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D arcy had just finished his solitary dinner and was contemplating an evening in his library when an insistent pounding at his front door drew his attention.

Before his butler could properly announce the visitor, his eldest cousin Henry Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Milton, stood in the doorway to the dining room with the confident air of a man accustomed to having his every whim indulged.

Tall and fair where his younger brother was of middling height with darker colouring, Milton cut a dashing figure in his impeccably tailored evening clothes.

"Darcy! You look positively”—he tipped his head to one side to study him— “awful. Come, you are expected at Matlock House."

"Milton," Darcy acknowledged, rising from his chair with a sense of foreboding. "Fitzwilliam said you had returned to town."

"Just today. Summoned, you know." Milton moved into the room, examining Darcy with exaggerated concern. "Fitz warned me, but I thought he was exaggerating. Love denied has not improved your countenance, cousin."

Darcy stiffened. "Fitzwilliam has been discussing my affairs with you?"

"Oh, not just with me." Milton's smile unfurled in the particular arrangement of features that had reduced half the denizens of London's drawing rooms to sighs and fluttering handkerchiefs.

"You should have written to me sooner. It will be more difficult now that time has passed, which is why your presence is requested at Matlock House for dinner and a discussion of strategy.”

"I have already eaten," Darcy protested, though he suspected it would do little good.

"Come watch us eat, then," Milton replied breezily. "Mother sent me specifically to fetch you. And you know how petulant she is when denied."

Darcy frowned. "My valet will need to—"

"Your valet is being informed," Milton interrupted. "He will prepare your evening clothes." He clapped Darcy on the shoulder. "Do not attempt to resist, cousin. The Fitzwilliam family is marshalling its considerable forces on your behalf."

Less than an hour later, Darcy found himself dressed for dinner and seated in his uncle's elegant dining room. He was surrounded by four Fitzwilliams, all of whom were regarding him with varying degrees of interest and amusement.

"Darcy, my boy," his uncle said. "Good of you to join us."

"I had little choice in the matter," Darcy replied drily, glancing at Milton.

"None whatsoever," Milton agreed cheerfully.

Lady Matlock, resplendent in a gown of sapphire silk, regarded Darcy with the shrewd assessment that had intimidated even the worst termagants of the ton. "Richard has been telling us about your predicament with Miss Bennet. I knew she was not fond of being forced to wed, but now we know why."

Darcy shot a betrayed look at Fitzwilliam, who merely shrugged. “Your vaunted skills in strategy are hobbled where Miss Bennet is concerned.”

Had they not had this conversation only a few hours ago? “I have a new strategy.”

“Which I gave you, and for which you have very little time. Let us assist.”

“I cannot believe you revealed our conversation to your family.”

"They would have found out eventually," Fitzwilliam said, not looking remotely apologetic. "Better to enlist their help from the beginning. Besides, they were quite impressed by Miss Bennet at the salon."

"Indeed we were," Lady Matlock agreed.

"Which makes it all the more tragic that she is so reluctant to marry you," Milton added, helping himself to another serving of roast duck. "Though one can hardly blame her, given your legendary charm."

"Milton," his uncle warned, though his eyes held a glint of amusement.

"What? I am merely acknowledging what we all know. Darcy is about as expressive as one of Mother’s statues. The poor girl likely fears she shall be trapped in a mausoleum for the rest of her days."

Darcy set down his wineglass with deliberate care. "I appreciate your concern, but I hardly think my private affairs require a family council."

"Nonsense," Lady Matlock declared. "This is precisely when family is most needed. You are in love with the girl, are you not?"

The directness of the question caught Darcy off guard.

He glanced around the table, finding three pairs of eyes fixed upon him with undisguised interest while Fitzwilliam’s gaze remained fixed on his duck.

Even the footmen seemed to be moving more slowly as they served the next course, clearly hoping to overhear his response.

"I hold Miss Bennet in the highest regard," he said.

Milton snorted. "There you have it, Mother. For Darcy, that is practically a declaration of undying passion."

"As I suspected." His aunt nodded with satisfaction. "And from what Richard tells us, the young lady is not indifferent to you."

"What Miss Bennet needs," Milton proclaimed, gesturing with his wine glass, "is a grand romantic gesture."

"Absolutely not," Darcy said immediately.

“Every woman wants one,” Milton insisted.

"I agree with Darcy," Fitzwilliam said. "He must be on solid ground with her first. Otherwise, he shall frighten her off."

"Frighten her off . . .” Milton scoffed. "What about a midnight serenade beneath her window is frightening? I could arrange for the finest string quartet in London."

"Or perhaps a poem," Lady Matlock suggested. "Women appreciate a man who can express his feelings through verse." She cast a sideways glance at her husband whose ears were now turning red.

Darcy did not want to know why.

"Darcy? Write poetry?" Fitzwilliam asked, incredulous. "I would sooner expect my horse to make the attempt."

"He would make a better job of it," Milton added, and the brothers laughed.

"What about a private reading of Shakespeare's sonnets?" Lady Matlock suggested. "Lady Spencer hosted such an event last season, and two engagements were announced the following week."

"Because the gentlemen were desperate to escape another such evening," his uncle remarked. "Three hours of amateur theatrics is enough to make any man propose if for no other reason than self-preservation."

A soft snicker came from the direction of a footman. The butler glared at the man and jerked his chin. Chagrined, the footman left the room.

His family did not notice.

"Perhaps a favourite volume of poetry with meaningful passages marked?" Lady Matlock offered. "Ladies appreciate such thoughtful tokens."

Milton snorted. "For heaven’s sake, do not leave it up to Darcy. He would probably hand her a copy of Aristotle's treatises."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Your suggestions grow increasingly helpful."

"I merely speak the truth," Milton replied with a careless toss of one hand. "Though I will say, a man with your conversational skills must consider leaning heavily on his other attributes.” He studied Darcy’s apparel and frowned. “And a new coat from Weston might not go amiss."

"Henry!" Lady Matlock admonished before turning her own eyes upon Darcy’s evening coat. She frowned.

What was wrong with his coat?

"What about a meaningful keepsake?" Lord Matlock suggested. "Perhaps something that has been in the family? The small enamel box your mother used for her trinkets might make a thoughtful gift."

"Trinkets suggest he is attempting to purchase her affection," Fitzwilliam pointed out. "Miss Bennet would see through that immediately."

"A hothouse bouquet," Milton declared. "Winter roses and forced lilies. Impressive without being ostentatious."

Darcy stared at him. "You propose that I present Miss Bennet with flowers? That is your grand gesture?"

"Not just any flowers," Milton insisted. "A purposefully composed arrangement with symbolic meaning. Roses for love, forget-me-nots for true remembrance, blue hyacinth for constancy—ladies understand those sorts of things.”

“What ladies?” Fitzwilliam inquired.

Aunt Matlock appeared quite baffled.

Milton sighed. “I assure you, the most fashionable set understands such things. Mr. Harold Wentworth secured Lady Caroline's hand with nothing more than a nosegay and a meaningful glance."

"Lady Caroline had already refused four eligible offers," Fitzwilliam interjected. "Including one from a baronet. Her mother might have cast her out had she rejected another."

"He had excellent timing," his uncle observed.

Milton nodded sagely. "And a remarkable talent for meaningful glances."

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are all enjoying this far too much."

"Nonsense," Lady Matlock said firmly. "We are merely exploring the possibilities. What about a private concert? Many ladies are moved by excellent music."

"A concert featuring what, precisely?" Darcy asked wryly. “I can hardly command an entire orchestra to appear on command.”

"We could arrange something intimate," Milton offered, a mischievous gleam entering his eye. "A small gathering, select musicians—"

“We are already planning to attend Lady Spencer’s concert.”

“Bah. Bunch of unmarried girls performing in the hopes of ensnaring a husband,” Milton said, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"Darcy plays the violin quite well," Uncle Matlock observed unexpectedly. "I recall hearing him perform once when I visited him at Cambridge. Quite moving."

That was the last time Darcy had played before an audience, for he had endured a great deal of teasing over it.

"The violin! Perfect!" Milton exclaimed. "Nothing speaks to a woman's heart like music."

"I am not performing for Miss Bennet," Darcy stated flatly.

"Why ever not?" Lady Matlock demanded. "If you possess a talent that might help your cause—"

"Because Miss Bennet's concerns cannot be addressed in such a way," Darcy cut in, his patience wearing thin.

"She fears that any regard I feel for her now will inevitably diminish over time, as her father's did for her mother.

That our marriage, founded on obligation rather than choice, will become a prison for us both. "

A momentary silence fell over the table as they absorbed this.

"A legitimate fear," the earl said at last, his voice thoughtful. "And one not easily dismissed with conventional courtship tactics."

"No," Darcy agreed. "Which is why I would prefer to handle this matter in my own way, without interference, however well-intentioned."

The look that passed between the Fitzwilliams told him his preference had been duly noted and would be thoroughly ignored.

"Darcy," Lady Matlock said, her tone gentler now, "you must understand that we only wish to help because we care for you. And having met Miss Bennet, I believe she could be essential to your happiness."

"If only she were not so stubborn," Milton mused.

"Says the man who once refused to leave his bed for three days because Father would not buy him a horse," Fitzwilliam said, shaking his head.

"I was twelve," Milton protested. "And it was a magnificent Arabian. I might have paraded it on Rotten Row and been the talk of the ton."

"You are like the daughter Mother never had," Fitzwilliam told his brother.

"Oh, really?" Milton's eyes glinted dangerously. "Shall we discuss the time in Paris during Amiens, when you—"

"Boys," Lord Matlock said firmly. "We are devising strategy to resolve Darcy's problem, not conversing about ancient history." His eyes lit up. “We might tell Miss Bennet all about your philanthropic endeavours.”

Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form. "I do not need my family singing my praises like some Greek chorus."

"Do you not?" Milton asked blithely. "Think about it, Darcy. Miss Bennet fears that your admiration will fade with time, that familiarity will breed contempt. Who better to refute that notion than the people who have known you all your life and still find you somewhat tolerable?"

"Darcy is not a man to give his heart and then take it back," mused the earl. "The Darcy men are notoriously constant. Once committed, they remain so for life. Your grandfather was, and your father never so much as looked at another woman after he won your mother. Not once."

Darcy nodded, touched by this reminder of his father's devotion. He had never remarried. "Miss Bennet does not know that, however."

"Then we must show her," Lady Matlock declared. "Not through grand gestures, perhaps, but through consistent proofs of your character."

“What are you suggesting?" Darcy asked warily.

"Nothing dramatic," Fitzwilliam assured him.

Milton slumped in his chair, and Darcy thought the man might actually be pouting.

Fitzwilliam kept speaking. "Simply that we might help Miss Bennet understand the man you truly are. The man beneath the reserve."

Milton lifted his wineglass in a toast no one joined. "A coordinated campaign to capture the lady's confidence!" he announced, lifting a finger in the air. He took a sip. “I do so enjoy alliteration.”

"Not bad," Fitzwilliam conceded. "Though lacking in subtlety."

"Subtlety is overrated," Milton said dismissively.

“Your entire character in three words,” Darcy grumbled.

"What we shall need is a series of wisely orchestrated encounters," Lady Matlock replied, ignoring Darcy and warming to her son's theme.

"People who can casually mention your many fine qualities," Fitzwilliam said with a nod.

"And your steadfast nature," the earl added.

"And your secret passion," Milton finished with a wink.

"I do not have a 'secret passion,'" Darcy protested.

All four Fitzwilliams regarded him with identical expressions of disbelief.

Darcy sighed. “Even if I had a passion , nothing could ever be a secret around the four of you.”

“True,” his uncle agreed. “No reason even to try.”

Aunt Matlock finished her wine and set the glass down with regal precision. “Darcy, you are clearly of no use to us at present.”

Darcy blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

She waved a hand airily. “You may go home.”

Fitzwilliam leaned in with a grin. “She means you are dismissed.”

“Like a footman with a poor attitude,” Milton added helpfully.

Darcy rose, dignity intact despite the familial assault. “I shall take my leave then, since I am so clearly unwanted.”

“Not unwanted,” his uncle said. “Simply unnecessary.”

Milton raised his glass one last time. “And Darcy? Do consider the flowers.”

Darcy paused at the threshold, gave them all a long, unimpressed look, and exited without a word.