Page 72 of Master of Himself

“I’ll shift for myself tonight and ring him in the morning.”

Henry grumbled irritably as he left the chamber. “A trifling handshake. What a sham.”

Although relieved that Henry had accepted his abbreviated report, Charles knew his restoration had held far more significance, but at the moment, he hadn’t the stamina to concentrate on the possibilities. He disrobed, crawled into his bed, and fell into a contented asleep.

***

Thursday 28 November

For the first time in a fortnight, Darcy awoke in his own skin.

He’d never become accustomed to being someone else. During these past two weeks, he had felt disconnected and off balance, as though he were merely an observer in his own life, in an odd abyss where he could neither move forward nor backward until he had solved some obscure riddle.

But had he truly done so?

He recalled the hooded man’s message. You sign your place and calling, in full seeming, with meekness and humility; but your heart is crammed with arrogancy, spleen and pride.

Shakespeare had used this message to warn Cardinal Wolsey of his duplicitous conduct. Had the elderly warlock likened Darcy to the ambitious, deceitful cardinal? Certainly Darcy had never done anything as despicable as Wolsey. Had he?

He had not the same ambitions, but perhaps the same arrogance. He had endeavoured to conduct himself as an honourable gentleman, but upon further contemplation, he admitted that, not so long ago, he cared for no one outside his family circle. He thought meanly of the rest of the world, comparing their fortunes to his, rather than considering their value to the world. Just yesterday, he had been surprised to learn that Elizabeth’s relations in trade were well-mannered and resided in a finely appointed house. How lowering to discover that he had been prejudiced against them without just cause.

He had even insulted Elizabeth, the most enchanting woman of his acquaintance. How dull his life would have been had he not met her. He might have settled for one of the many soulless heiresses in his own circle as his life’s partner, and never known a thoughtful, compassionate woman who compelled him to examine his life’s path. Perhaps the hooded stranger had had more of a hand in that introspection, but Elizabeth had shown him how empty his life would have been had he never come to Hertfordshire.

The truth of the matter was that Darcy had always expected others to adhere to every rule of polite society, but he’d only followed those exacting standards when it suited him. The craggy, old man in a tattered cloak had taught him a painful lesson; the world didn’t exist to serve Darcy, he existed to serve the world. Perhaps he had needed this disturbing reminder to conduct himself with the same honour, reverence, and compassion as his father had done.

He hoped his sire would have approved of the plan he had for Wickham. Knowing of his father’s unwavering affection for his godson, he had never disclosed the disturbing truth to his parent. Yet, despite George’s frequent lapses in judgement, his father had always wanted him to succeed. As his heir, Darcy was duty-bound to see his final wishes carried out.

He gazed around his chamber with a renewed sense of wonder. Although his townhouse was identical to every other house on Grosvenor, this one was uniquely his. The Darcy family had lived here for nearly a century, beginning with his grandparents. Much like Pemberley, his history was tied to this house. God willing, his children and grandchildren would live here.

Energised and ready to face the world, he rose from his bed and rang for a footman, then strolled into his dressing room. Normally, this was Hobbs’s domain, but he could surely manage to dress himself for one morning. The shelves were neatly organised; shirts, cravats, stockings, and handkerchiefs were all arranged into tidy stacks. Coats, breeches, trousers, and waistcoats hung in the wardrobe while his boots and shoes lined the base.

Holding a tray, his butler entered the dressing room and warmly greeted him.

“Good morning, Mr Trent. You need not have troubled yourself with such a trifling errand. A footman could have brought my coffee and shaving water.”

“Undoubtedly, sir, but were Mr Hobbs to learn that I had permitted such a thing, I would never hear the end of it,” Mr Trent said with a wry grin.

Laughing at his joke, Darcy couldn’t disagree. “He’s quite particular, but aren’t we all?” he said, then gazed with some misgivings at the current state of perfection within the wardrobe. “I dare not disturb his handiwork.”

“No, indeed,” Mr Trent said. “I would take the blame for that as well.”

Hoping to avoid such an outcome, Darcy gingerly lifted the items needed from the top of the stacks, then withdrew a navy coat, with matching breeches and waistcoat without disrupting the precise order. It seemed beyond absurd to trouble himself with such trivial matters; everything in this wardrobe belonged to him. He certainly wouldn’t have done so in the past, but since Hobbs and Henderson had both been put to an extraordinary amount of work at Netherfield this past fortnight, he had more appreciation for the men’s dedication to their duties.

“Shall I help you dress?” Trent inquired as he filled the wash basin.

“Thank you for the offer, but I believe I can manage reasonably well on my own,” he said, then recalled another task that needed immediate attention. “Please ask Mr Mullins to come and see me after he breaks his fast.” Since he and Charles would be in town for a few days, he would send his coachman to Netherfield to retrieve the two valets they had left behind.

Feeling like a new man and ready to face the world, he entered the breakfast parlour, found his sister and Mrs Annesley already within, and bade them good morning.

Georgiana happily sprang up from her chair and threw her arms around him. “Fitzwilliam, what a wonderful surprise,” she said. “When did you arrive?”

“Late last night.”

“Oh, how marvellous,” she said with boundless enthusiasm. “Come and tell us all your news.”

He decided not to dim her mood with Wickham’s latest scandal. Such a tale wasn’t meant for the breakfast table, nor did he wish to disclose the sordid story to Mrs Annesley. He would confide in her in private after breakfast.

Yes, it was good to be home.