Chapter Three The Council of War #2
Richard kicked Darcy under the table. Darcy winced.
"There is no date to settle, Aunt," Darcy said firmly. "There is no engagement. There never has been."
"I know that," the Earl waved his spoon dismissively. "Anne is a wet rag, and you need a wife with a backbone. But Catherine... she is convinced. She talks of some compact with your mother."
"A fantasy," Darcy said. "My mother never mentioned it. It is a fabrication of Lady Catherine's will."
"Then tell her," the Earl said. "Be a man, Fitzwilliam. Write to her. Tell her you will not marry Anne. Stop lingering in this grey area. It is dishonourable."
"I... I intend to," Darcy stammered. "But the timing... with Christmas..."
"You are afraid of her," the Earl accused.
"I am not—"
"Well, I am," the Earl admitted frankly. "Terrifying woman. Shouts. Doesn't listen. I'd rather face a firing squad than tell my sister she's wrong. But you have to do it, boy."
"He won't do it," Lady Matlock observed, looking at the three men with a mixture of pity and affection.
"Look at them. Mice, not men. Robert runs from responsibility, Richard runs from wealthy widows, and Fitzwilliam runs from his own shadow.
If Catherine walked in here right now, you would all hide under the table. "
"I would not," Richard protested. "I would hide behind the sideboard. It offers better cover."
"Mice," she repeated, shaking her head. "We shall have to find you wives who can protect you."
Robert and Richard exchanged a look. Darcy stared at his plate, thinking of a woman who was definitely not a mouse, and who would likely eat Lady Catherine for breakfast.
The fish course arrived, and with it, the Countess's focus shifted. She had the instincts of a bloodhound.
"Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice dropping to a deceptively conversational tone. "You are not eating. And you have that look you get when you are evading. It is the same look you had when you were ten and broke the vase in the hallway."
"I am hiding nothing, Aunt."
"He is pining," Richard offered helpfully, earning another kick under the table, this time from Robert.
"Pining?" Her eyes lit up. "For whom? Is she suitable? Does she have teeth?"
"She has excellent teeth and fine eyes," Robert murmured into his wine glass.
"Fine eyes?" She looked at Darcy. "Fitzwilliam? Is this true? Have you found someone?"
"It is complicated," Darcy managed. "We are merely acquainted."
"Where did you meet?"
"Hertfordshire," Georgiana piped up. She had been silent until now, but she beamed at her aunt. "She is wonderful, Aunt. I met her today."
The table went silent. The Earl lowered his fork.
"You met her today?" she asked sharply. "In London? Where is she staying?"
Darcy's heart stopped. He looked at Robert, pleading silently. Don't say Cheapside. Do not say Cheapside.
"She is staying with family," Robert cut in smoothly. "In the City. Near the legal district."
It was a half-truth, but it held.
"A solicitor's family," the Earl grunted, and no one corrected the assumption. "Respectable enough. Not landed gentry, but better than a poet."
"And her name?" she pressed.
"Miss Bennet," Georgiana said. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
"Bennet," the Earl mused. "Longbourn Bennets? I knew a Bennet once, in Cambridge. Odd fellow. Liked books more than people. I owe him money."
"That is the one," Darcy said quickly. "Her father."
"Well," the Countess sat back, looking satisfied. "If Georgiana likes her, she cannot be all bad. You must bring her to call, Fitzwilliam. I wish to inspect her."
Darcy paled. "That might be difficult. She is... shy."
"She is not shy," Richard laughed. "I heard she is a dragon."
"She is spirited," Robert corrected. "And the sister... Mother, you should see the sister. A vision. Truly."
"Two sisters?" Her ladyship looked between her son and her nephew. "Good heavens. Is this a plague? Have you both been infected?"
"It is Christmas," Robert smiled, raising his glass. "The season of miracles. And falls on the pavement."
Darcy sank lower in his chair. He had survived the interrogation, but only just. And he knew, with a sinking feeling, that the reprieve was temporary.
The ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and walnuts. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The Earl, satisfied that he had done his duty by yelling at them, retired to his study to read, leaving the three cousins alone at the table.
Robert poured a generous measure of port and turned to Darcy. The playfulness was gone, replaced by the steely determination of a man who usually got what he wanted.
"Tomorrow," Robert said.
"No," Darcy replied immediately.
"Tomorrow," Robert repeated. "Eleven o'clock. We are going to Gracechurch Street."
"We cannot," Darcy argued. "Robert, be reasonable. It is Cheapside. We cannot simply roll up in a carriage with a crest and knock on the door of a warehouse owner. It will look..."
"It will look like a Viscount and a wealthy gentleman calling on two beautiful women they wish to court," Robert said. "I do not care about the address, Darcy. I care about the girl. I have not stopped thinking about her since we left them."
"You have known her for four hours!"
"And you have known the other one for three months, and you are miserable without her," Robert countered. "Look at you. You are a wreck. You need to see her. You need to apologize for whatever mess you made with Bingley."
"I cannot fix it."
"You can try. And you need me." Robert leaned forward. "Because I am charming, and I am titled, and I am the only one who can smooth over the fact that you are a social disaster."
"I am not—"
"You are. You froze on the pavement like a statue. If I hadn't stepped in, you would still be standing there."
Darcy slumped. He was right.
"But propriety..." Darcy tried one last weak defence.
"To hell with propriety," Robert said cheerfully. "We are bringing Georgiana. That makes it a family call. It is perfectly respectable. Mostly."
"Richard?" Darcy looked to his other cousin for support.
"Don't look at me," Richard held up his hands. "I want to see the Dragon. And I want to see Robert make a fool of himself over the Goddess. I wouldn't miss this for a promotion."
"It is settled then," Robert finished his port and slammed the glass down.
"Tomorrow. Eleven. Darcy House. We take your carriage—it's larger.
We take Georgiana. We go to Cheapside. And if you try to back out, Fitzwilliam, I will tell Mother exactly why you are 'pining'.
I will tell her about the uncle in trade, and I will tell her you are afraid of a slip of a girl. "
Darcy looked at his cousin. He looked at the empty glass. He looked at his future, which seemed to involve a great deal of humiliation and Cheapside air.
"Fine," Darcy whispered. "Eleven."
"Excellent," Robert grinned, the rake returning. "Wear a colourful waistcoat. We don't want to look like undertakers. We are going courting."
Darcy groaned and reached for the decanter. He was going to need a lot more port.