3. Chapter 3
Chapter three
“M r Bingley! How delighted we are that you have come. I do hope you intend to remain in the area some weeks—perhaps longer, for the shooting?” Mrs Bennet nearly pranced in delight, maneuvering her own body about the room so that Mr Bingley was forced to retreat in the direction that brought him closest to Jane’s seat in the drawing room.
He glanced about nervously, searching Jane’s rosy countenance for any signs of discomfort. If he did not take the seat on his own, he feared Mrs Bennet would shove the chair under him herself—and he did desire to be close to Jane. She, however, could not be his first concern at the moment.
“I do indeed, Mrs Bennet, but might I inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s health? She appeared very unwell a few moments ago. Has she retired?”
“Oh! Lizzy is hale as a horse, Mr Bingley. I do not doubt that she has caught the sun. That girl is forever giving herself new freckles, for she will not wear her bonnet!”
“Miss Elizabeth has a lovely glow of health about her,” he affirmed gallantly, “but she seemed rather distressed—”
“And so we all are!” lamented Mrs Bennet. “To think that such a fine gentleman should be struck down in his prime, unmarried and with ten thousand a year left to goodness knows whom! Such a tragic loss. If only my Lydia had taken a fancy to him last year, but do you know, there was nothing to a red coat for her! Oh, if only Mr Wickham had two or three thousand per year,” she sighed. “He intends to send for her, you know, as soon as he may. Such a pity that he did not get the living Mr Darcy promised him, but I suppose it is too late for that now.”
Bingley’s face suffused with mortification and grief, but he sought courage from Jane’s sympathetic expression. There was a tenderness about her eyes, a sincere softening of her mouth. Whatever her own embarrassment, whatever modesty might have required of a maiden, she chose instead to extend comfort to him.
His heart began to beat once more. This was the woman he wanted by his side, and never more than now, when the loss of his closest friend had staggered and crushed him. Her mother was positively ghastly, but perhaps there was none better to stand by him than one who had already learnt to weather trials with grace.
“If you please, Mrs Bennet,” he swallowed, “I should like to speak of other things.”
“Oh, but of course! You will want to learn all the news of the neighborhood. Now, let me see, you already know about my Lydia. She wished so much to go to Newcastle with her husband, but I think the usual soldier’s accommodations would have been very bad for her health. How glad we all are that he allowed her to stay the winter here! And have you heard that Miss Lucas is married and settled? She is wed to our cousin, Mr Collins, and a fine match it is for her! I always declared she would make a dowdy spinster, but after Lizzy rejected Mr Collins, she saw her chance, and so there it is!”
“ Mama! ” Jane, thoroughly red, scolded her mother under her breath. She darted a pained expression to Mr Bingley, apologising with her eyes. Some empathy passed between them, an understanding sealed but not spoken. He smiled hesitantly, absolving Mrs Bennet of every shocking thing she could ever utter, if only Jane might continue gazing at him.
Mrs Bennet snatched the moment like a carrion bird scouting a fresh kill. “Mary, my love,” she fluttered her hand, “will you come with me a moment? I have just remembered there is something I wished to speak of with you, and it was of the greatest import! And Kitty, you, too.”
The girls traded looks of astonishment, but at another command from their mother, they rose to go. Jane shrank a little in her seat, her cheeks pink. She both longed for, yet dreaded, the words which were to come. Mr Bingley wasted not an instant of his opportunity.
His colour high, he reached across the space between them toward her hand. “Oh, Miss Bennet! Can you ever forgive a selfish boor, an inconstant fool who could go away for so long without word or hope?”
Jane gazed longingly at his hand, but she did not touch it. Her eyes raised shyly to his. “That, I suppose, depends upon your intentions, sir.”
He gasped, then fell to the floor on his knees, his hands clasped in supplication. “Miss Bennet, you are too good, too gracious to trifle with me. Would that I could claim such nobility! You have possessed my heart since the first time I saw you. These many months, I have known what it is to go about with only half a soul, for any sensible part of me has remained constantly with you. I would lay my life at your feet, if only you could offer me the slightest hope! Miss Bennet, I have behaved unforgivably, abominably ill, but never again! If you will have me, I wish to spend the rest of my days caring for you.”
Jane’s eyes shone. Biting her lip, she nodded vehemently as tears started down her cheeks. Bingley released a great cry of joy and relief as she at last took his hands. He rose to sit close at her side, and their heads bowed together in the first shared moments of lovers.
Bingley clasped her hands tightly, trembling. “Oh, Jane, my darling angel! How I have longed for you these many months! Can you truly forgive such a foolish man?”
“Freely, sir,” she smiled, her voice tight. “I believe I have loved you almost since that first night as well. I scolded myself for a simpleton, but I hoped so dearly that one day I might see you again.”
“Every day, my dearest love!” he swore fervently. “We shall never part again, even for the very most prosaic of reasons. Life is too fragile and precious a thing to be attempted alone.”
Jane hesitated, then her fingers lifted to trace his cheek. “I am so very sorry that you have lost your friend,” she whispered.
He blinked in astonishment, then his hand caught hers, eagerly cupping her slim fingers. “You cannot know my anguish! Darcy was more than a friend, he was… he was a brother. He bridged the gulf for a tradesman’s son when we were boys in school, and he has advised and befriended me in the most remarkable ways. You would never have guessed, had you not known him as I did, but never was there such a gentle friend nor such an able counselor. I only now begin to fathom what I have lost in him! There is no other like him. I…” his eyes grew hot and his mouth worked in agony. “I never imagined doing without him, my dear Jane! The only thing in this world that could be worse would be to lose you as well, and I believed I had done so.”
“Never, sir,” she vowed. “And if it gives you relief to either speak more of your friend or to remain silent in his memory, I shall be honoured to pay my respects in the same manner.”
He stared, amazed and humbled. “My sweet….” He swept down and brushed a tender kiss to her lips, but drew back almost at once. “Forgive me! I have not even spoken with your father, and I ought not to have taken such liberties!”
Jane, crimson from her breast to her cheekbones, hid her beaming smile modestly behind her hand. “You are indeed abominable, sir!”
“What must you think of me? One moment I am mourning my brother—for I cannot think of him as less—the next I am falling on my knees to declare my undying devotion and plead forgiveness, which you ought rightly never have granted. Oh, my Jane, I feel I will be constantly and flagrantly trespassing upon your goodness, but I find that humbly begging your pardon is sweeter even than indifferent accord with any other! I had hoped it could be so, for I come to you a broken, lost man, my Jane. How Darcy would chide me for my disordered feelings!”
Here, he drew a choking little laugh. “‘First duty, then pleasure,’ he would have counseled, but is it not a pleasure to remember my friend and to break my heart anew at each moment I am reminded of him? And is it not a duty to you and to my own heart to right the great wrong I wrought in going away as I did? No, I cannot know what to think or feel—only that I am grieved, and your love is my consolation.”
She touched his hand lightly. “Grief and love are easily confused. Would it ease your mind to speak more of him? I do not mean to intrude upon your feelings, but while the heart may hold a multitude of emotions, the mind seems only capable of managing one at a time.”
His countenance washed clean in relief. “You are wise and gentle beyond my desserts, my dearest.” He heaved a weary sigh, then scrubbed his face with his hand. When he lowered it at last, the joy had dissipated from his expression, replaced by the agony that had lain hidden beneath. Another breath shuddered from him, and Jane tightened her caress over his hand as he began to speak.
“The internment was only three days ago in Derbyshire—a quiet affair, much quieter than one might expect for one of his station. His uncle, the Earl of Matlock, had insisted that it be so. Only the earl, the viscount, the colonel, and myself were in attendance. I only found out because I tried to pay a call on Darcy last week, and it was returned by his cousin. It was he who gave me the news. He told me that they found him in the street… I suppose it was just under a fortnight ago now.”
“Found him? He was not at home?”
“No.” Here, a pain flickered in his eyes. “He was… he was in a most disreputable part of town. I cannot think that Darcy would have gone there for the usual reasons. I knew him very well, you must understand, but there he was found, nonetheless. I know others suspected less noble reasons, but I cannot help but believe he was there on some errand of mercy. I must believe that, or all else I knew of the man is a lie.”
Jane straightened. “An errand of mercy! Sir… are you fully aware of the circumstances of my sister’s marriage?” Jane cringed, he cheeks flushed in shame.
“No—I never knew Mr Wickham well, but he is not a man I would expect to marry without some… consideration. I had heard rumours about an elopement, but I did not believe half what I heard. My dear, I beg you would not be concerned on my account, for rumours could never cause me to—”
Jane shook her head, interrupting him, but her expression was one of warm gratification. “You are generous, sir, but that is not what I meant. They were induced to marry against Mr Wickham’s will—by Mr Darcy.”
“Darcy!” he cried. “How did he become involved?”
“I do not know the details. Perhaps my Aunt Gardiner knows more. I am told that he assisted them in the search for my sister and the subsequent arrangements. My aunt had seen him on Monday afternoon, and he was to go again to Mr Wickham’s residence that evening. He was to have met them again for Lydia’s wedding in the morning, but he did not appear.”
Mr Bingley’s brow furrowed. “Now that is an interesting bit. Certainly, Fitzwilliam must know this.”
“Fitzwilliam? Do you mean Mr Darcy? I do not understand.”
“No! Forgive me. I meant Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, his cousin. It was he who was called upon to identify the body, for he is the executor of Darcy’s estate and guardian to Miss Darcy.”
“Oh, how dreadful!” Jane groaned in sympathy. “I am glad it is not the lot of ladies to perform such a task. Was the colonel very close to him?”
“I think I answer with all humility when I say that Fitzwilliam was the only man closer to Darcy than I was. I understand he had been beaten, almost beyond recognition, and his purse was empty. Fancy that! The finest man I have ever known, brutally struck down for the thirty coins he always carried. There can be no justice in a world where such things occur!”
“Surely there was an investigation?”
Bingley shrugged helplessly. “Naturally. A man such as Darcy commands the top inspectors, but there was little to find. Footpads, that is their assumption. A… girl… claimed to have seen him, and she produced a gold coin that had likely been his, so the inspectors considered that explanation enough for his presence in that part of town. It does not suit with the character I knew, however.”
“How shocking for his family! They have not only the death, but the disgrace of the circumstances. Poor Miss Darcy!”
“Yes, the poor child. I understand she is taking it very hard. I have known her a long time, of course, and I can but think that this has quite broken her. I believe Fitzwilliam is sheltering her from the more shameful details, and, of course, he runs the whole affair like a military deployment, but it is inevitable, I suppose, that one day she will hear all. I must ask your secrecy, my dear, for I ought not to have repeated what Fitzwilliam shared with me in confidence.”
“I would never dream of speaking such things—particularly to my sisters!”
Bingley raised thoughtful eyes to the door, behind which now approached hurried footsteps that could only belong to Mrs Bennet. They came to a stop, then there was a faint creak against the door as a hand cupped against it. Jane groaned softly.
Bingley smiled tightly and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I have confidence in Miss Elizabeth’s secrecy. I know how close you are to her, and I would not share such griefs with you so soon while denying you the comfort of relief. She seemed quite distraught when I first gave her the news, which I credit to her as sincerity. She has a faithful heart, I believe, and it comforts me to know that others may also share in my sorrow over a good man.”
Jane cast a doubtful look toward the door. “Elizabeth abhors disguise, so I have no doubt that her shock was genuine. However, she was never fond of Mr Darcy, so I would not depend upon her for empathy over his loss, but I know she will respect your grief.”
“That is all one may ask of a friend,” Bingley smiled sadly, then squeezed her hand as his voice took on its usual volume once more. “I believe you were right, my darling. My heart does feel somewhat lighter after speaking of my sorrow, and I find myself most eager to turn to that other feeling now. Did you say your father is to return this very afternoon?”
Jane was unable to answer before the door burst open. Mrs Bennet, flushed with the triumph of a second daughter well engaged, raised both hands in praise. “Lord bless us, I thought it would never happen!”
Matlock House, London
“O h, Aunt, has it all really happened? I still feel I am in a nightmare, and unable to wake from it!” Georgiana Darcy burrowed her golden head tightly within her folded arms, collapsing once more on the side of her chair.
“Come, my dear, you will feel better after a hot bath and a rest. ‘Tis hard, I confess, but you are a Darcy, you know. It will not do to set up such a scene! What will your uncle and your aunt Catherine think?”
Georgiana dared to raise a scandalised glare to her aunt. Regina Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock, was her favourite female relative, but the woman was not known for her compassion. A rebellious spark of anguish flared, and she choked on the lump swelling in her breast. “I do not care what they think!” she sobbed afresh. “Fitzwilliam was my brother, not theirs!”
Lady Matlock rolled her eyes. “You must not carry on so, my dear, for you shall only excite yourself and bring on a fit of apoplexy. Young ladies must look very carefully to their constitutions!”
Georgiana had retreated once more to her hollow of safety, the black crepe of her new gown scratching unpleasantly against her cheeks, when the only welcome voice in the house sounded in her defence.
“Mother,” Richard Fitzwilliam entered the room, his features haggard and his uniform limp, “may I speak with Georgiana?”
Lady Matlock sighed and waved a hand in surrender. “See that she retires to her room, Richard! I’ll not have her exhausting herself and falling ill.”
“Of course, Mother.” He waited until the door fell softly closed, then gently called his cousin’s name. “Georgie?”
Georgiana’s jaw and neck tightened, but she relented from her self-imposed silence. She lifted her head and blinked swollen eyes.
“Oh, dear one!” he murmured in sympathy. He searched his breast pocket and withdrew a handkerchief to offer her, but paused after looking at it. “Oh… forgive me, this one is spoilt.”
Georgiana followed his gaze. “It is bloody! Richard, were you hurt?”
“No, my dear. It is nothing with which to trouble yourself. Are you feeling a little better tonight?”
She shook her head, still gazing at the handkerchief. “I shall never feel better,” she declared resolutely.
“I know, Georgie. Have you thought more about what I said yesterday?”
“I have done nothing but think. Richard, you and my aunt and uncle are kind, but I cannot be happy here. I wish to go home!”
“You could return to your own townhouse. I would prefer to see you stay here, but Darcy House is as much your home as Pemberley and is far nearer to family.”
She shook her head. “I cannot even remain in London. I need the peace of the country.”
“I would advise you against it,” he cautioned. “Pemberley will seem… it will not be the same. You should not return so soon. You must allow yourself a chance to recover before going back to-”
“To my brother’s home?” she finished. “Richard, that is precisely what I wish! Pemberley is all I truly have left of Fitzwilliam. He loved it so, and there, I shall feel as if he is still close. I may spend hours playing the pianoforte he gave me or walking the gardens he loved. I will ride that great stallion of his through the fields, and—”
“And if you should fall? Is that part of your design as well, Georgiana?” he asked softly.
She stopped breathing for a moment, blushed, and glanced down at her hands. “I….”
“There is no painless escape from your grief, Georgie. You cannot run.” He smiled brokenly, then shifted his seat a little closer to her. “Retreat is impossible, and I know this because I have tried it. There are only two choices; surrender or conquer.”
She stared, her porcelain brow wrinkling in confusion. “I am afraid I do not understand military terms. I must escape from all of the expectations upon me for a time, Richard, and I cannot do it here!”
“Ah,” he attempted a weak grin, “so you suggest a strategic withdrawal to rally the troops. Now you are beginning to speak sensibly.”
“What else am I to do? I cannot bear to face the townhouse and the steady stream of callers, and I shall certainly never go to Rosings!”
“For that, I cannot blame you. However, returning to Pemberley now will remove you from those who would support you when you need it the most. Here, you are among family. I shall speak to my mother about limiting her expectations of you.”
“It is only your company that has been a comfort,” she sniffed. “No one else… no one loved him quite like I did, Richard! How can they possibly understand?”
He squeezed her shoulder kindly, then dabbed her cheek with his fingers. “We have all lost someone who is irreplaceable, Georgie. I suspect it pains them more than you know.”
“Not to hear Uncle talk. He is all for making plans about what is to be done with me. Fitzwilliam has scarcely been gone a fortnight!”
“He only wishes to see you well cared for. It is his place, both as your uncle and as the head of the family. He is seeking to protect your interests.”
“ He is not my guardian!” she lashed out with sudden heat. “And I am glad of it! At least you have the decency to sincerely mourn my brother!”
“Georgiana, that is enough such talk,” he commanded. “Father bears more than you can know. Wisdom and responsibility will alter a man’s experience of grief—you will learn this for yourself one day. I expect you know as much already and are speaking more out of exhaustion than reason. Mother is right. You must retire for the evening.”
She cast her eyes sullenly to the floor. “If you insist.”
He rose, helping her to her feet. “I do. Perhaps tomorrow we will speak more of your intentions and make some arrangements. I have requested an extended leave of absence, and if it is granted, I may accompany you to Pemberley. I will not permit you to return there alone.”
“Mrs Annesley is there,” she reminded him obstinately.
“I hardly consider her to be adequate company at such a time. If you return to the estate, even in mourning, you return as the mistress. It must be done with both delicacy and authority, and advising you is not a task for your companion.”
Georgiana paled, and her rigid stance faltered. “Oh, Richard!” she breathed. “I cannot—no, it is more than I can possibly do!”
“You can, and you will, when you are ready. Dear one, do go up to your room now. You are nearly falling down where you stand. We will speak of this again when you have rested.”
Richard led her to the outer door of the sitting room, then supported her on the stair until he could consign her into the care of her lady’s maid. That task completed, he self-consciously brushed down the nap of his coat. He looked somewhat rumpled—certainly he would not have been fit to present himself at dinner, but he had missed that nightly event. His father and brother were likely gossiping through fat cigars and around glasses of scotch in the study, and to that room, he repaired.
“Richard! There you are, my boy.” The earl, indeed, brandished a long brown cigar, and he flicked it expressively as his younger son entered.
“Father, Reginald,” he greeted them wearily. He accepted a glass from his elder brother and tossed it back, savouring the fire in his throat as the large swallow of scotch burned its way to his stomach. This sort of pain was a relief, after the horrors of the last two weeks.
“Well, I see how your day went. Another?” Reginald lifted the bottle, and Richard nodded agreeably.
“Richard, you look a fright,” the earl rumbled in his deep, gravelly voice. “Tell me you were not back at Brook Street. You are wasting your time, my boy.”
“I learned more today, Father.”
“Oh? What is that? Did Darcy drop a button between the paving stones?”
Richard swirled his glass, grimacing. “I followed that prostitute the investigators dug up. Somewhere or another, she has obtained for herself a rather tidy stake. What they said of her last week was that her dress was perfectly scandalous, so threadbare was it. Today, she was dressed respectably, as a housemaid might have done. What is more, she is employed now at a boarding house nearby.”
“Boarding house!” guffawed Reginald. “Is that what they call those places now?”
“I use the term loosely. The interesting bit was that her employer is none other than Mrs Younge. You remember, Father, she was Georgiana’s companion last year.”
“Younge? No, I don’t remember.” The earl rolled his cigar between stubby fingers, blew a puff, then frowned at it in disgust. “Richard, on your next tour of duty, you must request a post in South America. These Brazilian cigars you had sent back from Portugal are loathsome.”
“You still have those? They must be three or four years old by now.”
“I never smoke them, but they are so impressively long that they make a handsome prop for conversation.”
“They are likely stale. I shall inform my general that only duty stations with excellent native cigars will do, so that I might send you a fresh lot.”
“Well and good,” gestured Reginald impatiently, “but what was this about a Mrs Younge? You did not say she used to be Georgiana’s companion!”
Richard shifted uncomfortably, realising now that in his distress and haste to gather information, he had nearly let slip a dangerous detail about Georgiana. “Mrs Younge was not the gentlewoman we took her for, and Darcy dismissed her,” he explained simply. “I suppose she found employment where she could, and I believe she had a generous severance with which to establish herself. I spoke with her, and she revealed that Darcy had been to her house on four occasions that week.”
“Four!” coughed the earl. “The boy should have married years ago. At least he could have gone to the Garden—”
“Father, I do not think his motive was what you assume. She told me that he had… personal business with one of her guests—a gentleman , Father, though I cannot quite think the man deserves that appellation.”
“You think this fellow had Darcy attacked?”
Richard’s brow puckered as he downed a third glass of whiskey. “No… that is the part that puzzles me. The man of whom I speak is well known to me. He is a seducer, a cad, a liar, a gambler, and a cheat, but he is not a murderer. What is more, he stood to gain far more with Darcy alive.”
“So, he is not your man. What, then, have you gained? You wear yourself out hunting down information day by day, but it will not bring back Darcy.”
Richard stared hard at his father. “I know why Darcy was there, and I know that he had paid more than one visit. Anyone already planning to attack him would have learnt quickly where he was to be found vulnerable. I mean to find them out and bring them to justice!”
“Richard, listen to yourself! ‘Planning to attack him’? It was the work of an opportunist who saw a wealthy man to knock over! Darcy was simply in the wrong place, acting the fool without his carriage and a footman!”
Richard glanced at his brother, then back down to his empty glass. “Opportunists do not take the time to beat their victims. A quick throat slash, a knife in the ribs, and they escape quickly with their prize.”
“Rats travel in packs. There were likely several of them,” the earl grunted. “Darcy was a skilled fencer and boxer—he would have struggled, and they overpowered him.”
“Come, Richard,” his brother added, “you remember how we used to brawl as boys! When he reached his full height, I never could best him, and you only could after joining the army and learning to fight dirty.”
“There is more. I found a chap who seemed to frequent that boarding house—a smallish fellow he was, could never have taken Darcy alone, but I overheard him make some comment to that same wench about a wealthy man. I tried to get more information from him, but he was… unwilling to divulge. There was little more I could do there today. I was in uniform, and feared creating a scene, so—”
“Richard!” laughed Reginald. “You do not mean that you accosted some random chap in the street and beat him for information!”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Reginald shared a significant look with their father. “Brother, I am as concerned as you, but I fear you may be exhibiting signs of obsessive madness. Let the inspectors handle this! It is not the work of a decorated war hero to scavenge the back alleys for thugs.”
Richard tightened his grip on his glass, but then decided against sharing more of his misgivings. “Oh, what is the use?” He lifted his glass again for his brother’s ministrations.
The earl raised his bushy brows. “Careful, my boy, or we will have to call Giles and Harris to carry you up the stairs.”
“Passing out would be a mercy,” he retorted, and sloshed the meagre serving Reginald had poured.
“Well, before you do, let us settle the matter of Georgiana.”
“Must we speak of it now? The poor girl has just lost her only brother! She was already an orphan, and now she is completely alone. Let her have some time before we map out her life for her.”
“She is an heiress, with a fortune the like of which will have men murdering one another at Almack’s next season. George Darcy was a fool not to have imposed an entail on Pemberley, but there it is, and this is our problem. We currently have the wealthiest young lady in the ton, next to the widowed Lady Blackthorne and Lord Ashby’s daughter—”
“Lord Ashby is having to sell off his smaller properties to cover his son’s gambling debts,” Reginald interrupted.
“There you have it! We must begin now to chart her course, for if we do not, Lady Catherine will.”
Richard shuddered. “I am sure it is necessary; I only request that we wait a few months. She will be in mourning for a year, and Darcy did not wish for her to come out until she was eighteen anyway.”
“What I propose, Richard, is that we do not wait that long. Too much can happen, and she is a vulnerable, na?ve, and bashful young lady. Would you see her swarmed by fifty men, all of whom want nothing more than Darcy’s wealth and estate? Would it not be far better for Georgiana to quietly settle the matter for her?”
“I suppose you already have someone in mind? I do hope, Father, you at least have thought of someone she likes.”
“You, my boy.”
Richard’s glass crashed to the floor. “ Me? It is out of the question! I am fourteen years her senior, and her guardian! Not only is it a violation of all that is right and natural, it is an abuse of Darcy’s confidence in me!”
“Darcy—both father and son—wished you to assist in looking out for her! What better way to do that than to marry her? You would be protecting her, not taking advantage of her fortune! She knows and trusts you, and you, more than anyone else, would be able to step into Pemberley with nary a hitch. The estate needs a steady hand, as well as an heir. The Darcy line may be ended, but there have been so many intermarriages over the last generations that you are practically half Darcy.”
“No! Why, I could never possibly… Georgiana is like a sister to me!”
“She has matured, Richard. Surely you have noticed.”
“That does not matter! Have you considered that it may not even be legal for a guardian to marry his ward?”
“Naturally. You would have to assign that to me until your marriage, if that is possible. I already have my solicitor looking over Darcy’s will. Even if legalities are not an issue, it would look more proper.”
“Nothing about this could ever look proper.”
“Nonsense! You speak from sensibility, but I see things more practically. You are the perfect match, Richard.”
“Cheer up, Richard,” Reginald grinned. “Father has found you a charming and wealthy bride. You may sell your commission and retire from fighting, and unlike myself, you will not have to battle your wife when you are at home.”
“It is not fair to Georgiana!” Richard insisted. “Would you not even give her a chance to object?”
“Certainly, but she will not. She is an obedient girl, after all. Darcy did well, even raising her by himself.”
Richard clenched his fist, scowling and muttering under his breath, “She would surprise you, if you knew her better.”
“Eh?”
He cleared his throat. “Nothing, Father. If you will forgive me, I am quite exhausted and not presentable to go in to the ladies in the drawing room.”
“Oh, yes, very well. We will speak more once I have heard from my solicitor.” The earl waved his cigar, then snuffed it.
“You leave me to face Aunt Catherine alone?” Reginald’s eyes rounded in genuine fear, but his mouth curved slyly. He leaned close and whispered loudly, “If you wish to avoid marrying Georgiana, I have it on good authority that Aunt Catherine is searching for a husband for Anne.”
Richard shook his fist in mock temper, then firmly took the bottle that Reginald still held. “Good night , Brother.”