“You do not think them accurate accounts?” Darcy regarded him curiously.

“Fitz!” Brougham looked at him in true disappointment. “You cannot be gulled so easily!”

“Why? What do you know?” Darcy’s interest sharpened.

“Oh, nothing!” Brougham returned quickly, his countenance suddenly closed and disappointment was replaced by a mocking derision. “Nothing that a careful reading of the absolutely dreadful prose wouldn’t disclose. The fellow is all ‘guts and glory’! Never saw more than the fringes of the action, I’ll wager, if that! He probably caught some of the story from the poor blighters that survived the front lines and then made up the rest.”

A knock at the door interrupted them before Darcy could pursue Brougham’s interesting remarks. It opened, revealing Witcher at the entrance. “Mr. Darcy, sir. Your letter?”

“Yes, Witcher, here it is.” Darcy took it from his desk and pressed it into the old retainer’s palm. “Now send the boy back with it, and let us hope that is the end of it. Is the tea ready?”

“Yes sir, just ready. Will you take it here?”

Darcy looked over at Brougham. “Would you care to call on Georgiana, Dy?”

“It would be my great pleasure,” His Lordship replied formally, but his voice dropped as he added, “It has been a very long time.”

“Good! Witcher, have the tea sent to the drawing room. We shall be up directly.” As Witcher departed on his errand, the two crossed the hall; but Darcy slowed when the man was out of sight. “You will find her quite changed, Dy,” he began.

“I should imagine,” Brougham interrupted. “It has been almost seven years!”

“Seven!” Darcy exclaimed. “Has it truly?”

“Since University! The last time I saw her was in this house at the do your father gave for your graduation. He and Georgiana came down for a few minutes. I believe Mr. Darcy’s health kept him from staying longer.”

“Yes.” Darcy nodded, his brow creasing in remembrance. “It was the last time he was to appear in public. I’d had no notion of his illness until then. He would let no one speak of it, even to me.” Their long, matching strides had brought them finally to the drawing room doors. “Georgiana,” Darcy called out before the servant who admitted them could announce them, “an old friend has come to see you. Can you guess who it is?”

It appeared that they had caught Georgiana deeply engrossed in a lesson, for her expression upon rising from the books she and Mrs. Annesley had spread before them was of one realigning her thoughts to a subject quite different from that with which they had been occupied. She rose, smiling readily at her brother’s intrusion, and made her curtsy to his companion, but Darcy could sense no light of recognition in her eyes.

“Come, Miss Darcy, do not say you cannot remember me!” Brougham made an elegant bow and, rising, cast her his famous, winning smile.

“My…my Lord Brougham?” Georgiana curtsied again in confusion. “Please forgive me, I did not recognize you.”

“Instantly! Who could deny anything the gracious Miss Darcy requests? But I fear we have interrupted a lesson. Does your brother keep you at your books as he does himself?” Brougham swept his quizzing glass at the open volumes on the low table. “You must be longing for a diversion!”

“Oh, no, my Lord! Mrs. Annesley and I quite…quite enjoy our t-time —” Georgiana stammered.

“Please, do not be ‘My Lording’ me, Miss Darcy.” He sighed. “It fags me to death! Brougham will do, as your brother will tell you.” He brought the glass up to an eye and surveyed her from the tips of her slippers to the curls about her face. “But, bless me, you have grown, my girl.”

Georgiana flushed, bewildered by the creature before her, whose exquisite appearance and peculiar manners bore no semblance to the earnest youth she remembered from childhood. Stepping back a pace, she indicated her companion, “May I introduce to you my companion. Mrs. Annesley? Mrs. Annesley, Lord Brougham, Earl of Westmarch.”

Brougham bowed. “Charmed, madam. Pardon me for interrupting your lesson, or was it a tête-à-tête?”

“My Lord.” Mrs. Annesley curtsied. “It was neither, sir. A joint study, more like, but easily deferred to another time.”

“A study!” Brougham’s eyes brightened with interest. “I expected Miss Darcy to be an able scholar. Her brother and I ran neck and neck at University, after all. But you astound me, madam!” He moved over to the table. “What do you study, Miss Darcy?”

Looking on in consternation that, should he discover the subject of her “study,” his sister might be exposed to his friend’s cutting wit, Darcy stepped forward. “And when did you become interested in female education, Dy?” he queried as Mrs. Annesley, on his nod, quickly swept the books into a pile.

“What would a man not give to fathom the female mind, Fitz?” Brougham protested, drawing himself up into a declamatory pose as the ladies gathered the volumes. “It is one of the original mysteries of creation, designed, no doubt, to remind us men that in our armor of logic and martial passion we are still incomplete without the female of our race. Is that not so, Miss Darcy?” Her attention engaged in assisting Mrs. Annesley move the objects of their study, Georgiana started at his sudden appeal to her. In her surprise, the books in her arms began to slide, and the smallest escaped her clutch and landed squarely upon Brougham’s foot.

“My Lord!” Georgiana gasped in unison with Brougham’s involuntary cry of pain, and she bent to retrieve the offending tome.

“It is nothing,” breathed Brougham, biting his lip. He stayed her from the book with a motion of his hand. “Please, allow me. I claim as recompense for my wound the discovery of your study, even though your brother would draw me off.”

As Brougham bent to recover the book, Witcher arrived with the tea, and in the ensuing activity, it seemed to Darcy that the book had been forgotten. The conversation turned instead to the latest news and on-dits exchanged in select drawing rooms and clubs of Town, a subject with which Brougham was intimately acquainted and which he most obligingly shared with his hosts. Darcy knew Dy’s grasp of his subject was unassailable, but when their guest apprised them of the news that Mrs. Siddons was to announce her retirement from the stage, he took issue.

“She has been threatening to do so for years, Dy,” Darcy scoffed. “Why do you believe it to be true this time?”

“Because, Fitz, I had it from her own lips and have seen the playbill announcing her last performance,” Brougham replied smugly. He turned to Georgiana. “I have also heard that you, Miss Darcy, sing and play delightfully. Would you be so kind as to honor us with a little music?”

Darcy rose as a shadow of nervous reluctance passed over his sister’s face and went to her, taking her hand in his. “The piece you have been practicing so diligently…that will be perfect. And you need not sing, if you would rather not.”

“I will forgo song, Miss Darcy, if only you will consent to play,” Brougham urged in softened tones, his eyes smiling at her in encouragement.

Bowing her head in acceptance, Georgiana gripped Darcy’s hand and allowed him to assist her to the pianoforte. As she arranged her music, he resumed his seat, offering Brougham a grateful smile before settling back into his chair. Georgiana had never performed for anyone outside the family before. And it is time she did, he thought as she laid her fingers upon the keys. She would be coming out in a year and must conquer her shyness or be outshone by young ladies with less of a gift to recommend them. Who else but Dy would have had the temerity and address to prevail upon her to play? He had proved himself friend twice in the space of an hour. Darcy shifted his glance to Brougham. The look of satisfaction on Dy’s face was all he could have wished for Georgiana. Although Brougham’s reputation as a fribble was well established, his approval in matters of music was something to be regarded, and his word on Georgiana’s ability would travel swiftly through the halls of Society.

Darcy looked back to his sister. The tension he had sensed in her seemed to have dissipated as her fingers caressed the keys, and it occurred to him that her selection had not sounded so well when she had practiced at Pemberley. Perhaps a better instrument should be ordered. A movement at the corner of his eye drew his gaze again to his friend. Brougham’s eyes were almost closed, mere slits in his face, as he slowly brought something up from his side. A cold shiver of apprehension shook Darcy as Dy surreptitiously turned over the volume in his hand to discover the title. Darcy knew what his friend would read. It was that book which he had so rashly picked up at Hatchard’s and which was his sister’s late, constant companion. If Brougham recognized it, he would write her down as a wretched “enthusiast,” and unless Darcy could prevail upon him, so she would be labeled by all of Society before she even made her curtsy.

Darcy eyed his friend warily, his breath held in suspension, waiting only for the snigger of contempt or snort of shocked disapproval. As he watched, Dy brought the book closer to his waistcoat and, after casually looking about him, peered down at its spine. In an instant, Brougham’s face paled. He frowned and looked at it again, as if disbelieving what he had read. Then, shaking his head slightly, he slid the book back into its hiding place and looked up at Georgiana, his gaze riveted upon her in a curious fashion whose meaning Darcy was at a loss to interpret.

Georgiana brought her performance to an end, the notes distilling sweetly through the drawing room as she rose from the instrument and curtsied to the applause of her small audience. Before Darcy could rise, Brougham was at her side, offering her his escort back to her chair. He saw that she took Dy’s arm hesitantly, not lifting her eyes to him but rather training them upon himself in mute appeal.

“Fitz, you have been hiding a treasure!” Brougham advanced them across the room and gently assisted her into her chair. “Miss Darcy.” He bowed over her hand before relinquishing it. “Allow me to say you are a very remarkable young woman.” Straightening then, he turned to Darcy. “Old man, I must beg your forgiveness. I toddle off to Holland House this evening, and my man has warned me that I must place myself in his hands earlier than is my habit. Therefore, I take my leave. Miss Darcy, Mrs. Annesley.” He bowed to them as Darcy rose and led him to the door.

Their progress down the hall was, to Darcy’s mind, disturbingly silent. His friend seemed much preoccupied with his thoughts, and apprehensive of their subject, Darcy could not determine whether his best course lay in silence or in demanding elucidation. When they had reached the stairs, his agitation on his sister’s future forced him to come to the point.

“Dy —”

“Fitz.” His Lordship spoke in the same breath. “When does Georgiana make her curtsy at court?”

Surprised at his question, Darcy stopped on the stairs and looked back at his friend cautiously. “Why, early next year, I believe.”

“And who will sponsor her?”

“My aunt, Lady Matlock, will introduce her. She comes to London next week to take Georgiana in hand.”

“Lady Matlock.” Darcy could almost see the wheels turning in Brougham’s mind. “Yes, excellent. Of the first circle in style and grace, but wholly unconnected with the fast set. Very good,” he murmured.

“I am gratified to have gained your approval in the disposition of my sister!” Darcy snapped at him, suddenly irritated beyond caution.

“Oh, my pleasure, Fitz, my pleasure.” Brougham preceded him down the remaining stairs. “These things need careful attention…” Reaching the bottom, he turned and looked meaningfully into Darcy’s eyes. “And I would be most happy to lend you any assistance you may require.”

The burden of dread he had carried for the last half hour suddenly lifted, leaving Darcy almost weak with relief. He reached out his hand and clasped Dy’s ready one in a firm grip, so firm, in fact, that it raised his friend’s eyebrow.

“Glad to help, old man,” Dy assured him, flexing his fingers. “Now, shall I see you at Drury Lane on Thursday night?”

“Yes, Georgiana and I will be attending.”

“Then I shall call at your box at intermission. If you have no fixed engagement, may I invite you both to supper after?”

“That would be splendid!” Darcy’s tentative relief expanded. “But you must know, Mrs. Annesley will make a third of our party, if that is agreeable.”