Darcy stared at him.
Richard’s mouth curved faintly. “He was most accommodating.”
Darcy let out a slow breath, still trying to absorb it. “You intend to marry her here at Rosings, then.”
“That is the plan. I was going to come here after your wedding for my own. Last night’s events merely sped up the timeline.”
Darcy studied him more closely now. “And will you be happy?”
Richard hesitated—only briefly, then he shrugged. “I have no desire to spend my life on campaign,” he said. “The Peninsula was quite sufficient to cure me of any lingering illusions of glory. I enjoy comfort. Stability. A home.”
He gestured lightly. “Rosings provides all of that.”
Darcy’s brow furrowed. “And Anne?”
“We have always gotten on well enough,” Richard said. “Better than most would suppose. I have been writing to her this past year.”
Darcy looked surprised. “Writing?”
“Yes,” Richard said. “She is not so quiet on paper.”
A faint smile touched his expression.
“She understands me. And she is content with the arrangement. She does not wish to be forced into society, normocked for avoiding it. I can offer her peace. She offers me independence.”
Darcy was quiet for a moment.
“It is a sensible match,” he said slowly. “A few months ago, I should have encouraged it without hesitation.”
Richard glanced at him. “But now?”
Darcy shook his head slightly. “Now… I cannot imagine entering into a marriage without affection.”
Richard lifted his glass again and took a long drink.
“Not everyone is so fortunate.” His tone was light, but Darcy could hear a slight edge beneath the forced indifference. “Sometimes the person one might wish for is… unavailable.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Richard—”
But Richard waved a hand, dismissing it. “Pay no attention to me. Fatigue makes a man sentimental—and, worse, honest.”
He set his empty glass aside with a soft clink and straightened. “In any case,” he said more briskly, “this is your last night of freedom before you are leg-shackled for life. We ought to mark the occasion properly. We missed our opportunity at Netherfield.”
Darcy huffed a tired breath. “I regret to disappoint you, but I am in no condition for celebration.”
He rubbed a hand briefly over his eyes.
“I have not slept properly since yesterday. The carriage afforded little rest, and I have no desire to stand at the altar tomorrow in a state of exhaustion—or worse.”
Richard nodded at once. “Hungover would be a poor look for a bridegroom, I grant you.”
Darcy gave him a faint, weary smile.
“I intend to eat, and then sleep.”
“A most sensible plan,” Richard agreed. “Under any other circumstances, I should argue—but I find myself far too blasted tired to make the effort.”
Darcy inclined his head.
