Darcy looked at the clock; it was very late. He should have dismissed his valet long ago. “No, Fletcher. Good Heavens, man, you should have reminded me of your attendance an hour ago!”
“Not at all, sir.” Fletcher bowed but made no motion to leave. “Are you certain, sir? Your pardon, but you seem” — he paused and appeared to be searching for the right word — “unsettled, sir. Is there nothing you might wish to better prepare yourself for rest?”
Darcy tapped the edge of his empty glass. “You have well supplied me. No, I wish nothing more to drink.”
“A book, then, sir? Something from your shelf or, perhaps, the library?” Fletcher cocked his head toward the door.
“No, I think not.” Darcy yawned. “I could not concentrate long enough to make a good beginning. Good night, Fletcher.” He dismissed the valet firmly but then relented in the face of his concern. “All is well; I promise you.”
“Good night, then, sir.” Fletcher bowed again.
The dressing room door clicked softly behind him as Darcy turned slowly back to the fire. Unsettled. His perceptive valet had described him perfectly. The formidable task of reconciling all the relevant parties in his proposed marriage loomed larger with every tick of the clock toward that hour. He knew how it would be. Lady Catherine would be outraged, Lord and Lady Matlock stunned and severe in their disapproval, and all of them would importune him with every objection known to man. His friends would be shocked, his enemies would snigger, and Bingley would never forgive him for doing himself what he had so strongly advised him against.
“Plague seize it!” Darcy’s jaw set. He would make his offer and the Devil take the hindmost! Which, knowing his relations and peers, he most certainly would — and with pleasure! Darcy closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, where the eddy of a headache was beginning to swirl. He must redirect his thoughts, or any hope of rest this night was lost. A book, as Fletcher had suggested? No, something shorter — poetry! Arming himself with a branch of candles, he stepped to his shelf and drew out the slim volume of sonnets Fletcher had packed. Taking the book over to the bed, he set the branch down on the table and, casting aside his dressing gown, made himself as comfortable as possible among the pillows and bedclothes. Which one was it? He quickly leafed through the pages, scanning the lines until he found the one that had, the other day, brought Elizabeth so forcefully to his mind that it seemed written for her. Ah, yes! He settled back and allowed the words their nourishing sway.
“If I could write the beauty of your eyes…”
“Darcy! Darcy, do you come?” Fitzwilliam’s voice echoed through the upper corridors of Rosings outside Darcy’s suite and penetrated through the mahogany door. Fitzwilliam’s person soon followed his voice as Darcy’s door was flung open to reveal his cousin elegantly clad for a walk. Darcy’s brow hitched up as he took in the vision before him. “What?” demanded Fitzwilliam, his self-possession fading somewhat under his silent scrutiny.
“I am honored.” Darcy sketched him a mocking bow. “Such refinement disposed upon a mere walk with your cousin in a country park! I would have thought to see you in buckskin, not breeches and a coat fine enough for London! And, good Lord, is that a striped waistcoat?”
“I would have you know it is not in the least outré.” Fitzwilliam bridled under his tone. “Even if you did set Beau Brummell about his business with that fancy cravat knot of Fletcher’s! Besides,” he continued indifferently as he sauntered into the room, “I thought we might continue on and drop in at the parsonage when we were finished. After tonight, you know, there will be no more la Bennet.” He looked at Darcy from the corners of his eyes. “And I, for one, shall miss her.”
“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?”