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W illiam Darcy was not one to feel nervous about meeting someone of rank.

He had met dukes and duchesses before and taken it in stride.

This was different, and there was no more putting it off.

He was to finally face the woman he had insulted so grievously, and he hoped his being uncomfortable would not cause him to say the wrong thing again.

No matter how many times his parents, uncle, and aunt had assured him that Her Grace had forgiven him, until they arrived in London, and he saw Their Graces and how they reacted to his presence in their company, the more apprehensive William had become.

The major concern was that if he allowed his discomfort to rule and he, heaven forfend, insulted the Duchess again, he would not receive another chance to correct himself.

At the last rest stop. William had gone to the necessary, and thankfully there had been a mirror, though not a very clean one, on the one wall.

He stood before it and looked himself in the eye.

“You are not the same man you were when you behaved so abominably,” he said aloud, but not so loud that he could be heard outside in the hallway.

“Just be the man your parents are happy you have become, and all will be well.” For the remainder of the journey, he had felt far more relaxed.

William had arrived at Darcy House the previous day with his parents and Anna.

The latter was already gone from the house.

There had been an invitation waiting for her to join the Bennet sisters at Hertfordshire House.

The Fitzwilliams’ house, Matlock House, was across the green.

William had noticed that Barrington and his new wife had taken up residence at Chamberlain House, next to the Fitzwilliams’ abode.

Mother had informed him that the Darcys and Fitzwilliams were invited to Hertfordshire House for dinner on the morrow. She had confirmed they would be part of a larger party of those who had been invited.

After that, for the next sennight to fortnight until Her Grace was presented to Her Majesty in a private drawing room, there would be shopping and various other forms of entertainment.

William told himself that once the first meeting with the new duchess was over, any residual awkwardness he was feeling would dissipate.

~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~

“Aunt Anne, would you introduce me to this gentleman, please?” Elizabeth requested, with an arched eyebrow, when the Darcys were shown into the drawing room before dinner.

Seeing her again, William was struck by just how inaccurate his words about her looks had been. Her Grace was beautiful; he could not remember ever seeing a woman more handsome than her. Her magnificent emerald-green eyes were looking at him in anticipation.

“Lizzy, I present to you my son, William Darcy. William, Her Grace, Lady Elizabeth Chamberlain, the Duchess of Hertfordshire, and Marchioness of Hertford,” Lady Anne intoned.

“Your Grace,” William bowed low. “Especially after my boorish and unacceptable behaviour prior to your wedding, it is very gracious of you to allow me into your,” he turned to the Duke who had been welcoming his father and Uncle Reggie, “and your husband’s home.”

“Archy and I accepted your apologies before the wedding, and we are fully aware of how well you acquitted yourself in Scotland. The past is in the past; let us begin again from today,” Elizabeth stated magnanimously.

William accepted the olive branch which had been extended. He spied some movement out of the corner of his eye. “Richard!” he exclaimed.

“It is good to see you,” Richard Fitzwilliam boomed. “I miss you in Kent.”

Before the two cousins got lost in their brotherhood and telling one another all which had occurred since the last time they saw one another, Hertfordshire welcomed the younger Fitzwilliam brother and introduced his wife to him.

The previous time the cousins had been together was a few months ago when William had been at Rosings Park.

“I see that word of your beauty has not been exaggerated.” Richard bowed over Her Grace’s hand.

“And neither has the word that you are a flatterer,” Elizabeth returned.

“I am guilty as charged, Lady Hertfordshire.” Richard got a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. “If my big oaf of a cousin here,” he inclined his head towards William, “misbehaves again, I will happily thrash him for you.” He had a wide grin on his face.

“I think the misunderstandings are behind us,” Elizabeth asserted. “It is good to meet you, Mr Fitzwilliam.”

It was as it had always been. Richard was easy in company and knew how to put others at ease, while William knew he had not that same talent.

He was not good at banal small talk and could not catch the tone of the conversation, but Richard had always had the talent of easing his way in society.

It was, of course, no excuse, but had Richard been with him that day at Falconwood, he would never have acted the way he had.

William was well aware that such thoughts were unproductive; he should have behaved as a gentleman regardless of who was, or was not, with him.

It was not now, nor had it ever been Richard’s bailiwick to regulate or mitigate William’s behaviour.

A clap on the back from his older cousin brought William out of his reverie.

The Gardiners and Phillipses—who were being hosted at Gardiner House—and the older and younger Barringtons arrived shortly after Richard Fitzwilliam.

At almost the same time the three youngest Bennet sisters and Anna entered the drawing room.

They were soon chattering with Lilly Gardiner, who had arrived with her parents.

Once he had greeted Anna and met her friends, Richard had William accompany him to a parlour across from the drawing room.

“We did not speak of this in Kent, I suppose we were too busy. I hope you know how lucky you are; you were given a chance to change your ways,” Richard stated once the door had been closed.

“It did not take me very long to see how much His Grace loves Her Grace. You can be thankful serving as a footman was all the penance you had to pay.”

“Well I know it, Richard,” William acknowledged. “I have no improper pride left in me; that I can guarantee you.”

“Then I suppose something positive has come from it.” Richard paused and shook his head.

“You know you were a blockhead, do you not? How many times did Andy and I, well before my brother became obsessed with my new sister, attempt to point out that you would end up as you did one day? I suppose you were not ready to hear what we attempted to tell you.”

“I was not,” William owned. “It took the great shock I received to force me to evaluate my character, and I found it more wanting than I could have imagined in my wildest nightmares. In a way, it was a good thing.”

“I do not want this to sound condescending, but I am proud of the man you are becoming. I heartily approve of the changes you are making.”

“Thank you, Richard. As much as I was concerned about what you would think of my abhorrent actions at Falconwood, the disappointment I saw in my parents almost ripped my heart from my chest. Even though I had not admitted it to myself yet, at that moment I knew there was no choice but to amend my character.”

“Do you need spectacles?” Richard ribbed to lighten the mood.

“I do not understand what you are babbling about,” William jested back. “Did a cannonball fall on that hard head of yours before you resigned?”

“My mother wrote and told me what you said to the then Miss Bennet. If you called Her Grace not handsome enough, I assert you need spectacles; either that or you are half blind.”

“To my chagrin, in my pique I hardly looked at her, not until after those vile words had crossed my lips. I was not blind, just a simpleton.”

“Come, my simpleton cousin; let us rejoin the rest of the party before we miss the call to dinner, and you know how black my mood will get if I miss a good meal,” Richard said as he pulled the door open and led the way back to the drawing room.

“Yes, Richard, I am aware you can eat as much as any other two men,” William ribbed.

When they entered the drawing room, the cousins noted that the Duchess was surrounded by the married ladies, all of them seemingly with moisture in their eyes.

Richard looked at his father and Uncle Robert quizzically and then back at the ladies surrounding the young duchess.

“Lizzy just shared that she is with child and already felt the quickening,” Matlock revealed. “It is a subject that evokes emotion in ladies, and I suppose in some of us old war horses as well.”

Before he made an impolitic comment or jest about what came first, the babe or the marriage, William bit his tongue.

It had been five months, or more, since the wedding.

Given that Her Grace was not showing any outward signs of increasing, it was obvious the wedding had come first. He knew that no matter how many improvements he had made, there was still more work to do.

“Please accept my best wishes to both of you, Your Graces,” William offered.

The Duke inclined his head. “We thank you, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth responded. “It is a blessing from God, and we will be happy with a daughter or a son, as long as she or he is healthy.”

“And you are as well, my love,” Hertfordshire added.

“I come from healthy stock. You well know my late birthmother bore five children, survived all, and, until after Lydia was born, never had any sort of problem,” Elizabeth assured her husband.

She was well aware that as happy as he was at the prospect of becoming a father, the possibility of losing her frightened him more than he had been willing to verbalise.

William looked at his mother, the love of a son shining in his eyes. “Mother was thought to have a weak constitution, but she came through both times she was with child, and according to Father, if anything, she was stronger for it,” he told the Chamberlains.