“Anything I can do, of course. What is it?”
“You will recall my mother’s aunt, Lady Peyton?”
“Um…no. I cannot say I do.” Darcy crossed his legs and made himself more comfortable. Fitzwilliam, it seemed, was in the mood for an epic telling of his tale.
“She was the widow of Sir Henry Peyton of Salt Hill in Middlesex. I cannot even tell you how old she was, but the rumours say that she danced with the first King George at her coming out.”
“Positively ancient, then.”
“In February, she died,” Fitzwilliam continued. He had apparently decided to accept that drink after all, but being a frequenthabituéof the house, he retrieved it himself. “She died in full control of her faculties, fortune, and estate—and childless.”
“A wealthy, childless aunt?” Darcy raised his eyebrows. “No doubt an untold quantity of previously unknown heirs have presented themselves?”
“No entail,” Fitzwilliam said, returning to his chair and swirling his drink around. “The lady could dispose of the property according to her own pleasures, and it seems my mother was the last person on earth who truly cared for the old dear. Visited her regularly and assisted where she could, which none of Mother’s other cousins ever did.”
“Dare I imagine that she is to be rewarded handsomely for this kindness?”
“Yes, she is. My mother is to receive Lady Peyton’s estate. The fortune is to be divided, but the house and lands are now under the control of Matlock.”
“Excellent news!” Darcy exclaimed.
Fitzwilliam raised one hand to stay him, still beaming happily. “I have not got to the truly excellent part yet.”
“Which is?”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled above a broad smile. “She is giving it to me.”
“The house?”
“The house, the land—all of it.”
Pleasure ignited in Darcy’s chest. His cousin’s prospects had long weighed on him, particularly as Fitzwilliam had seemed increasingly intent on throwing himself in the line of French fire. Now, hopefully, he would stay in England, tend to his house, perhaps even marry. A smile, his first true smile inweeks, spread across Darcy’s face. Unable to speak, he merely reached across the divide between them and clapped his cousin’s shoulder.
Rising from his chair, Darcy went to the sideboard to fill his own glass. He brought the decanter back and added more to the small portion his cousin had served himself. “We must toast your change of fortune.”
“Very well, but not too much. Saye tells me he will begin instructing me on the ways of estate management?—”
“Saye? What does he know?”
“Nothing at all. But I must permit him to think himself the wise elder brother in case I everdorequire his assistance.”
“Wise indeed.” Darcy raised his glass. “To land ownership! May your fields drain nicely, your crops flourish, and a lady of the house be found forthwith!”
Fitzwilliam drained his glass, chuckling at the last. “Ah yes, a lady of the house. Scarcely were the words ‘I am giving you Salt Hill’ away from my mother’s lips before she began urging me to take a wife.”
Darcy grinned. Lady Matlock’s desire to see both of her sons settled was not hidden. “I am sure you have any number of lovely young possibilities now. Miss Roberts seemed rather taken with you at the party at Warwick House.”
“A charming girl, but too young by half. I think she is just seventeen, and I should prefer a wife not counted among the ranks of Georgiana’s friends.”
“They do seem to get younger, do they not? What of Lady Phyllida Holmes? She is two and twenty, and as clever as she is pretty.”
“Mm,” said Fitzwilliam dismissively. “I confess my eye has been drawn to another. I believed she was out of reach, but now…”
“Lady Harriet Thorpe?”
He shook his head. “No, not Lady Harriet, but the lady does have similar dark hair and eyes.”
The first niggling of a suspicion entered Darcy’s mind but was summarily dismissed. “Who is she?”
