“You are not nearly as funny as you think you are.” His cousin laughed anyway. “You saw the example descriptions: an independent gentleman, with ten thousand a year and passably handsome, would be in the first tier.”
“True, but a lady who puts herself in a lower tier would not act as superior as Miss Bingley, and she with her superciliousness, twenty thousand pounds, and titled connexions would put herself in the first,” Fitzwilliam reasoned. “A lady who puts herself in the second would not expect to make a grand match—although, of course, you are one,” he added with a solemn mock bow.
Darcy was more troubled by a woman without an intelligent thought in her head than someone earnestly expecting a fine match. A stupid lady would make letter writing tedious and prove the entire enterprise a waste of time. “Would you do the same?” he asked, doubting the affirmative. “You are an earl’s son; you would put yourself in the first tier, so do the same with me.”
“I think I would find a better match in the second, but does it even matter? You are certain you won’t find a bride.”
“Would you please just take care of this for me?” he cried. “Please,” Darcy added quietly, as an apology. “I am already wavering.”
“Very well. I will take care of you.”
The way he heavily said “take care” would have made Darcy afraid had he not written his own description. He handed overthe envelope, and to his surprise, Fitzwilliam opened it to read, and immediately shook his head.
“This makes you sound dull, Darcy. You might as well have said you have an unyielding temper, you hate strangers and dancing, and you prefer to stay at home.”
“That would also be true, but I thought it best not to lead with my worst traits.”
“Let me make afewchanges?—”
“Leave it!”
Fitzwilliam realised he had pushed too far and left for the office. Darcy sat back with a sigh, wondering if this was a mistake. The people going in and out of that building were willingly opening themselves up to marriage, either out of desperation or a sincere desire for companionship. Whereas he was only somewhat curious if this matchmaking enterprise was feasible.
And he was curious if a short correspondence with another woman could help him forget Elizabeth Bennet.
Fitzwilliam arrivedat Darcy’s house in Charles Street later that night while he dressed for an evening out.
“Here are our lists,” he said as he entered Darcy’s chamber. “They arrived in the four o’clock post.”
Darcy started. “So soon?”
“This is the latest list, although you are welcome to submit weekly for an updated list of your class. It is rather short since the enterprise has only been a fortnight in operation. I understand there are currently more men than women.”
“How does it work?” he asked while tying his cravat.
“I guess you should have come in with me,” Fitzwilliam said with a teasing look out of the side of his eye. “You pay a subscription fee to access the list, select the ladies you want to write to, and if any have likewise chosen you, the office arranges your correspondence. You are identified by number, and all letters go through the office in Bishopsgate. They release the names and directions only on mutual consent granted in person.”
“And is there a finder’s fee upon a marriage?” Darcy asked drily.
“One per cent of the bride’s dowry, or fifty pounds.”
“Truly?” he cried, turning from the mirror. “I was joking.” Fitzwilliam shrugged and set them down. “Do not put it aside. We may as well begin.”
“You want to choose now?” His cousin sounded surprised, but he picked up the sheets. “In the carriage this morning, you seemed ready to run back to Berkeley Square.”
Darcy felt his cheeks warm. “But I subscribed. It is done, and now I had best get on with it.” He had agreed to do this, and it was always best not to leave a task for later that could be done immediately. A duty, even a disagreeable one, ought not to be put off. And he thought about Elizabeth nearly as often as he breathed. A distraction was necessary. “Let me select a woman to write to. It shall not take long.”
“I will read as you get ready. Where are you going, anyway?”
“Dinner with my sister, and then a musical evening,” he said while choosing a waistcoat. “It is a compromise because she does not want to join me and Bingley and his sisters at the panorama, but I thought she ought to mix a little more this season.”
“Her reluctance has more to do with the company than the panorama itself. You know how Georgiana struggles with Miss Bingley.” Fitzwilliam shook the paper straight and theatricallycleared his throat. “‘I am nineteen, genteel figure, mild manners, income limited.’”
Darcy shook his head. “She won’t have any conversation.”
“How do you know?” his cousin cried. “Mild manners could mean she is demure and polite.”
“Her description wasninewords.”
