“Then we shall have to ensure he never finds out.”
“And what of the lady? Will she not have her expectations? I am violently opposed to being your second against some country father.”
“I have already warned her off,” Fitzwilliam informed him. “I told her in Kent that I am too poor to marry cheaply.”
“Even so.” Saye shook his head. “It will not do for two reasons. One is that Darcyalsoknows you are too poor to marry cheaply. Two, I do not think you are clever enough to play it convincingly.”
“I most certainly am. Darcy and I have a lifetime of competing against one another. Do you forget the time we came to blows over a biscuit? I was bleeding in three places by the time he was finished with me.”
“And now you will come to blows over Miss Bennet’s biscuit.” Saye smirked at his own joke. “And when he reminds you that you must marry a woman of good fortune? What will you say to that?”
“A death in the family, and I inherited something.”
“Your family is his family,” Saye replied reasonably.
“Not on our mother’s side. Our mother might have any number of aunts or cousins Darcy knows nothing about.”
Saye nodded slowly, the first indication Fitzwilliam had that the scheme might work.
“But I still say you might raise hopes in the lady. If you are persuasive enough for Darcy, then she may believe you have tossed aside practical considerations for her.”
“I did think of that,” Fitzwilliam admitted, “but there is nothing for it. It will be a fine line to walk, persuading Darcy without raising her hopes, but I believe it can be done.”
Saye absently rifled through Florizel’s fur while he pondered that.
Fitzwilliam interrupted his musings, knowing just how to raise his brother’s interest. “Two hundred pounds says I can make Darcy go to Hertfordshire to woo his lady by pretending that I intend to do the same.”
“Two hundred pounds! Faith! You think I care more for Darcy’s concerns than I actually do. Fifty pounds if you can successfully provoke him into action.”
“Fifty pounds if I get him to Hertfordshire, and another fifty if he proposes again…and one hundred more if she agrees to marry him.”
Saye whistled. “You are playing high, soldier, but I shall see you, then. Perhaps we shall find a few others to join in the fun.”
“Not too many—Darcy is likely to baulk if he feels himself a source of tattle.”
“He will never know about it.” Saye finally rose from his bed. “Ring for Jones,” he ordered. “We do not have a moment to lose.”
CHAPTER ONE
Heartbreak.There was a time—a time not so very long ago—when Fitzwilliam Darcy might have scorned it, deriding it as the stuff of bad novels. But now? Devil take it if the thought of wasting away on a settee, or getting nonsensically drunk, did not appeal to him enormously. From his desk, he glanced longingly at the overstuffed velvet chaise longue near the window. It was a relic from his father’s time, and Darcy smiled faintly as he remembered how his mother would recline there, likely with some dreadful novel in hand, while his father sat at this very same desk, writing letters or reading reports from his steward.
Enough of this silliness!He was not some mooncalf. The plans were laid, and soon Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be forgot in favour of nuptial—well, not nuptial bliss.Nuptial contentment? Nuptial equanimity?He sighed. Mutual nuptial apathy was the best he could imagine.
The financial rewards of marrying Anne were many. And Lady Catherine would be happy, possibly Lord Matlock too—certainly happier than either would have been with the announcement that their nephew was marrying a Miss Bennet of Longbourn.
He pressed his hand to his heart and closed his eyes. Would that he could summon the resentment he had first felt after her rejection! It had been so much more enlivening than this despair he presently endured.
The sound of heavy-booted footsteps coming down the hall distracted him from his saturnine reverie. Colonel Fitzwilliam had arrived, appearing to be in high spirits. Darcy straightened himself; his cousins had already heard a great deal about his disappointment and were no doubt tired of the whole affair. No need to show them he was just as dejected as ever.
“There you are.” Fitzwilliam settled comfortably into one of the chairs across from Darcy’s desk. “Thought I might see you at Boodle’s.”
Darcy rose and went around his desk to sit in the chair beside his cousin’s. “Why? Something happening there?”
“Card game. Reportedly, they have been there all night, and the stakes are grown rather dear. Pinkerton is likely to lose the very shirt off his back.”
Darcy shook his head and offered a drink, which his cousin refused.
“I cannot stay long, Darcy, but I have some news that I simply could not wait to acquaint you with. And if you should feel inclined to offer any advice, or help along the way”—he tipped an imaginary cap—“I should be much obliged.”
