Darcy turned back sharply. "So you knew."
"My mother mentioned it years ago. She was always absurdly sentimental about Lady Hortensia's parties. According to her, nobody danced half so much or laughed half so much anywhere else in England."
"My aunt appears to have omitted that particular piece of family history until now."
Richard laughed. "I imagine my mother would have considered it beneath your dignity to admit that your fine parents first became acquainted whilst competing in wheelbarrow races or hunting ribbons through a hedge maze."
"I sincerely hope there were no wheelbarrows."
"Oh, I should be ever so disappointed if there were not."
Darcy allowed himself the smallest smile. "Georgiana seemed rather taken with the idea."
"Of course she was."
"She said..." He hesitated, searching for words that would not make him sound like a sentimental fool. "She said that if Chaffley Hall had once made our parents happy, perhaps we ought not to dismiss it without giving it the opportunity to do the same again."
Richard's expression softened. "That sounds very like our Georgie."
Darcy looked back towards the passing landscape. His memories of his parents—especially his mother—were fewer than he sometimes wished, blurred at the edges by time, but certain impressions had never faded entirely. His mother's laughter had always seemed to arrive unexpectedly, bright enough to fill a room, while his father had possessed the uncommon gift of making every person he addressed feel that they were the only person in the world. If they had indeed found happiness at Chaffley Hall, he could understand why Georgiana wished him to visit.
Richard, however, had no intention of allowing the conversation to become reflective for long. "I confess," he said, stretching his legs comfortably across the carriage, "that I am looking forward to seeing you at a house party again."
"I cannot imagine why."
"Because you always spend the first two days looking as though someone has sentenced you to hard labour. It amuses me to seeyou doing your very best impression of a statue as simpering heiresses fall at your feet."
"I merely dislike making conversation for the sake of it—particularly with women who know nothing of me other than my income." Darcy gave him a level look. "You appear determined to make me regret accepting this blasted invitation."
"My dear Darcy, I simply want you to unbend a fraction. You have many responsibilities, I know," he said, holding up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "But as of late you have been more automaton than man—going through the motions, but never truly living."
"You do enough living for the both of us," Darcy grumbled.
"When you have seen the worst of humanity," Fitzwilliam said, his face darkening for a second, "you learn to embrace the parts of life that are filled with light and nonsense. That is all you need, my friend, a bit of nonsense and perhaps a pretty lady to flirt with. These are not trifles, Darcy. They are the very things that remind a man why the rest is worth enduring."
Darcy regarded him for a moment before looking back out of the carriage window. "I have never known anybody capable of delivering a sermon in favour of idleness."
"It is not idleness."
"No?"
"It is balance. You carry the weight of Pemberley as though the entire estate would collapse the moment you turned your back. I admire it, I truly do, but I sometimes wonder whether you remember you are four-and-thirty, not four-and-eighty."
"Seven-and-twenty," Darcy corrected. "We are the same age, Richard!"
Fitzwilliam shrugged. "My point remains. You spend so much time behaving like your late father that you have forgotten he was not always Mr Darcy of Pemberley. Once upon a time he was merely a young gentleman who attended house parties and, if my mother is to be believed, made a perfect fool of himself trying to impress a pretty young lady."
Despite himself, Darcy smiled.
The carriage rolled on in comfortable silence for a mile or two before Richard spoke again, his tone once more light. "Besides, I have every confidence that Lady Hortensia will soon cure you of this alarming tendency towards seriousness."
Darcy let out a quiet sigh and settled deeper into the corner of the carriage. "You are doing an excellent job of convincing me I ought to have remained at Pemberley."
"Nonsense," said Richard, smiling broadly as the horses rounded a bend in the road. "Before this week is over, I fullyexpect to have persuaded you that accepting Lady Hortensia's invitation was the wisest decision you have made all year."
???
The carriage left the gates of Longbourn just before midday. Mrs Bennet stood on the front steps with her younger daughters, waving her handkerchief so energetically that Mrs Hill had to steady her elbow as she almost lost her balance.
