Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Once Darcy had gone, a short silence fell before Hurst looked at Saye and said, "Must have been you, I suppose, who sent Bingley that fine Cognac he showed me last night?"

"I may know someone who gets it for me."

"Very handsome." Hurst made vague excuses about meeting people, clapped Saye on the back, nodded to Fitzwilliam, then left, likely going to the card room. Fitzwilliam knew no one who liked to gamble so much as Hurst and his elder brother did.

Once Hurst was safely out of earshot, Saye gave him an appraising look. "I cannot account for the fact that this hare-brained scheme of yours seems to be working."

"I am a strategist, big brother, through and through."

Saye scoffed. "Pray do not think that tottering about on a few battlefields makes you some expert tactician."

"One thing I can assure you of is that this play-acting business is far more difficult than ever I had supposed," Fitzwilliam confessed. "I cannot like how cruel I had to be to Darcy to properly goad him into action."

"Eh." Saye shrugged. "The two of you have always had the ability to fight viciously one minute and shake hands the next. I am sure he thought it no different."

"For the woman he loves? That is different."

"But he is not thinking of that. His only thought now is for winning her. It will not be until later that he might consider the cruelty of your actions, perhaps even doubt them. We can only hope that by then, he will be happily married and no longer care how it came about."

"And what if everyone learns that I never had any intention of marrying the lady?"

"What's that?" Saye asked. "I could not hear you."

"I said that… Oh. I understand."

"I am tasked with making the book, and I shall do so on my understanding that you do intend to woo the lady as mistress of Sapskull Hill, and when Darcy gets her—well, so it goes."

Fitzwilliam grinned. "I am surprised you wish to go to Bingley's wedding. You do realise Bingley's sister will be there?"

"Miss Bingley is not so bad on the eyes," Saye said after some thought.

"No, it is only when she speaks that she grows intolerable. Never mind that though, it will be Darcy who endures the first part of her attentions. Even with this mythological Snow Hill?—"

"Salt Hill. Pray do remember the name of your own estate."

"Salt Hill, yes. Alas, even with Salt Hill, I am not nearly wealthy enough for Miss Bingley."

"But you are the son of an earl," Saye reminded him. "There is position to be had. Another reason I must be there—Miss Bingley and her like will be too much enchanted by me and the earldom to look your way."

"I am still surprised you mean to go."

"I did a bit of asking around, and what do you suppose I discovered?" Saye leant forwards. "Miss Lillian Goddard's family has a place not ten miles from these Bennet people."

"How does that signify?"

"I have decided I want her."

Fitzwilliam barked out a surprised laugh. "I do not recall any mention of her by Miss Elizabeth, so they might not be acquainted."

"That is nothing to me. They will all know one another well enough by the time we arrive at the breakfast."

"Impossible."

"Think so?"

"I do."

"Want to put some money on it?"

Fitzwilliam sighed heavily. "Twenty pounds says we shall not see hide nor hair of Miss Goddard in Hertfordshire."

Saye extended his hand, and the brothers shook. While they did so, another man arrived at the table. Sir Frederick Moore was Saye's particular friend and generally close by wherever the viscount happened to be. He stood with a tankard of ale in hand. "What is this I hear about a wager concerning Darcy?"

"Nothing to worry yourself—" Fitzwilliam began but was interrupted by his brother.

"You will love this, Fred. Both my brother and Darcy are chasing after a famed country beauty. You want in? I have a book going on it."

Sir Frederick was not invited to sit but sat regardless, sloshing drink over his hand as he did. "I shall throw in, but who is she?"

"You do not know her and probably will not until she is either Mrs Darcy or Mrs Fitzwilliam," Saye replied.

For some reason, Sir Frederick found this hilarious—evidently, he was more in his cups than Fitzwilliam had realised when he approached them—and laughed a loud, donkey's bray of a laugh that made several other men glance towards them. "Now that is a bet I am happy to lay," he bellowed.

He was so loud that several other men came over, wishing to know what scheme was ongoing. By the time an hour had elapsed, the bets were numerous. Saye gave Fitzwilliam a gleeful punch on the arm as he stood to leave. "We are going to make so much money on this," he hissed gleefully.

"Hurst! Is it true?"

Having been poised to enter his carriage, Hurst stopped and nearly groaned at the figure he observed trotting to meet him. "What do you want? Where is my money?"

George Wickham approached, a little breathless. "I shall pay, you need not worry for that."

"I have been hearing that since last November."

"But is this thing with Darcy true? He and the colonel are vying for Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

Hurst shrugged.

Wickham shook his head. "To imagine Darcy, of all people, falling in love!"

"Love? I said nothing of that."

"You do not have to say it. Nothing less than love could induce him to be so undignified. I want in."

"In?" Hurst quirked a brow. "It is a private little wager between friends. It is not open to just anyone."

"Come, Hurst!" Wickham took another step closer, and Hurst's nose wrinkled. Wickham smelt of cheap ale and desperation, two things Hurst hated. "Surely you have some money on this?"

"What if I do? Saye started a book, obviously I threw in," Hurst replied impatiently while looking at his horses. They were ready to move, and he did not like to leave them standing in the warm spring sunshine overlong. "If you have something in your pocket, you would do best to pay the people you owe, including me. More wagers can only sink you."

"Had I more of it, I would, but a fellow does need something to live on."

"Thought you were getting married?"

Wickham gave a little huff and flicked one hand. "It went off."

"She came to her senses, you mean. Or did her family put a stop to it? Ah, I understand now. They paid you to disappear. Hence the fullness of your pockets."

"The point being that sure wagers will do better for us all. If I can increase the sum?—"

"That is the dream of every gambler, is it not?" Hurst enquired.

"This contest is one that will be easy to predict."

"You think so?"

"I know so." With a significant look, Wickham said, "Have I not known the gentleman in question my entire life long? And I am scarcely less friendly with the lady."

With an inelegant snort, Hurst said, "Any man who thinks he can accurately know a woman's mind is a fool. Besides, I do not think she likes Darcy. All they ever did was argue with one another."

"Mark my words, he will have her."

Hurst shook his head. "The colonel has a military man's mind for strategy, and he is tenacious. He will not lose."

"We must agree to disagree then—but pray do put something behind it, will you? You have my word, when I win, yours will be the first debt paid."

Wickham's voice had taken on a wheedling accent, another thing Hurst despised. He had enough of that from his wife and her sister. How he disliked consorting with these low types! It was always this arrangement and that, always granting a favour, always hearing this promise to pay and then another plea for more time. Excessively tedious. At once he was willing to do anything just to get away.

That said…he was clearly not going to get anything from the man otherwise. Might as well take what he offered, place the bet, and see what happened. "I want ten percent up front," he demanded. "Not towards the wager itself—pay to play."

Wickham frowned, so Hurst put a foot on the step that would get him into his carriage and said, "A good day to you, then."

"Wait!" Wickham heaved an enormous sigh. "Five percent?"

Hurst turned back, hand on hip. "Has your time in the militia damaged your hearing? Ten. Not a farthing less."

Another deep sigh ensued, but it was followed by the reluctant withdrawing of a purse from Wickham's jacket.

Hurst received the purse, opened it, and counted. A nice sum, but nothing to be overly thrilled about, not for a man like himself. He removed his due, returned the rest to the purse. "And you are certain you want to put the money on Darcy? I am telling you that I have been in company with the pair of them. They are barely civil to one another."

"Darcy will get what he wants—he always does," Wickham insisted.

I should have insisted on twenty percent up front. Hurst extended a hand and the two men shook. "A good day to you, then. May the best man win."

Wickham smirked. "Depend upon it, Hurst. As with everything, it will be the wealthy man who wins."