Richard studied him over the rim of his glass. “Do you believe her?”
Darcy considered.
“I believe… that something is amiss,” he said at last. “Mr. Bennet’s actions—his words—this sudden, violent opposition. It cannot be dismissed.”
“But whether she speaks the truth?”
Darcy shook his head slightly. “I do not yet know. I believe thatshebelieves it to be the truth, but it could be nothing more than wishful thinking.”
Richard nodded once. Then, after a pause, he asked, “And you intend to proceed?”
Darcy looked at him questioningly.
“With the marriage,” Richard clarified. “Tomorrow.”
Darcy did not hesitate. “Yes,” he stated firmly. “Nothing that has been revealed today alters my purpose. I did not fall in love with her family or connections—I fell in love withher.”
His hand tightened faintly around the glass.
“And if anything, this only makes the matter more urgent. She is vulnerable—uncertain of her place, her family, her protection. I can only keep her safe by making her my wife.”
Richard watched him for a long moment, then inclined his head. “Very well. In that case, you have my congratulations.”
Darcy let out a quiet breath. “You will still stand up with me?”
Richard gave a short laugh. “Of course I will. Though I expect my father will have something rather forceful to say on the subject when he learns of it.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened slightly. “The earl will not be pleased.”
“No,” Richard agreed cheerfully. “He will not.”
He took another swallow of brandy, then added, almost casually, “Fortunately, I do not intend to remain under his authority much longer.”
Darcy glanced at him sharply, then raised his glass to his lips. “What do you mean?”
Richard met his look evenly. “I intend to marry Anne.”
Darcy choked. The brandy went down entirely the wrong way, and he coughed sharply, turning aside.
“You cannot be serious,” he managed once he had recovered.
“Perfectly.”
“Anne de Bourgh?” Darcy demanded. “She never leaves Rosings. She scarcely leaves her rooms. Half the time one might suppose her a ghost for how rarely she is seen.”
Richard shrugged. “She is shy. Not insensible.”
“And how, precisely, do you propose to accomplish this?” Darcy asked. “You cannot marry her if she refuses to leave the house for the church.”
“She will not have to.” Richard set his glass aside. “I have obtained a special license.”
Darcy blinked. “That is impossible.”
“Not at all.”
“Special licenses are not handed out on a whim,” Darcy said sharply. “They require influence—time—connections at the highest level. Only the Archbishop of Canterbury may grant them.”
“Yes,” Richard said mildly. “Which is why it was fortunate that Lady Catherine was willing to fund the effort—and that His Grace holds my father in particularly low regard.”
