Darcy studied the message and could not but agree.
“I did not write this twaddle. How was it delivered?”
The marquess dropped into a chair.
“I have no idea, but I can ask my butler.”
“Please do. Or better yet, let us adjourn to Hanover Square and Downshire House this instant. Of the hundred and fifty guests we invited, only three guests and one chaperon attended that were not of my closest family. Someone is thwarting my every effort to introduce my wife into society. I shall find the culprit and shred him to pieces.”
Darcy rose, full of vigour and purpose. Downshire nodded, a deep frown framing his aristocratic nose. He must have some sympathy having been married but a twelvemonth himself, though he had been wise and married Lady Mary née Windsor, the daughter of the 5thEarl of Plymouth. If only Darcy had possessed the foresight to marry well, but he had been drawn in by a Hertfordshire wood nymph. His faculties had left him, and he was reaping the oats of his folly.
The corners of his mouth twitched. If there was one decision he did not repent it was marrying Elizabeth. She was everything a man could wish for: intelligent, funny, passionate, compassionate… Society and his family be damned. The lot of them obviously disagreed with his choice of wife, though there were likely only one or two culprits, puppet masters, who were herding their flock of sheep. He would ferret them out and thwart their endeavours. What kind of gentleman was he if he allowed himself to be driven back to Derbyshire? Certainly not Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, because he could not be browbeaten into submission.
Downshire’s butler made enquiries and discovered that the note had been delivered by a street urchin of indistinguishable features.Blast!Another dead end, but what had he expected? That the culprit would send his liveried footman out to deliver the forgery?
“Do you have a suspect in mind?” Downshire asked once his butler had left his study.
Should he admit that he was suspicious of his own relatives? The Matlocks were exempt, of course. His uncle would never risk having their family name exposed to censure, and his aunt would do everything in her power to protect Georgiana. No. It was more likely Lady Catherine defending her sickly daughter’s honour, though he could not overlook the judge; he had made his sentiments known, but would he intentionally sully the Darcy name? It did not sound plausible that either of them would stoop so low.
Wickham was his only true enemy, but he did not have the resources to execute revenge of this magnitude. The perpetrator must have significant influence amongst distinguished gentlemen, even the aristocracy, and that was something the steward’s son, currently enlisted in the militia, did not boast.
“No, I have no evidence pointing in any specific direction. It is clearly someone with a score to settle, presumably with me. I suppose some might consider me an oafish prig or failed to lure me into their dubious business scheme. I am contemplating whom I may have offended to garner such hatred.”
“Hate is a strong word… Besides, the attacks are aimed at your wife.”
Darcy nodded in agreement, but that made even less sense to him. Elizabeth was liked, adored even, by everyone who knew her. She had no enemies as far as he could tell.
“Certainly,” he said out loud, “but she is unknown and is even less likely to have offended anyone of significance. She was born and raised near the quaint town of Meryton in Hertfordshire. Her acquaintances are limited to four-and-twenty families, mainly squires and minor gentry. Her grandmother was the daughter of a German count but was disinherited and estranged when she married Elizabeth’s grandfather back in 1762. I doubt the animosity that naturally must have followed has survived for five decades.”
Downshire poured a couple of glasses of brandy, even though it was not yet ten in the morning.
“Perhaps marrying you was her mortal sin. The plot reeks of female subterfuge. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned…”
“I left no scorned women behind upon entering the wedded state. My aunt wished me to marry my cousin, which is why I was conscious not to raise any expectations in that quarter. Lord Matlock would not have minded had I married the daughter of one of his cronies, but most of them would probably prefer a peer. Judge Darcy’s daughter has been mentioned but was presented after my betrothment.” He did not mention that his family had not been informed of his engagement and that Clarissa had been presented before his wedding.
“When did you become betrothed? I never heard so much as a whisper about your entanglement before the marriage was announced in the newspapers. The rashness of the affair may very well be the source of your troubles…”
“I proposed on the twenty-sixth of November,” Darcy informed his friend, who had the audacity to look hurt. Instead of explaining why he had not told Downshire about his impending nuptials, he changed the subject.
“I have danced with many ladies, and even called on a handful, but never more than twice or thrice.”
“Miss Bingley!” Downshire exclaimed.
“What of her? I have never called on Miss Bingley.” Darcy had not given the lady a single thought. She was the sister of a friend. An annoying, cloying sister, but still…
“It is evident that she had set her cap at you.”
“True, but I never entertained her lofty aspirations.”
“She might not have realised as much, considering you were so often in her company.”
“I was not in her company. I had been visiting her brother.”
“Women put enormous significance into the minutest details. She might have thought you were visiting her under the guise of seeing her brother. Ladies’ imaginations move rapidly and conjure admiration where none is to be had.”
“That reeks soundly of bitterness.”
Downshire did not reply. Instead, he made a suggestion.
