Page 19

A REPORT OF A MORE AGREEABLE NATURE

I n the first week of February, Darcy dined with the Earl of Matlock.

It was an invitation he might ordinarily have declined, for much though he respected his uncle, he found him a little long in the tooth, and evenings in his company tended to drag.

Two things persuaded him: firstly, his older cousin, Viscount Cunningham, was to be there, having recently returned from a stay in the North; secondly, it had been six days since Darcy saw Elizabeth at Gunter’s, and the longest he had gone without thinking about her in that time was about half an hour.

He had taken to jumping at any engagement that presented itself in search of distraction.

It was not wholly successful—more than once, he caught himself wondering what she would have replied to this or that remark—but by the time dinner was cleared away and a bottle of Madeira was brought out, she seemed to have relinquished her grip on his mind.

“Fitzwilliam mentioned you do not intend to bring Georgiana out this Season,” Lord Matlock said.

“It is not completely settled, but she is still exceedingly credulous.”

“That is as may be,” Cunningham said, “but wait too long and she might take matters into her own hands.”

Darcy looked at his cousin sharply, wary that Fitzwilliam had mentioned the affair with Wickham, but Cunningham seemed as casual as ever as he grinned and said, “You need a wife.”

“What?” The speed with which Darcy’s mind supplanted the word ‘wife’ with a picture of Elizabeth gave him a palpable feeling of helplessness.

“To oversee the matter. I daresay the influence of a good woman would do you and your sister the world of good.”

“Speaking of marriage prospects, are you planning on visiting Rosings this Easter?” Lord Matlock asked.

Darcy’s mind skipped directly past his lordship’s allusion to the supposed alliance between him and his cousin Anne to a far more pleasing memory: Elizabeth had told him she would be visiting her cousin in Hunsford at Easter.

His abject failure to avoid all thought of her notwithstanding, this recollection buoyed his spirits as nothing else had all evening.

In Kent, they would be away from London’s prying eyes; he could enjoy her company without fear of judgment or censure.

“Yes, certainly I shall,” he replied.

“And you?” his lordship asked his son.

“Not on your life,” Cunningham replied. “I was the sacrificial lamb last year. Let Darcy take Fitzwilliam this time. Or you could go. She is your sister.”

Lord Matlock grunted. “That would never do. She hates to be outranked.”

“Ah. Much better to send Darcy, then. All the pomp and none of the pedigree.”

Darcy became aware there had been a lull in proceedings when Lord Matlock asked, “Is everything well with you, Darcy?”

He looked between the two men. His uncle was frowning; his cousin was inspecting his cigar and smirking faintly to himself.

“Perfectly so, thank you,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem distracted. You would not usually allow such a comment to go unchallenged.”

He shrugged slightly. “It was a moot point. Cunningham makes the Prince Regent look underdressed, and his title is purely honorary. If it were unwarranted pageantry Lady Catherine sought in her companions, he would suit far better than I.”

This satisfied Lord Matlock and prompted Cunningham to raise his glass in salute, though it did not wipe the curious smirk from the latter’s face.

The earl pushed his chair back and stood up. “I am for my library. It grows cold in here. Will you join me, men?”

Cunningham scrunched his face up in distaste. “Much though I relish the prospect of watching you fall asleep beneath a book, I do not think we ought to subject Darcy to it.” To Darcy, he said, “Fancy a game of billiards?”

Darcy accepted with pleasure, and they made their way to that part of the house, though when he reached to take a cue from the rack, Cunningham stopped him with a hand.

“You’ll not be needing that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no intention of playing. I only wanted to get rid of Father.”

Darcy did not ask why; it would soon grow wearisome to prise his cousin’s meaning out of him one question at a time.

“Do not look at me like that!” Cunningham complained. “I am a simple creature. I cannot be expected to concentrate my attention on thrashing you at billiards and interrogating you about your love life at the same time.”

Darcy made a noise of disgust. “You have been speaking to Fitzwilliam.”

“Fitzwilliam, Kilmarnock, Reeves, Patterson—it seems the whole world and his dog is talking about the Master of Pemberley’s grand love affair.

I must be the only blockhead in London who knows nothing of it.

” He stepped forwards, putting himself between Darcy and the cue rack.

“I insist, therefore, that you tell me everything about her.”

Darcy exhaled forcefully. “Damn.”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam told me you are trying to keep it under your hat for some reason, but I must say you are doing a poor job of it.”

“I am not trying to keep anything under my hat—there is nothing to conceal.” Darcy paced to the other end of the table, where he stood with his back to Cunningham, tapping his clenched fist agitatedly on the cushion.

“I had thought these blasted rumours were limited to the margins of society. If you have heard them, I haven’t a hope in hell of remaining unscathed. ”

His cousin did not answer immediately, and into the silence came the sound of footsteps and the clink of glass as he walked to the sideboard and poured them both a drink. Darcy went the rest of the way around the table and accepted his, then sank into an armchair.

Cunningham followed suit. “I may have exaggerated. I do not think the entire world has heard about it.”

Darcy took a desultory gulp of his drink. “That is small consolation when everybody who has heard is making such a mountain out of it.”

“Calm yourself. It is doing the rounds in the clubs, not the Lords. Nobody has heard it who truly cares.”

“Would that nobody cared! What is it to anyone whom I associate with? Nobody is taking notes on your harem of heiresses.”

“But I make no secret of my affairs. Perhaps if you were not going to such lengths to keep this quiet, people would be less fascinated.”

“I tell you, there is nothing to keep quiet. I have no intentions towards her.”

His cousin splayed the fingers of his free hand in acquiescence. “If you insist! Although, that begs the question why not? By every account I have heard, she sounds like a hell of a catch.”

A strange and spectacularly unhelpful sense of pride washed over Darcy.

Of course people approved of Elizabeth. If it were simply a matter of character, there could be no objection to the match whatsoever.

“There is more to consider, not least Georgiana’s prospects.

And trust me, you would not thank me for giving you such a cousin. ”

Cunningham leant back in his chair and crossed his legs. “Darcy, you might get away with imposing your opinions on lesser men, but you will not put words in my mouth. I shall be the judge of who and what deserves my approbation.”

“You and the rest of the family—I am all too aware. Which is precisely why you will not convince me that you could tolerate being disgraced in the eyes of the world.”

“Disgraced? I am beginning to wonder whether you and I are talking about the same woman. This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

Darcy was taken aback. “You know her name?”

“Clearly.”

“Do you know, then, that her family is?—”

“From Hertfordshire. Estate entailed upon a cousin. Four sisters and no money. Yes, yes, I am aware.”

Darcy sat up straighter. “How?”

His cousin waved a hand. “Oh, you know how it is. Once someone gets a whiff of intrigue, all the details come out…including the uncle in the City.”

“Will you still tell me she is a catch?”

“In any other circumstance, no, of course I wouldn’t. But people are mad for her. They like it when the rules are broken. Not regularly, but now and then, and especially when the one breaking them is as renowned a stickler as you. And those who do not approve still love the scandal of it.”

“And a scandal it would be when it was discovered that her other uncle is a country attorney, and her mother is a—” Darcy stopped himself before he revealed too much and said instead, “A complete stranger to propriety.”

“Ha! The mother!” Cunningham cried, chuckling at the mention. “Now she sounds like a riot! I do not know about you, but I wish I had been there to see her set down that dandified buffoon, Aemon Lions.”

“I was there. Nobody thought it was funny at the time.”

“Of course they did—they were all just too priggish to admit it. Everybody knows the man is a preposterous fop.”

“If you heard about that encounter, then I presume you also heard that she slighted Lady Shefford?”

“Anyone daring enough to take down that militant in public is a legend in my eyes. And not just mine! Lord Salinger found it hilarious.”

Darcy lifted his glass and peered into it, then sniffed the contents, seriously questioning what Cunningham had put in his drink. “Mrs Bennet’s behaviour that day was nothing short of savage. On any ordinary day, polite society would have blackballed her—with Salinger leading the charge.”

“Yes, well, polite society is predisposed to approve of the mother on account of them being completely enamoured with the daughter.”

“What do you mean enamoured? All they know is that she has been seen with me once or twice.”

“And I am sure that is, in large part, where their interest began, but she is making waves of her own now. I have not heard anybody talk about her who has not been in raptures over her beauty or compassion. I have heard as many people congratulate you for snaring her as the reverse.”