, aware that his mouth hung agape and unable to do anything about it. When she had disappeared from sight, he shook his head to clear it and made his way out. His priority must be to discover Georgiana’s part in this fiasco, for it savoured far too strongly of Ramsgate for his liking. All considerations of Lord Rutherford’s infuriatingly alluring cousin would have to wait.