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"Did a rock fall on you during a dig?" Harwood continued. "Is that what happened? Because I am struggling to understand how you have turned being a viscount into an impediment to marrying one of the richest young women in Derbyshire."

"My family are the impediment," Nathaniel snapped. He set his glass down and rubbed both hands over his face. There was no taking the words back now. "They are truly awful. Cold, calculating, without a warm feeling among them. It was like growing up in a tomb. And they have very particular ideas about what Viscount Ashbourne ought to be and the sort of woman he should marry. My work is an embarrassment they have tolerated because they assume I shall eventually tire of it and return to the life expected of me. In truth, whoever I married they would make her life a misery."

"And will you return to the life expected of you?"

"No." The answer came quickly. "I cannot imagine anything worse."

Harwood was quiet for a moment. "And Kate?"

Nathaniel looked towards the door through which Darcy had disappeared. "She deserves a man who is not ashamed of his own name and who can offer her a life without dragging her into a war with people she has never met. She deserves to be welcomed into a family as she would welcome another into this one. Not picked apart by mine and spending her days waiting for me to return from expeditions in a damp and draughty parlour with my mean-spirited mother. "

Harwood's expression softened. "Have you considered allowing Kate to decide what Kate deserves? Terrifying thought." Harwood drained his port and stood. "But you should probably pay attention all the same. Darcy girls, in my experience, do not appreciate gentlemen deciding for them."

He clapped Nathaniel firmly on the shoulder as he passed. "And Ashbourne?"

Nathaniel winced at the name.

"Do not run. It will not work." Harwood strolled from the room, leaving Nathaniel alone with his port and his black thoughts.

Chapter Thirteen

Elizabeth Darcy was not having a pleasant evening. Family dinners at Pemberley were normally cheerful and friendly affairs, but tonight it had been like trying to oversee a dinner party in Rome as the city burnt all around them.

Her husband was in a black mood, clearly frustrated and upset by whatever lay between their middle daughter and the very handsome but slightly unknowable Mr Nathaniel Briar. Her attempts to keep the conversation moving had left her with a headache. The only saving grace was that everyone had disappeared off to bed quickly, no one choosing to linger in the drawing room given the heavy awkwardness that lay across the company.

Her husband had changed much over the decades of their marriage. He was softer now, more willing to show his emotions and to accept and give love freely, but in some particulars he was still the stiff, unbending man she had spied across the small assembly room at Meryton. When he felt anyone or anything he loved was threatened, he would revert to the haughty and unbending master of Pemberley.

She did not know what had passed between her daughter and the young antiquarian, but something had. They had spent the evening either staring forlornly at each other when the other wasn't looking or pointedly avoiding each other's gaze. And she was almost certain that her other daughters knew exactly what they were both about. Bella had almost equalled Elizabeth in her manic need to provide light and easy conversation, while her youngest daughter, much less adept at hiding her emotions, had cast angry glances at the man seated beside her and, on one occasion, almost certainly stamped on his foot beneath the table.

She wanted a hot cup of tea, a quiet spot by the fire and to continue the novel she had started before the visitors descended for Darcy's fiftieth birthday celebration. She had not managed more than one page since then, and she suspected tonight was not the night she was going to be able to lose herself in Mary Shelley. She had two sets of ruffled feathers she needed to calm before she could get anything like the peace she craved.

She started at her middle daughter's room, rapping on the door gently before pushing it open. Kate was sitting in her canopied bed, propped up by a mound of pillows and reading a dark green volume that was enormous and looked terribly serious to Elizabeth's eye. Kate had her long hair braided over one shoulder, and she looked up with her father's eyes as her mother entered the room.

"Hello, Kate, my dear," said Elizabeth, trying her best to keep her tone light. "How are you feeling?"

Her daughter's eyes flickered down for a moment before coming up to meet her own. "I am well, Mama. Why should I not be?"

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the white counterpane, which was decorated with cheerful yellow buttercups and dainty bluebells. She pressed her lips together, unsure how to begin. "Kate, you did not seem at all yourself at dinner, and to give up on going to the dig..."

"It is only for a few days," Kate said breathlessly, but Elizabeth held up a hand to silence her.

"It is clear that something is amiss, and the way Mr Briar was regarding you... Has something happened between the two of you?"

Kate's eyes returned to her lap, and to Elizabeth's alarm, she noticed that tears were trickling down her daughter's cheeks. She moved closer, wrapping an arm around Kate's shoulders and bringing her close.

"Oh, my darling, what is it? Please tell me. I cannot help if I do not know what is amiss."

"Nothing is amiss. Not really. There was a small misunderstanding between us, that is all, and I am embarrassed."

"Do you care for him?" Elizabeth asked gently.

"I like him very well. He is kind and clever, and we work... we have worked so well together. I never thought I could spend time with someone who was practically a stranger and feel so at ease. But..." Kate's voice wavered. "But I fear I have acted foolishly, or he has acted foolishly, or we have both acted foolishly, and now I think it would be best if I kept my distance."

"Does he return your regard?" Elizabeth asked plainly.

"Regard? Mama, I mentioned nothing of regard. I think you are overstating things."

"And I think you look very much like a young woman in love, my dear. I promise you, I know all the symptoms. You forget I am one of five girls, and it is not so very long ago that I was falling in love myself. I promise you, your father and I had many, many foolish misunderstandings before we came to know each other's hearts." She stroked Kate's hair gently. "Would you like me to speak to him? Do you think he will approach your father?"