“Humph!” had been all he had deigned Richard’s first remark worthy of, but the second was quite another matter. “Shall you really?” he drawled with just enough skepticism in his tone to bring up his cousin’s chin.

“Yes, really, Fitz! Miss Bennet is quite enchanting!”

“A description you have bestowed upon every woman who has caught your fancy,” Darcy challenged him. How did Richard truly regard Elizabeth? “What woman have you not squired about whom you did not find ‘enchanting’ at one time or another, only to be bored within a month?”

“Low hit, old man,” Fitzwilliam returned with a frown.

“Bang on the mark!” Darcy shot back, then relented. “And I have no quarrel with you there. Doubtless, you are justified in your final assessment.”

“It is my initial opinion, then, that you hold in so little regard?” Fitzwilliam cocked his brow at him. “I see.” He turned away for a moment, then faced his cousin again. “Since we both likely agree that I have the greater experience in these matters, having been so often ‘enchanted’ and then disappointed,” he proposed sardonically, “we might also posit that I have learnt something along the way.”

Darcy inclined his head in agreement to the supposition. “We might.”

Fitzwilliam nodded back. “Well then, from my vast experience, let me assure you that Miss Bennet is something out of the ordinary. Of course, she is lovely to look upon. Her modest style, in contrast to the expensive drapery we are accustomed to, only enhances her person. Oh, she lacks a bit of Town bronze for having been immersed in the country. She cannot speak of all the little inconsequentialities attendant upon life in London, nor take a part in the latest on-dits, but that is part of her charm. Those things compose the greater part of the conversation, so called, of most young ladies of our acquaintance. It is such a pleasure to converse with a woman of honest opinion on interesting subjects and to come away feeling still that you have been well entertained.”

“That is as may be here, in the country, with no other females about to offer competition,” Darcy countered. “What if there were, or you had met her at some assembly in London? Better yet, what if she were to come to London with no more to recommend her than you have seen here in Kent; would you seek her out, introduce her to your parents?”

“Would I pay a call? Unquestionably! Take her to the park or the theater? It would be a pleasure! But as to the other, I doubt that Miss Bennet would receive an invitation to any event hosted by the ton, and it would take more credit than mine to bring her to their notice. I hate to think of how she would fare among the cats and pigeons with so little, in their estimation, to support her.”

“Your parents, though, would you introduce her?” Darcy pressed him.

“I don’t know.” Fitzwilliam paused. “When could they meet? I suppose I could wring an invitation to tea from Mater, but that would appear damned odd of me unless I had very particular interests in that direction.” He looked curiously at his cousin. “Which I do not, or rather, cannot. Is that what you are hinting at, that I should be more circumspect? I know my situation, Fitz. More’s the pity!” He sighed. “I believe if her situation were different, they would be as enchanted as I, but then, it is not I who must hold up the family name. That task belongs to D’Arcy, and that privilege of first birth I gladly accord him!” He laughed. “But come, Cousin, are you ready? The dew is lifted and the grounds await!”

“I must beg your pardon, Richard.” Darcy shook his head. “Unless I am to postpone our departure yet again, I find that there are some matters that require my attention.”

“More ‘matters,’ Fitz!” Fitzwilliam whistled under his breath. “By all means, look to them, for I do not think that I can support another rapturous display from Her Ladyship. I believe that next spring I shall make arrangements to be unavailable. Would you hold a posting to Spain to engage Napoleon sufficient excuse? Yes, well, I thought not.” He grinned at Darcy’s snort of laughter. “Get about your ‘matters,’ then, while I enjoy the day. If I leave you to them now, will you be finished before Saturday?”

“I hope to have them well in hand by tonight, certainly by tomorrow,” he assured him. “Off with you!”

“Yes, sir!” Fitzwilliam saluted him with a tap of his walking stick against his brow. “And if I should meet the enchanting Miss Bennet, do you have any orders, sir?”

“Do not let your admiration run away with you!” Unable to prevent his voice from taking an edge, Darcy looked away but, after a calming breath, continued, “and extend to her my best wishes for her day.”

“Done and done, old man.” Fitzwilliam seemed not to have taken offense. “I shall make report of her reply when I am come back,” he called over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “Good luck with your ‘matters,’ Fitz, and good hunting to me!”

Darcy moved to the door Fitzwilliam had blithely neglected to pull shut and listened as the eager beat of his cousin’s boots faded into the reaches of the house. Minutes later, a heavy door slammed, and he knew that Richard was finally, safely gone. Lady Catherine had left earlier with Anne and her companion on a mission of beneficent interference in the lives of her neighbors, and he had Rosings more or less to himself, as he had hoped. A rising excitement gripped him. It was only a matter of hours! It was a matter of hours! Both perspectives contained equal portions of anticipation and dread, and preyed upon him in their turn. Richard’s words also had been of dual encouragement and warning as he had acknowledged Elizabeth’s superiority but tempered his regard with the realities of their world. It was possible his cousin might support him, but Darcy had no illusions that it would be without reservation. Why must this be so difficult? he importuned Heaven. Stopping before the French doors that opened into the garden, he stared out into it unseeing. He had been a creature of duty all his life and had met its demands without thought or complaint. It was only here, in this one, desperately important instance that he wished a reprieve. He wanted happiness — he wanted love. He wanted…Elizabeth! Instantly her image was before him, smiling in that maddeningly distracting manner, filling his mind’s eye and the deepest reaches of his heart.


“I am that sorry, Fitz! It clean escaped my mind.” Fitzwilliam pulled a penitent face at Darcy’s annoyance that he had spent an hour in Elizabeth’s company and still failed to offer her his greeting. “But we did speak of you, which is very like, is it not?” he offered in apology as they made their way to the stairs.

“Idiotish wretch! It is nothing ‘like’ in the least!” Darcy replied.

“Better a whisker than an outright Canterbury tale.” Richard grinned at him. “Oh, come round, Fitz! La Bennet will be here soon, and you can do all your wishing in person. Take warning, though; it will absolutely require you to open your mouth.” Darcy gave his cousin a withering look and proceeded down the stairs, his pace quickening as he went. She had spoken of him? He fairly burned with curiosity about what she could have said to Richard, but he dared not ask, not at this juncture. If Richard caught the least hint of what he intended this evening, he would have an audience for his every move.

It had been sufficiently unnerving under Fletcher’s anxious eye as his valet dressed him for the evening. Neither of them had spoken, an unusual enough state of affairs, but then every piece of clothing had been tugged and buttoned against his body with the utmost precision. His dark gray trousers fit smoothly tight, as did his subdued but elegant pearl-colored waistcoat. He had firmly refused another appearance of the Roquet, but the knot Fletcher had devised in its place seemed no less uncomfortable a work of art. The valet had then presented him his frock coat, easing it up his arms and over his shoulders with the utmost care to prevent a crease in the fine, jet-black fabric. Then down it had been drawn and the double breast buttoned snugly against his chest until he could barely breathe! Fletcher had passed him his watch and fobs, observing his every positioning of those accoutrements, and followed them with not one but two handkerchiefs.

“Two, Fletcher?” he had asked, breaking the unearthly silence.

“Yes, sir,” the man had replied diffidently. “One for you, sir, and one for the lady, should she require it.” Darcy had taken the holland squares without another word and quickly stuffed them into his breast pocket, wondering as he did so how on earth Fletcher knew of such things. When he was ready at last, his valet had escorted him to the door, and opening it, he had bowed him out with “My very best wishes this evening, Mr. Darcy, sir!”

“Thank you, Fletcher,” he had replied solemnly, and only then had the valet looked him briefly in the eye. “Your servant, sir,” Fletcher returned softly and, at Darcy’s grave nod, had closed the door.

Darcy reached the bottom of the stairs two steps ahead of his cousin and turned smartly to the right into the hall and then the drawing room. It was nearly time! Lady Catherine was already present, seated in her great chair at the end of the room, as were Anne and Mrs. Jenkinson on the settee nearby.

“Darcy,” called his aunt as soon as she saw him, “you must hear this, though you will hardly credit it, I am sure!”

“Your Ladyship?” He made his courtesy but did not take the seat to which she had waved him.

“One of the cottagers — Fitzwilliam, you must hear this as well — one of my cottagers has taken it into his head to apply to the parish! It is already common knowledge in Hunsford, evidently, that he has done so!”

“The poor man must be destitute!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed, only to receive a freezing glare from Her Ladyship.

“He cannot be destitute!” Lady Catherine passed judgment. “He is one of my cottagers, and therefore, it is impossible that he be in want. I told him as much last quarter, when my steward presented me the man’s petition to be forgiven his rents. ‘It is want of industry, not charity,’ I told him, ‘that finds you in this predicament. If I forgive you this quarter’s rents, I have no doubt I shall receive a petition for the next.’ ”

“I saw no petition, nor did your steward inform me that any had been presented,” Darcy interposed, his voice tight with displeasure. If such things were kept from his oversight, he could hardly move to relieve them before the situation of his aunt’s more precarious tenants became desperate.

“Of course you did not! Shall I suffer such a blot upon the name of de Bourgh for one man’s laziness? I shall not!” Lady Catherine pronounced heatedly.

“But it has now become unavoidable, Your Ladyship,” Darcy returned in tones of strong disapproval. “The man has been forced to apply to the parish, and it is, as you say, ‘common knowledge.’ Who is the man?”

For a full thirty seconds, as Richard was to inform him later, Darcy silently held Her Ladyship’s eye in a demand of the answer that was broken only by a cry from Mrs. Jenkinson that Miss Anne “not distress yourself and lie back a moment, miss.” At her words, Lady Catherine broke from the contest and looked to her daughter, saying tersely as she passed him, “Broadbelt, Rosings Hill,” before demanding an account from her daughter’s companion.

Concern for Anne drew Darcy over to the settee; but as he bent to inquire if he could be of any service, his cousin looked full up into his face and, to his astonishment, cast him a quick wink. Momentarily startled, he quickly covered his reaction with an air of sobriety and nodded his understanding. Evidently there was even more to his cousin than she had yet disclosed during this extraordinary visit to Kent.

“More ‘matters’ for you, I fear.” Fitzwilliam joined him at a goodly distance from the anxious group at the settee.

“Without question,” he returned. “I suspected of whom she spoke. The poor man has the worst land on the estate and, to complicate matters, a large family and equally large ambitions for them. He is trying to send to school as many of his sons as show promise, which makes for tired scholars and weary laborers.”

“And less income.” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “He shall have to keep them home.”

“He does, Richard. They school only out of season, but he keeps them to it on their own at night. It is his parcel. The land is truly wretched.”

“What is to be done?”

Darcy sighed. “I shall speak to the steward tomorrow.” The Sunday tenant visits Georgiana had wheedled him into this winter came to mind. He could not help but smile at the thought of the turn her more feminine Darcy sense of outrage would take at such a state of affairs. From observation of her ministrations at Pemberley, he could fairly guess what she would deem appropriate succor. He would see to it tomorrow.