Chapter Seven

D arcy handed his gloves and hat to Mr. Yardley, still thinking about Miss Elizabeth. She was obstinate, but thankfully not lost to all good sense. Still, acting a friend to this woman would not be a simple thing. Had there been time, he would have liked to add a second recommendation to his advice about the coins—that she not turn every attempt at a pleasantry into a lengthy deliberation, as very few men would be as patient with her little lecture on logic as he had been. She was clever, to be sure, but there were better, more feminine ways to display that intelligence. Miss Elizabeth was not a relation, however, and that sort of discussion was something the earl, or better still, the countess, ought to take up with her. He would compose a note to Lord Carlisle explaining his interaction with Miss Elizabeth today. The earl had tasked him with being the woman's friend, and this would certainly qualify. He entered his study and sat down to write.

As he was pressing his signet ring into the wax seal, Mr. Yardley knocked on his door and inquired whether he was at home for Mr. Bingley.

"Of course," he said, and handed the older man his letter .

Bingley bounded in a few moments later. "Darcy, where have you been? I have not seen you since the Ashfords' ball. You missed the Carutherses' ball, and you are always at the club on Wednesdays when you are in town, but I did not see you there either."

"I was at the club on Tuesday, and have been involved with some business matters, Bingley."

"Business with Lord Carlisle?" Bingley inquired.

Darcy looked at his friend sharply.

"Come now, Darcy, it was around the ballroom in moments." A little laugh at Darcy's expense was the end of his friend's interest. Bingley was as agreeable as ever. He could not know what the earl had demanded of him. Of course not. The earl would not wish for it to be said that he must force a man to befriend Miss Elizabeth.

"How was the Carutherses' ball?" Darcy cared not a whit, but he could see Bingley wished to tell him.

"Miss Bennet was there."

Absorbed with his own troubles, Darcy had entirely forgotten Bingley's infatuation with the eldest Miss Bennet. In fact, he had not even asked after her when he had met Miss Hamilton and Miss Elizabeth at Hatchard's. He poured himself a brandy and silently held up the decanter to inquire whether his friend wished for one.

"Yes, thank you, Darcy."

"I presume you danced with Miss Bennet."

"I did. I asked her for another as well, but she had already promised her other dances. Every man at the ball wanted a set with her."

For the second time that day, Darcy found himself offering advice. "Bingley, two dances are enough to raise eyebrows, if not expectations. Do not be impetuous. If not for yourself, be mindful that you place Miss Bennet in a difficult position. You have only just met, and she cannot know your intentions. If she accepts two dances from you, it will be thought that you are courting. If she does favour you but must refuse you for propriety's sake, she risks driving you away. An unenviable situation."

"Miss Elizabeth said much the same thing," Bingley admitted. "But it took her fewer words."

That was odd. Was Miss Elizabeth expecting a man wealthier or better connected than Bingley to show an interest in her sister? Given Miss Bennet's appearance, he supposed it was not unreasonable. "She told you not to ask her sister for a second dance?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking," Bingley said. "We danced together, and afterwards she asked permission to say something forward. As it turns out, it was not forward at all, just common sense."

Darcy was stuck on the earlier part of Bingley's statement. "You danced with Miss Elizabeth?"

Bingley laughed. "Of course I did, and I was far from the only one. You know, I rather like Miss Elizabeth—she would be a far more congenial sister than the two I have."

Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would not be in town for another month or more. They had been detained in Scarborough by their relations, and Bingley had wisely ignored their pleas to come fetch them early.

"It is ridiculous," Bingley continued. "How is anyone meant to know one another if we cannot even spend time together at a ball?"

"I happen to agree, but unfortunately we are not the arbiters of what is acceptable." Had he been, Darcy would have kept Lady Winters from wetting her gown and strolling through the crowd at Viscountess Riverton's Twelfth Night ball last season. Wealth did not assure taste, only the ability to satisfy it.

"Did you know Miss Elizabeth was so clever? When I escorted Miss Bennet to her sister and asked Miss Loughty to dance, she was speaking at length with Miss Torrington and discussing that bird she flies. What is it again? Miss Elizabeth said something about a kestrel or peregrine?"

Dread gnawed at Darcy, and he closed his eyes. "A falcon." Only a handful of men in society still practiced falconry, and they were all elderly oddities. For a young woman, it was eccentric. It would be one thing were she already married and her husband approved her pursuit, but to be yet unwed and engaging in a medieval sport long out of fashion made her an easy target for the gossiping ladies of the ton.

Despite being sponsored by Lady Carlisle and supported by his own uncle, Miss Elizabeth's position in the ton was not entirely secure. Darcy was aware he had done some of the damage himself with his insult, and he had remedied that somewhat by being seen with her and Miss Hamilton at Gunter's. But Miss Torrington was absolutely not the sort of friend Miss Elizabeth ought to be making.

He groaned.

"Are you well, Darcy?" Bingley asked.

He was not well. Darcy was certain the earl would blame him for not having attended the ball. He might have prevented the interaction or at least shortened it. A fortnight in London, and Miss Elizabeth was already aligning herself with this peculiar woman. Lord Carlisle would be displeased with him, and Darcy did not want to suffer the consequences of that displeasure.

It was Lord Carlisle's decree that had made Darcy send his regrets to Lady Caruthers and remain at home. A small gesture of defiance that had soothed him, at the time.

Darcy waved away his friend's concern.

"Yes, a falcon, that was it," Bingley mused. "Well, the Torrington family has a large house and land out in Kensington, so I suppose there is plenty of room for it to hunt." He finished his drink and set the glass down. "I escorted Miss Bennet to her sister later in the evening, and she joined in the conversation without missing a step. She said certain owls are taught falconry too. Most interesting conversation I have heard in a ballroom in ages."

"Falcons."

Bingley chuckled. "And owls. Yes."

"What about falcons?" Fitzwilliam asked as he barged into the room ahead of a perturbed Mr. Yardley.

Darcy scowled. "Apologise to Mr. Yardley for not allowing him to do his job."

"Right good of you to let me in, Mr. Yardley," Fitz said, and smiled at the older man's narrowed eyes. "I say, Darcy," he continued after the butler closed the door to the study, "your man is losing a step. Time was he would have had me up by my collar no more than five feet inside the door."

"You have been on the continent," Darcy replied. "And, as you are the only person of my acquaintance who refuses to be properly announced, his skills have not been required."

Fitz rubbed the back of his head. "Seems a terrible waste of time when I know you shall always be home to me."

Darcy sighed. Of course he would always be home to Fitz, but was it necessary to flout polite behaviour at every turn? Rules were rules for a reason.

"Good day, Colonel," Bingley said amiably.

"Bingley." Fitz glanced at the glass in Darcy's hand.

With a sigh, Darcy poured out a drink for his cousin.

"Thank you," Fitz said after he had taken his first sip. "That is just the thing for a day such as this. "

"Has something happened?" Darcy asked. Anything to move the conversation away from his dealings with Lord Carlisle and Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

"Hen is being herself," Fitz replied. "Almost makes a man wish to return to war."

"What now?" Darcy inquired. Bingley knew that Lady Henrietta was something of a mystery to her entire family, so it did not matter if he heard. The earl was a dedicated Whig, and yet his daughter flaunted her rank at every opportunity.

"She had a letter from Lady Penelope yesterday, and today she has been accepting callers and speaking poisonously of the Bennets. Father received his own summons to Carlisle House, and when he returned yesterday, he put an end to her visiting hours for the week. She is not pleased."

"How could anyone speak poorly of Miss Bennet?" Bingley asked, before hastily adding, "Or Miss Elizabeth either?"

Darcy did not respond. He had. He could only hope Lady Henrietta had not taken that news as permission to do the same, for he had been in the wrong there.

"Father is concerned about his political relationship with Lord Carlisle, I suspect." Fitz drew up a chair and crossed one leg over the other. "I have been sent to inquire what Lord Carlisle said to you , since you clearly do not intend to inform me of it on your own."

Bingley's eyes narrowed. "I was only in jest before, Darcy. When did you speak to Lord Carlisle?"

"The earl invited him over for tea ages ago," Fitz replied.

There had been no tea.

"I had no idea you were on such good terms," Bingley said. "Though I suppose I ought not be surprised."

Fitz laughed, and Darcy frowned .

"We are not on good terms," Darcy said. "As Fitz well knows."

His cousin subsided, but Darcy had no doubt that he would return to the subject the next time they were alone.

Bingley glanced between the two of them and shook his head, giving up whatever he was about to say.

"If you are determined to keep your own counsel," Fitz said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs, "answer me this—what did Lord Carlisle and father speak about? For he castigated Hen severely when he returned from Carlisle House."

When it came to Lady Henrietta, Darcy had absolutely no understanding. "Truly, Fitz, I do not know. I did not even know he had called."

Fitz poured himself a second glass of brandy. Darcy had hardly noticed his cousin drinking the first. "You know, Darcy, you have been rather a blue-devil of late."

"I beg your pardon?" Darcy asked.

Bingley chuckled.

"Do you have something to say, Bingley?" Darcy asked coolly.

His friend did not like confrontations. "Of course not, Darcy."

Darcy turned to answer his cousin, but to his surprise, Bingley was not done.

"It is only that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth have been a breath of fresh air in this staid pool where every movement is regulated. If I blink, I must be winking at the widow Brandon, or if I pour a glass of punch for a lady who is standing right beside me and waiting for one, I must of course be interested in her daughter."

"Or her," Fitz said wryly.

"Precisely. The Bennet ladies have no pretence. They are here to find husbands, to be sure, but they are not throwing themselves at the heads of the first wealthy man they meet. Unlike some of the so-called ‘ quality,' there is no flaunting of . . ." Bingley's cheeks reddened. "I only mean that any man would be fortunate to ally himself with ladies who are as proper and unaffected as they."

"You dislike the season so much in general, Darcy," Fitz said when Bingley had stopped. "You might do worse than to converse with the Bennet ladies, dance with them, escort them to dinner—and since Bingley has already decided to see to Miss Bennet's comfort, you could do the same for her sister."

Darcy peered over at Fitz with suspicion, but his cousin gave no more idea of knowing about his charge than Bingley had.

"As for the falcon," Fitz continued, "there is more than one wealthy man I have heard of who uses pigeons to carry important messages. It is not so different, is it?" He sipped his brandy. "Homing instincts are astonishing. British Army ought to use them."

"We are not speaking of pigeons, Fitz," Darcy said impatiently, then closed his eyes to regain his temper. "Miss Elizabeth is a relative unknown in town, and it will do her no good to be seen making friends with Miss Torrington."

"How do you know?" Fitz asked quietly.

Darcy frowned. "What do you mean?"

"How do you know that making friends with ladies such as Miss Torrington will do her no good?"

"I should like to hear his answer for that," Bingley said agreeably.

"You must be in jest." Why were they goading him? "You both know precisely what I mean. There is no harm in Miss Torrington, but she spends every ball without a partner, every dinner party as the woman no one wishes to sit next to. If Miss Elizabeth is here to make a match, she cannot spend her time with every soon-to-be spinster. "

"Darcy, that is unkind." Fitz tipped his head to one side and studied him. "What is the matter with you?"

He wanted nothing more than to hole himself up in his chambers with a bottle of brandy. He rubbed the back of his neck. Fitz was right, he was not himself.

Despite having made his appearance for the season at the command of his uncle, Darcy had hoped to enjoy himself. There was a part of him that longed to give up all the responsibilities he had taken on these past years, to regain some of the youth he had lost to duty. But he could hardly say as much to Fitz, whose duties were far more onerous and had more than once put his very life at risk.

After years of being his own master, Darcy loathed being forced to do anything, let alone being chained to a woman who had no idea how to comport herself in London society, or what it was like to carry the sort of burden he did. So many people relied upon him already: his sister, the servants, the tenants. The rest of his family too, for was he not here, searching for a wife at the insistence of his uncle? It angered him that Lord Carlisle had dropped yet another responsibility on his head. It angered him that he could not simply decline.

His life had changed irrevocably when his father died. Once word of George Darcy's death became common knowledge, Darcy had been inundated with requests for money—accounts that his father had never opened, debts of honour he had never incurred, bequests he had never made. He had learnt to trust the men his father had appointed, but then caught one of them embezzling funds because he thought Darcy too green a boy to detect it. He now trusted people only so far, and his own heart not at all. Being in town, searching for a wife—it required a sort of bravery he had thought himself equal to, but perhaps he was not .

Both Fitz and Bingley were watching him with apprehension, so he finished his brandy and shrugged. "I am not well suited for courting a lady, I suppose."

Bingley actually snorted.

Fitz chuckled and took a drink of his brandy. "You do not say."

Soon thereafter, Bingley excused himself, and Fitz leaned back in his chair. They sat in silence until Fitz startled Darcy by speaking. "I have been puzzling on your dark mood of late."

"Still?"

"What is the date, Cousin?"

Darcy sighed. "February the third. I know where you are headed with this, Fitz, but it has been years now."

"Four years precisely on the sixteenth, no?"

"Yes."

"I recall, you see, because Milton wrote me a letter about it at the same time he related that there had been a fire at Hen's school."

"I was here in town working on something for my father when I received an urgent summons from the earl to ride to Middlesex and see to her care until he could reach her." Darcy stared blankly forward. "Your father and brother arrived a day later, and the morning after that, an express was forwarded to me from London about my father's accident."

Fitz's expression darkened. "I am sorry, Darcy. I did not know. It must have felt like the world was falling down around you."

It had. Darcy simply nodded. "There is no need to apologise, Fitz. My father was dead before they could carry him to the house—there was nothing I could do. It was only that there were so many decisions to be made and all at once. Your father could not assist because he was caring for your sister, and Old Mr. Wickham was invaluable, but was himself felled by an apoplexy not six months later. "

"You have been in constant motion ever since," Fitz said, as though Darcy was unaware. "Until now."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you are in foul mood because for the first time since your father's death, you have a moment to contemplate what his absence has meant for you." Fitz cocked his head to one side. "Are you angry with him?"

"He perished in an accident, Fitz. It was not his fault."

"That was not what I asked."

"It would make no sense to be angry with him."

Fitz threw up his hands. "Darcy, I am still angry with my mother for dying. Does that make sense?" His gaze lingered on Darcy for an uncomfortably long time. "I think you are angry. Your father died without warning, leaving you a sister to raise and an estate in chaos."

"He required you to share Georgiana's guardianship with me."

"And I was not here to help. You have a right to be angry about that as well." Fitz shook his head. "He did not mean to deprive you of what ought to have been a carefree time in your life. He did not mean to leave you with so many things undone. But it does not change the fact that he did both."

"It was four years ago, Fitz," Darcy repeated softly. "I have moved past it."

"I do not think you have. You are only now taking a breath long enough to let it sink in, all the time you have lost. Time for yourself. Time with him." He nodded to himself, satisfied. "It is all right to be angry, you know. But it is not right to take out that anger on Miss Elizabeth."

Was that what he was doing?

"Promise me you will think on it."

Darcy shrugged. "I will think on it."

Fitz stood. "Then I shall leave you to it."