“Ah, Fitzwilliam, recovered, are you?”

“I beg your pardon, Father?”

“I heard you were sick as a cushion this afternoon … something to do with gross overindulgence and being ape-drunk and on the cut at Whites, I believe.”

“Yes, well, I am unsure how you came about that exaggerated piece of on-dit, but I assure you I did not make a cake of myself at the club. Fleming fortuitously arrived before I could actually accomplish that and accompanied me home.”

“He is a fine fellow, that Fleming; and I will have no hesitation when he asks for Georgiana’s hand.”

“Speaking of asking for hands, Father, I should inform you I intend to make an offer of marriage to Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the near future.”

George Darcy scowled at his son and walked across the room to gaze out the window. “You can do better, Fitzwilliam. You know I want you to marry a woman with a title or at least a vast amount of wealth. You may be infatuated with a vivacious young beauty from a decent family; however, you can have your pick of the country’s very finest ladies. Why settle for less? Do not be so hasty in making such an important decision.”

“I very nearly lost her by being slow and careful, and I will not take such a risk again. Miss Elizabeth is my pick from the country’s finest women. I would certainly not be settling for less, because she is everything I desire in a wife, and more. Why would I want to marry some snobbish, vain, mean, empty-headed woman of the haut ton just because she has a title when I can have a modest, kind, natural, witty, intelligent, and caring lady?”

“Miss Elizabeth will bring very little to a marriage, for I happen to know her dowry is a mere £12,000. You should aim much higher, son. You certainly could have your pick of the many daughters of nobility dangling after you.”

“The woman I want to marry is bright and corky compared to the dull, timid, and apathetic young women I have usually encountered in the upper sphere. My experience has been that the accomplished females of our so-called polite society are anything but polite.”

“She is outspoken and feisty. You would not get along.”

“I admit Elizabeth can be quite assertive and lively and has a teasing nature. Still and all, compared to the respectful, compliant fawning which I usually receive, I find I actually prefer and appreciate such a happy, independent spirit.”

Fitzwilliam had not noticed his mother enter the room and was startled when her voice came from behind him. “I know you are merely playing the devil’s advocate; nevertheless, did you notice, George, not once did he mention her physical attributes? Any man would be proud to have such a beautiful ornament on his arm. However, our son has the good sense to appreciate Miss Elizabeth’s more important qualities. I have often heard prospective daughters-in-law do not usually meet the high standards mothers expect for their sons. Elizabeth Bennet must be exceptional, indeed, for I heartily approve of your choice, Fitzwilliam. Please disregard these tears. I am very, very happy for you, not to mention you have also made me proud to have reared such a fine young man.”

Fitzwilliam took his mother’s hand and gently kissed her knuckles. “Thank you, Mother. I have you to thank for my good sense, while the only thing I inherited from Father is good looks.”

Mother and son exchanged grins.

“All right, all right. Two against one is not fair play.” George Darcy smirked, displaying his dimples, so like his son’s. He crossed the room and shook his heir’s hand. “Congratulations, Fitzwilliam. If you will be half as happy in your marriage as I have been in mine, you will be blessed, indeed.”

The young man suddenly realized they were all jumping the gun somewhat and asked for their patience while he wooed their daughter-in-law-to-be.

In the smaller family dining room, Mr. George Darcy and Lady Anne faced one another across the length of the table. At the Master’s end sat his two daughters; and the Mistress had her son to her left and Ellis Fleming, her potential son-in-law-to-be, at her right.

Miss Anna observed the happy faces of her sister and Mr. Fleming, who were seated next to one another; however, because Anna was beside her brother, she failed to notice the grins and smirks that frequently appeared on his usually serious face.

Fleming did not. “Well, my friend, I am glad to see you are in better spirits than the last time I saw you. If you were to actually say something, I am sure your articulation would be much improved as well.”

“Sorry, Fleming, I was woolgathering. Did I miss something? Were you truly saying something witty and intelligent for a change?”

Ellis looked at Georgiana and said, “There it is again, Miss Darcy. Did you see that smile? Why on earth is your brother so pleased with himself this evening?”

“I believe he received some joyous news this afternoon, Mr. Fleming; and perhaps … ”

Georgiana’s comment was interrupted by a scream, the shattering of china, and muffled curses. A footman was ordered to investigate; and when Disher returned, he reported there had been a bit of an accident on the way from the kitchen to the dining room. During the altercation, a tray containing the next course had, unfortunately, ended up on the floor.

Lady Anne excused herself to speak with the housekeeper and cook. When she came back, she looked pointedly at her youngest child and said, “The poor man was startled by a cravat scurrying between his feet. Anna, perhaps you should go retrieve the mischievous neckcloth before it causes further pandemonium. My apologies, everyone; but the next course will be somewhat delayed. Mrs. Burnham, however, has another dish almost ready; and it will be delivered momentarily.”

Miss Anna hurried from the room. As she searched the hallways, she was able to catch the tail end of the cravat disappearing into the drawing room. The piece of linen was unhooked from Barb Thorne’s quills, and the little hedgehog was gently deposited in Anna’s bedchamber. 

When the calamity was made known to Mrs. Susan Burnham, she and her underlings immediately scrambled to improvise another dish to serve while the ingredients for the ruined course were prepared again. An efficient and thrifty cook, Mrs. Burnham was very careful with her available resources. She often poached eggs, shaved chocolate, welched on rabbits; and even her pastry was stollen. She considered her options for a moment; and then a savoury sauce of ale, mustard, and spices was quickly mixed together with melted cheese and served over toasted bread. Mrs. Burnham put the Welsh rabbit, or rarebit, on the tray; and the rattled footman was ordered to be more careful. Just as ‘toad in the hole ‘is not really a toad, Welsh rabbit contains no hare; so the kitchen workers hurried to have the meat course ready as quickly as possible. 

Miss Anna returned to the dining room just as a footman was serving the rarebit. “Um, what have we here, Disher?” 

“I believe it is called Welsh rabbit, Miss.” 

“Rabbit! I cannot possibly eat rabbit. Oh, Mother, I wish you had permitted me to bring my rabbit, Stew. I miss Herr Stewart most desperately.” 

“Anna, you cannot even keep track of Barbara Thorne’s whereabouts; and we have just suffered through the consequences of that carelessness. Calm yourself, child. The dish is meatless, and I believe its name is supposed to be ironic. Peasants were not permitted to hunt game on estates and often had to settle for cheese instead of rabbit or other meat.” 

Ellis Fleming said, “Miss Anna, you really should try it. Rarebit is delicious.” He suddenly smirked at his friend. “A rare, delicious bit … DeelisheyBit … LisshyBit … Lizzabiff … shall I continue, Darcy?” 

George Darcy cleared his throat. “No, thank you, Mr. Fleming. I think we all get the picture.” 

“Mr. Darcy, sir, I did not … ” 

“Quite all right, young man. Perhaps a change of subject would be best, though.” 

For a while the diners ate in reserved silence, and the promised meat course was soon served. Ellis Fleming was a talkative sort, however; and he was rather uncomfortable with the lull in conversation. “I say, Darcy, … er, Fitzwilliam, did you ever discover why someone called you ‘hanson barberin?’” 

Miss Anna choked on the sip of watered wine she had just taken. All the same, she managed to inquire, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Fleming. What did you just ask my brother?” 

“Do you mean when I mentioned ‘hanson barberin?’” 

When both Anna and Georgiana turned red, their brother was instantly intrigued. He narrowed his eyes and suspiciously asked, “Do you girls know a barber named Hanson?” 

The sisters looked at one another, giggled, and both truthfully answered in unison, “No.” 

“But you two do know something! You look so innocent that butter would not melt in your mouths. Despite that, your blushes reveal otherwise. For once and for all, what in bloody hell is the meaning of that confounding expression ‘hanson barberin?’” 

“Fitzwilliam George Darcy! Watch your language while ladies are present.” 

“Sorry, Father, but these two imps hold the answer to that intriguing question asked by little Robert when we dined with the Bennets recently. As you may remember, all conversation ground to a halt when that bloody, er, ruddy Lieutenant-Colonel Dun strutted in. Sisters, what, exactly, did the poppet mean when he asked me, ‘Are you Libazeth’s hanson barberin?’” 

Georgiana squirmed and, if possible, turned even redder. “It has to do with Anna’s questionable choice of reading material and very vivid imagination. Since the expression’s origin is her responsibility, I should let my dearest sister explain.”