"It is Christmas," Robert smiled, raising his glass. "The season of miracles. And falls on the pavement."
Darcy sank lower in his chair. He had survived the interrogation, but only just. And he knew, with a sinking feeling, that the reprieve was temporary.
The ladies withdrew to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and walnuts. The atmosphere shifted instantly. The Earl, satisfied that he had done his duty by yelling at them,retired to his study to read, leaving the three cousins alone at the table.
Robert poured a generous measure of port and turned to Darcy. The playfulness was gone, replaced by the steely determination of a man who usually got what he wanted.
"Tomorrow," Robert said.
"No," Darcy replied immediately.
"Tomorrow," Robert repeated. "Eleven o'clock. We are going to Gracechurch Street."
"We cannot," Darcy argued. "Robert, be reasonable. It is Cheapside. We cannot simply roll up in a carriage with a crest and knock on the door of a warehouse owner. It will look..."
"It will look like a Viscount and a wealthy gentleman calling on two beautiful women they wish to court," Robert said. "I do not care about the address, Darcy. I care about the girl. I have not stopped thinking about her since we left them."
"You have known her for four hours!"
"And you have known the other one for three months, and you are miserable without her," Robert countered. "Look at you. You are a wreck. You need to see her. You need to apologize for whatever mess you made with Bingley."
"I cannot fix it."
"You can try. And you need me." Robert leaned forward. "Because I am charming, and I am titled, and I am the only one who can smooth over the fact that you are a social disaster."
"I am not—"
"You are. You froze on the pavement like a statue. If I hadn't stepped in, you would still be standing there."
Darcy slumped. He was right.
"But propriety..." Darcy tried onelast weak defence.
"To hell with propriety," Robert said cheerfully. "We are bringing Georgiana. That makes it a family call. It is perfectly respectable. Mostly."
"Richard?" Darcy looked to his other cousin for support.
"Don't look at me," Richard held up his hands. "I want to see the Dragon. And I want to see Robert make a fool of himself over the Goddess. I wouldn't miss this for a promotion."
"It is settled then," Robert finished his port and slammed the glass down. "Tomorrow. Eleven. Darcy House. We take your carriage—it's larger. We take Georgiana. We go to Cheapside. And if you try to back out, Fitzwilliam, I will tell Mother exactly why you are 'pining'. I will tell her about the uncle in trade, and I will tell her you are afraid of a slip of a girl."
Darcy looked at his cousin. He looked at the empty glass. He looked at his future, which seemed to involve a great deal of humiliation and Cheapside air.
"Fine," Darcy whispered. "Eleven."
"Excellent," Robert grinned, the rake returning. "Wear a colourful waistcoat. We don't want to look like undertakers. We are going courting."
Darcy groaned and reached for the decanter. He was going to need a lot more port.
Chapter Four: Invading Cheapside
If pacing were a recognised profession, Elizabeth Bennet would be a wealthy woman. As it was, she was merely wearing a track into her aunt's carpet while radiating righteous indignation.
It was the evening of the twentieth. Outside, the London fog was settling against the windowpanes. Inside, the Gardiner drawing room was a sanctuary of warmth and light, currently being disrupted by Elizabeth's furious energy.
"He is haunting me," she declared, pivoting sharply by the fireplace. "There is no other explanation. London is a city of a million souls, Aunt. A million! And yet, I cannot walk into a bookshop without tripping over the Master of Pemberley."
Jane, who was seated on the sofa with a piece of needlepoint she hadn't actually stitched in ten minutes, looked up. "I was the one who tripped, Lizzy. And it was not over Mr Darcy. It was into the arms of the Viscount."
