Darcy did not flinch, though he was acutely aware of Sir Geoffrey’s sharp eyes watching from the shadows. “The dance card is under my jurisdiction, Coke. I am exercising the precise discretion Lady Sophia entrusted to me.”
“Discretion is one thing, Darcy, but this is an absolute absurdity,” Coke retorted, taking a half-step forward that narrowed the distance until they stood shoulder to shoulder before the hearth. “I come out short on this list, and I want to know why. I have no debts. My character is established. I manage Matlock Park with an efficiency that you cannot fault. Elizabeth’s Bellwood estate sits in the exact same vicinity as our northern holdings—it would add beautifully to the family lands.”
The casual use of her Christian name went through Darcy’s ribs like a rusted blade.
“Miss Bennet’s properties are not a matter of local convenience for the house of Matlock,” Darcy growled, his hands clenching behind his back to keep his composure from shattering.
“She is an heiress in need of a husband who can maintain her in the highest echelons of society,” Coke pressed, his eyes flashing with the absolute certainty of his birthright. “I shall be the Earl of Matlock, Darcy. I can make her a Countess. My mother wants the match; the alliance is flawless, and Miss Bennet herself was perfectly agreeable during our last conversation. I demand to know on what pretension you are standing between us for the supper set.”
From the sidelines, Lord Leycester let out a soft, mocking whistle. “A Countess, indeed. That is very powerful persuasion, Hale. One wonders if a mere trustee’s authority can withstand the weight of a coronet.”
Darcy straightened, every inch the Darcy of Pemberley, pride settling over him like armor.
“My reasons are my own, Coke,” Darcy said, each word landing like an iron gate slamming shut. “As Miss Bennet’s trustee, it is my absolute prerogative to assign the dances as I see fit. I am under no obligation to explain my conduct to you, to your mother, or to any other gentleman in this club. The supperdance remains allocated as it currently stands. The matter is closed.”
Coke’s jaw tightened, his chest rising as he fought his own rising temper. For a long, brutal second, the two men held each other’s gaze, the sheer force of their clashing wills stretching the tension in the room until it threatened to snap.
“With you as the placeholder, cousin.” Coke bristled. “One would imagine you had designs on Miss Bennet yourself. Always at her side, playing with that scruffy dog of hers, and quick with the umbrella and cloak. You, a man who refuses to dance, would waltz with her? This is not stewardship, Cousin. This is something else entirely, and I assure you, my mother and my Aunt Catherine will not let it rest.”
No doubt Lady Matlock would bring Aunt Catherine into the picture, but Darcy was not done.
“Miss Bennet’s introduction to thetonis placed where they belong. I shall not allow my charge to be subjected to the indignities of a waltz. It is, as you know, quite controversial, and Miss Bennet has only known country dances.”
“Then have her sit it out, if you are so concerned, Cousin, but methinks the gentleman protests too loudly.”
With that, the heir to Matlock spun on his heel and stalked out, leaving the idle gentlemen to clap and gossip like crows. Darcy gathered his letter, cup, and newspaper—none of them particularly useful at the moment.
“Darcy! There you are.”
The library door burst open, and Bingley blundered into the alcove with the radiant, blissful ignorance of a hunting dog arriving in the middle of a thicket of wolves.
“I have been looking in the coffee room and the card room and the billiard room, which is a great many rooms for a club that is supposed to simplify one’s social life.” Bingley strode in and immediately bowed to the gentlemen all ranking above him.“Sir Geoffrey, Lord Leycester, Lord Willets, Lord Fusington, and Viscount Stevens—good afternoon. Darcy, I have a matter to discuss that requires your particular brand of relentless honesty. It has to do with Miss Jane Bennet, you see, and her mysterious withdrawal from taking calls, and oh, I have heard of the severe headaches that have befallen her. But Miss Bingley reports seeing her at Madame Delacroix’s, and I do wonder if you have any news about her dance card, as I am not applying for Miss Elizabeth Bennet, goodness knows, the queue is impossible to manage. Impossible!”
“Bingley.” Darcy held up a firm hand to quiet the voluble man before the name of every Bennet sister was broadcast. “A private table in the dining room will suit your purposes.”
“Yes, yes, much.” Bingley wrung his hands, wiping perspiration from his forehead. “Your professional interest in the dance card is of much value. If you could merely steer me?—”
“Gentlemen.” Darcy delivered a single, curt nod to the silent alcove, tucking Richard’s letter into his coat pocket. He left the unread newspaper and the cold coffee behind, guiding Bingley in the direction of the private dining room with long, confident strides.
Behind him, Sir Geoffrey’s parting shot. “Can you imagine? A professional interest with a supper dance? One wonders how long Pemberley can hide its appetite behind a proxy’s ledger.”
Darcy did not turn around because doing so would require challenging the man to a duel, dragging his honor and Elizabeth’s name into the mud of manufacturedtonscandals.
The dining room at White’s offered private tables along the western wall, each set in an alcove that provided the illusion of seclusion without the formality of requesting a private room.
They ordered: roasted fowl, potatoes, and a bottle of claret. Bingley took an age choosing the wine, which was never a good sign. A cheerful Bingley drank whatever was closest; a worried Bingley read the wine list twice.
“You look thunderous,” Bingley said, filling their glasses. “What happened in the library?”
“The usual tedious conversation amongst gentlemen with a surfeit of idleness. You, however, seem to be in quite a state. Did you not receive my note cautioning you on the type of addresses you may make with Miss Jane Bennet in the absence of her father?”
“Yes, yes, that is quite the consideration, for…” Bingley trailed off between the soup and the fowl. “I find myself at a loss. Caroline says I should abandon the cause, that there are many more alluring flowers in society. Younger, with titles to trade for our, well, surplus funds from our factories.”
“Would you abandon Miss Bennet for a title? Is that what you want?” Darcy cut his pheasant into tiny pieces.
“Goodness no!” Bingley exclaimed, dropping his knife underneath the table. A footman discreetly retrieved it and replaced it with a clean one. “But, Darcy, Miss Bennet has been indisposed. She has not received any calls.”
“I am aware.”
