Still smiling, his old mate advanced upon him, his hand outstretched. “Better than university days! Damn me, Darcy, if you are not!”
“I have kept at it.” He grasped Monmouth’s hand briefly.
“In a word!” Monmouth snorted. “After your demonstration at Say ——, the last time we met, Manning wagered that you could take any or all of the rest of us in under ten minutes. Well, old man, you know how I cannot resist a sporting wager!”
“I hope that I have not done you significant harm,” Darcy offered, relieved to have an explanation for Monmouth’s actions.
“No, no! I am in good funds, thanks to My Lady.” He winked at him. “Who, by the by, would be very pleased if you would accept her invitation sent you this week to dine with us and a select number of friends.” Monmouth paused for Darcy’s reply but must have sensed the polite decline that hovered on his lips, for he then continued hurriedly, “I can promise you an interesting evening, Darcy, not the usual set at all. ‘Tell him he will not be bored or hunted!’ she said, and I swear, ’struth! Sylvanie likes fascinating people around her: artists, thinkers, writers — deep uns like you. Allow me to convey My Lady your acceptance, there’s a good fellow!”
“Acceptance! What are you accepting now, ‘good fellow’ Darcy?” Both men looked up in surprise to see Lord Brougham propped against one of the pillars that marched along that side of the room. Monmouth stiffened visibly at the voice, but when he saw that it was only Brougham, Darcy could sense the relief that swept through him. His own surprise remained at the fore. He had never seen Dy in Genuardi’s fencing rooms or heard of his membership in any other. What could have tempted him today? Or could Georgiana have sent him?
“An invitation to dine with a collection of jaw-me-deads. Nothing in your line of interest, Brougham, I assure you,” Monmouth drawled as his gaze traveled pointedly over His Lordship’s elegant, unruffled figure. “No gaming — well, there’s a pity — only a little music and a great deal of conversation. Philosophy and politics, that sort of thing.”
“Brougham,” Darcy interrupted, stepping toward his friend, “Georgiana?”
“In a manner of speaking, but do not trouble yourself — as yet.” Dy held up a restraining hand and then turned a supercilious gaze upon their companion. “Philosophy and politics, eh, Monmouth? Both in one evening? I should say, it will be select and, you are correct, quite beyond my poor brain. But, tell me, My Lord, who will you talk to all evening?”
Monmouth’s sword arm tensed briefly but relaxed when Darcy swiftly interposed himself between them. “His Lordship and I have unfinished business to discuss!” He deflected Dy’s question and shot him a dark frown. Then, looking back at Monmouth, he continued, “Please convey to Lady Monmouth that I accept her invitation.”
At his promise, a look of satisfaction replaced the anger in Monmouth’s face, and with a smirk at Brougham, he turned to Darcy. “Her Ladyship will be very pleased to hear it. Tomorrow at eight, then? Good! Your servant, Darcy.” He bowed. “Brougham.” He barely paused to nod in his direction before sauntering toward the dressing rooms.
“You cannot truly mean to go, Fitz!” Brougham’s lip curled in disgust as they watched Monmouth walk away.
“You would not have me go back on my word, would you?” Darcy rounded on him.
“In this particular case, I would, and with great urgency,” Brougham replied. “One does not owe one’s word to the Devil!”
“Coming it rather strong, are you not?” Darcy bristled. “And I would not have given it if you had refrained from antagonizing him. Good Lord, Dy, you all but called the man an idiot to his face!”
“I beg your pardon, Fitz; I was under the distinct impression that I had! But that is neither here nor there.” Brougham dismissed the topic of His Lordship. “What I wish to know is why, after I have taken great pains to avoid an acquaintance springing up between Miss Darcy and Lady Monmouth, you are now increasing its likelihood?”
“I have never seen you here before today.” Darcy met the uncomfortable question with one of his own. “Have you come to fence, or did Georgiana…?”
“Oh, to fence, my friend; and it appears that we have begun already, although I am not yet undressed for it!” Brougham began to unbutton his frock coat. “I was distracted, you see, by your magnificent display of forbearance on the floor. You know, he fouled you twice.”
“That does not make him the Devil!”
“True, Fitz, very true; Monmouth is only a serpent, and a very lowly one at that, running the Devil’s errands.” Just then, one of the room’s attendants appeared to relieve Brougham of his coat and waistcoat, and both men fell silent. Darcy watched closely while his friend divested himself of the restraining garments of their station and then stepped back as Dy accepted the protective waistcoat and foil the servant offered and began his own regime of limbering stretches.
Shaking his head, Darcy let out a heavy breath. Dy had succeeded yet again in piquing his curiosity with his enigmatic speech. Questioning him further or issuing a demand for an explanation he knew to be useless. His old friend would merely return him a shrug of his shoulders and a ridiculously vacant, puzzled look with the reply that he had quite forgotten whatever silly thing had come out of his mouth and that Darcy should not regard it. Besides, Dy knew that his friend’s appearance in Genuardi’s fencing rooms was not accidental but related in some way to Georgiana; and that concerned him more than his opinion of the company Monmouth kept. After only a few minutes at his exercise, Dy dropped his sword arm and looked back to him with a curt “Ready?”
“That is all the preparation you require?” Darcy looked dubiously at his friend. “How long has it been, Dy? Have you done anything since university? You can hardly have warmed sufficiently —”
“Afraid I shall disappoint you, Fitz?” Dy cut him off. “Have no fear, my friend. My blood is quite up and has been for the last half hour or more.” He walked off then to an empty position on the floor, leaving Darcy little choice but to follow him, his eyes narrowing in perplexity. What was this uncharacteristic behavior about? If, out of concern, Georgiana had sent Dy after him, why fence with him? It was much more his old friend’s way to suggest billiards at their club or some sporting event to “banish that tedious set of your jaw,” as he called Darcy’s jealous protection of his privacy. Save for the rigors of the field, Darcy could not recall observing Dy in a sweat in all of the two years since he had returned to Town. He took his place opposite Dy and, after their salute, settled into the en garde from which their engagement would begin.
“My Lord! Mr. Darcy! Scusatemi!” Signore Genuardi called out urgently as he quickly strode across the hall toward them. “Perdono, signori, are you knowing one the other? Prodigioso!” He beamed at them with the fondness of a master for his prize students. Darcy looked to Brougham uncertainly, a suspicion beginning to form. “Per cortesia,” the fencing master continued, “allow me the pleasure. I will judge.” He then motioned them back into position and in a ringing voice that echoed above the murmur of the now attentive hall proclaimed, “En garde!”
“We have an audience, it would seem.” Dy matched Darcy’s advance but made no motion to offer the attack. “I had not anticipated such interest. Unfortunate, that!”
“You know Genuardi?” Darcy flexed his wrist, causing the tip of his foil to trace out tight circles in the air between them.
“Everyone knows Genuardi.”
Oh, how he hated it when Dy played his obtuse games with him! The irritation decided him. Springing to the attack, he took first priority, pressing Dy back several steps before being blocked and parried. Brougham’s riposte was effective but unremarkable, exactly what Darcy had expected from a good swordsman who had been away from the sport for several years. He blocked Dy’s thrust, parried, and pressed his attack back upon him, but this time he did not force him back as far before being blocked. Brougham’s parry was nicely done, and the first part of his attack was a move they had learned and practiced together in their university days. He deflected it easily but was met with it again, this time accompanied by a new twist of Dy’s wrist and body that greatly increased its effectiveness. He avoided it by a hairsbreadth and fell back one, then two steps.