Darcy did not shake his hand. “Do I know you?”
“I should hope so! To be so thoroughly forgettable would be tragic.”
The fleeting feeling of familiarity Darcy had felt moments before suddenly asserted itself with new significance. His pent-up anger was too great to be easily cut through, however, and the result was a petulant sort of defiance. “And yet…”
“A tragedy I must be!” Rutherford conceded with unperturbed amiability. “I suppose it has been a long time, and I daresay the name has thrown you. I was Lloyd-Sanders at school, but my father has since passed away, and I haveinherited the title. I used to be fast with your cousin, Barclay, if you recall. How is he these days?”
“He is overseas,” Darcy replied tightly, peering at the viscount with escalating disquiet. “But the last we heard he was well, thank you.” As he stared, Rutherford’s features slotted slowly but seamlessly into older memories of a younger man’s face. Lloyd-Sanders. Charles Lloyd-Sanders. It dawned on him in a rush why Georgiana had been so confused to hear him referred to as a blackguard. “You are not a rake!”
He clamped his mouth closed, privately cursing his vulgar outburst, but this man truly was no libertine. He was the one-time favourite of his own eldest cousin—Fitzwilliam’s older brother, Barclay. A chap of prodigiously good character and even better connexions if memory served him correctly. Barclay had not mentioned him in many years, but then, Barclay himself had spent most of the last decade plundering foreign lands for art and artefacts to fill his father’s newly refurbished and extended castle. Nevertheless, Darcy recalled the esteem in which his cousin had held the then Lloyd-Sanders. It was all but impossible to imagine the man had strayed into depravity in the intervening years.
“Forgive me.” He grabbed the hand that Rutherford still held towards him and shook it. He wished he had done so sooner when the return of the usual level of conversation around him brought to his attention how quiet it had grown. He rued making a spectacle of the encounter and affected a deliberately less antagonistic demeanour to allay any brewing speculation. “I meant no offence, but…I came expecting to find a man of considerable disrepute waiting here to meet my sister.”
Rutherford quirked his mouth contritely. “Well, I hope I do not need to convince youof my respectability—but it seems Iamwaiting for your sister. I can only apologise for what must appear a disagreeably clandestine arrangement. I did not realise shewasyour sister you see. I assumed the name was a coincidence and she must be from another Darcy family.”
“Are there others?”
“Fewer than I thought this morning, obviously! But I could have sworn you were an only child.”
“She did not often come to Matlock with me when she was younger,” Darcy admitted. “After my mother died, my father preferred her to stay at Pemberley.”
“That vindicates me to some extent, though not entirely. Is he in town? I shall speak to him directly?—”
Darcy cut him off with a shake of his head. “He is no longer with us. He died above six years ago. Fitzwilliam and I share the guardianship of Georgiana now.”
Rutherford winced in chagrin. “My condolences, Darcy. I am sorry to hear that. Of course, I would know this if I had done the decent thing and called on Miss Darcy at home before arranging to meet her here. The truth is, I had not yet worked up the courage to ask her if I might. We only met two days ago.”
That brought Darcy’s thoughts spinning back round to the other matter that had been troubling him deeply these past few days. “Yes, about that. Georgiana said you met by accident—that you were in fact waiting for somebody else.” He dared not elaborate and hoped his anguish did not show as he waited for Rutherford’s answer.
“That is correct—and now I begin to better comprehend the extent of your ire when you arrived just now, for that paints an even worse picture of my conduct, does it not? Let me assure you, it was not a romantic assignation. It was a young lady I never met before, whom my cousin asked me to escort about the exhibition. She never showed up in the end. Fortunately for me, your sister did.”
His cousin? The lady who had sat on this couch at the start of the week and described Rutherford to Elizabeth as an out-and-out cad had been the man’s own relation? Darcy would not have credited it but for Fitzwilliam’s account of her. ‘Proof enough that the whole family is trouble,’ he had said. Indeed, she must have been truly disagreeable, for Fitzwilliam was not usually so easily riled.
He pitied Rutherford such disloyal connexions, but he did not mention it. He was not without meddlesome relations of his own, and he knew from experience it was better not to fan the flames of their resentment. He had made the mistake of exacerbating Lady Catherine’s grudge against Elizabeth, defending her against the charge of beginning a rumour that he and she would soon be engaged. The result had been her ladyship’s disastrous visit to Longbourn and the crushing end to all his desires. He had no wish to bring the same fate down upon anybody else.
“She is beautiful, Darcy. And so wonderfully well informed.”
It took Darcy a moment to comprehend that Rutherford was talking about Georgiana, and not Elizabeth. “Thank you. She was rather taken with you, too.”
Rutherford smiled bashfully and looked so much like his younger self that Darcy could not fathom how he had not recognised him straight away.
“That is heartening to know. Indeed, it emboldens me to enquire whether you might consent to me calling on her. Officially.”
Darcy gave his consent willingly but privately wondered at the turn of events. He had come fully prepared to call Rutherford out, if need be. He would leave with one of the finest men in England as a serious contender for his sister’s affections. It was a most fortuitous outcome, and he welcomed it unreservedly—yet he could not help but feel guilty.
Had he not intervened, it would be Elizabeth on whom Rutherford was calling. He would have loved her instantly, forno man in his right mind could not, and then it would not have been long before she became Lady Rutherford. It would have been a wonderful match, and no doubt a wonderful life, and he had denied Elizabeth all chance of it—though, that in itself was not the cause of his regret. In fact, Darcy was profoundly relieved that the meeting had not taken place—he had only to feel ashamed at the extent of his triumph.
Somebody indicated a desire to sit on the couch and they moved away to allow them access.
“You and Miss Darcy must come to dine,” Rutherford said as they made their way through the crowd.
“It hardly seems fair that you should host me when I have turned up here ready to lay all manner of charges at your door.”
“Nonsense. It was nothing any good brother would not do. We can laugh about it over a good bottle of merlot. What say you? Tomorrow night at eight?”
“Very well if you insist. I am sure Georgiana will be delighted.”
“Excellent! And bring Fitzwilliam, too. I have not seen him for years, and if I am to impress two guardians, I had better make a start on both now.”
