“You can,” said Fitzwilliam, eagerly inserting himself into the conversation. “You will do anything, will you not, Darcy?”
“Bingley, whatever you need done will be my greatest honour to do.”
“Even if I ask you to stand up with me?” Bingley asked. “I know how much you disliked being there, and I hate to ask it of you.”
“I should be honoured,” Darcy repeated firmly. “Truly.”
“The neighbourhood has planned a great many events,” Bingley explained, his face turning a dull red. “It is not merely the breakfast, but of course you need not accept any invitations you do not like.”
“What else could there be?” Darcy asked, causing Bingley to flush more deeply red.
“Whatever it is,” Fitzwilliam hastened to intrude, “I am sure it will all be done in good taste.”
“I shall be glad to partake in whatever festivities are planned,” Darcy said.
Bingley’s unease appeared to dissipate. “Mrs Bennet thought it a right thing that I should celebrate with a ball at Netherfield—as a compliment to my bride. I set Caroline to planning that.”
“Mrs Bennet sounds very wise,” Fitzwilliam offered.
Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am sure the future Mrs Bingley will be pleased to have you fete her amid her family and friends.”
“That is to be two days before the wedding itself. There will be an assembly, a dinner at Longbourn, as well as a party at Lucas Lodge…a card party at the Robinsons’—”
“I do not think I am acquainted with any Robinsons,” Darcy said.
“You met Mr Robinson on several occasions last autumn. He is rather a quiet fellow, I suppose. He is married to Mr Bennet’s cousin and lives at Gorham House. They have a son at Cambridge—I am sure he must have mentioned it to you.”
Darcy opened his mouth, intending to speak, and then closed it again. Insisting that he did not know Mr Robinson could only emphasise the fact that he had not bothered to remember some of the principal families of the neighbourhood wherein he had stayed for two months.
Anunsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak…
Elizabeth’s words leapt into his mind. How disagreeable, how above his company he had behaved! Was it any wonder she had disliked him so? To not even trouble himself to know her cousin?
Fitzwilliam was once again quick to insert himself, no doubt eager to show himself the more genial cousin. “I am sure it will be a pleasure to be acquainted—or, in Darcy’s case, re-acquainted—with Mr Robinson and his family.”
It was a strange thing to say for a man who was not, as yet, included in the invitation; indeed, a man who had no reasonable cause to be at Bingley’s wedding. But as was his custom, Bingley betrayed no offence at the presumption. He grinned at Fitzwilliam and mentioned the multitudes of pretty girls he might come to know in Hertfordshire, urging him to come to Netherfield as soon as he could.
And just like that, the game was on.
CHAPTER THREE
“I fear I may have caused us a wrinkle.”
Fitzwilliam had presented himself in Darcy’s dressing room, having arrived at the house at an early hour the next morning. He leant against the door frame, giving his cousin a piercing look.
“What wrinkle?” Darcy enquired as he donned the waistcoat his man handed him and buttoned it. He had lost weight, it seemed, for it did not fit as snugly as usual.
“This wager of ours. I made the mistake of telling my brother about it.”
“Wager?” Darcy asked. “The carriage, you mean?”
“Oh, no, I misspoke. Not a wager as much as a…well, never mind what we call it—that both you and I wish to woo the same lady.” Fitzwilliam appeared at ease, though to Darcy it seemed his words were glib.
Suitably attired, Darcy dismissed his man and turned to fully face his cousin. “Regardless, surely we may count on his discretion?”
“When can we ever count on Saye for discretion?”
Darcy heaved a sigh of disgust as they exited his dressing room and walked towards the front stair. “As he does not know her, nor anyone connected to her?—”
