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The Lectrice

Page 128

by Fredrica Edward

Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone straight to the Darcy townhouse after his intervention at Gunter’s to receive his cousin’s felicitations. Richard was so obviously glowing with happiness, that Darcy could feel the heat radiating from him, but Darcy’s practical mind immediately flew to the technicalities. After warmly shaking his cousin’s hand, Darcy wondered aloud about the legal implications.

“I must confess, Richard, I am worried that the bank will no longer honour the princess’s promissory note. It clearly stated your brother’s name. Do you think we should consult Mr Trevor?”

“I haven’t got a clue, Darcy, but father seemed to think Hildie had it all in hand. She has even sketched out my future as a diplomat!”

After expressing his surprise at his cousin’s mooted change of vocation, Darcy admitted Richard might be up to the task with the benefit of the princess’s connections and experience.

But after his cousin had returned to his betrothed at Matlock House, Darcy’s worries for the union only became more concrete. Georgie’s planned outing for the evening with Hildie had, of course, to be abandoned upon Robert’s advent. When she subsequently dined with her brother in his apartments, she noticed his reticence. Georgie had mixed feelings about Hildie’s engagement. While marriage was the ultimate goal for a lady of substance and a viscount could only be considered a good catch, Georgie could not like her cousin Robert. In fact, she had never liked him since he had pretended to guillotine her doll’s head at the dinner table once. Georgie had been four at the time. As they ate together, Georgie attributed her brother’s silence to his concerns for Hildie’s welfare.

But when Darcy finally disclosed over dessert that Hildie was in fact marrying Richard instead, Georgie was indignant:

“What!? You fellows never tell me anything! When did this happen?”

“Well, just before dinner, Georgie. It’s no secret. I am sure Richard would have told you everything, even danced around the room with you, if he had encountered you. I assumed you knew. Probably you were getting dressed for dinner. I am sorry, I am just a little worried about the legal implications.”

“But, Fitzwilliam,” said Georgie, still mystified, “what happened? Did Robert not turn up?”

“Oh, yes! He was escorted back to Matlock House by the Bow Street runners that Richard hired. But he took one look at the princess, said he did not want to get married and got into a tussle with Uncle Geoffrey. He threw Aunt Cissy’s expensive console down the stairs and left the house.”

“No! Poor Hildie! I hate Robert! So, Richard asked her to marry him instead? How gallant!”

“Actually, I believe ‘poor Hildie’ did most of the arranging. I just hope she has thought of everything!”

On the following morning, Georgie had planned to do more shopping with Elizabeth and had originally hoped that Hildie would join them, such had been her lack of faith in Robert’s actual return. Based on Richard’s news, she knew she could no longer count on Princess Brunhilda’s company and would have to curtail her expedition to Bond Street with Elizabeth to attend Hildie’s engagement party in the afternoon. Not having gone out the night before, Georgie was woken by her maid in preparation for an early outing with Elizabeth, who had undertaken to arrive in a hackney to save Georgie the long trip to Cheapside.

But when Elizabeth arrived around ten, it was not in a hackney but the Gardiner carriage, accompanied by her aunt. As the carriage needed to return to Southwark, Georgie invited the ladies in for tea while the Darcy carriage was brought round from the mews. Expecting his betrothed’s arrival, Darcy was dressed and waiting in his study, hoping to snatch a few moments with Elizabeth before the ladies set out for the shops. He graciously greeted Mrs Gardiner and took tea with the ladies before their departure. Georgie was delighted that Elizabeth’s aunt had finally accepted the invitation to visit Darcy House, allowing Georgie to return Mrs Gardiner’s hospitality.

Thus, the earl found a merry party when he called unexpectedly at half-past ten.

“Darcy!” said the earl, bursting into the saloon, expecting to find his nephew and niece at breakfast. “The most damnable thing! Catherine is back on my doorstep insisting that I put a stop to a mésalliance between you and a bit of muslin from Hertfordshire...”

The earl stopped when he perceived that the Darcys were not alone. He had no sooner recognised Darcy’s lectrice sitting at the table than Darcy’s left hand flew protectively over Elizabeth’s right, which had been resting on the tablecloth, suspiciously nearby.

Geoffrey Fitzwilliam frowned, “How now! Is this who Cathy meant? Your lectrice? Dear boy!”

“Uncle,” said Darcy in his most dignified voice. “May I introduce you to Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn? I met her when I was staying at Netherfield in Hertfordshire. We have been engaged for some time.”

Georgie looked at her brother in astonishment. She had never heard him tell a whisker before. Upon reflection, she decided that ‘some time’ was open to interpretation.

“Oh?” said the earl, brought up short by his nephew’s haughty demeanour. “Would you mind if I have a word with you?” he asked, retreating to the hall.

Farley was called and Darcy wheeled off to the study. Once the footman shut the door after him, the earl found his tongue: “But Darcy, who is she?”

“My soul mate,” answered Darcy simply.

The earl raised his eyebrows at such flowery language issuing from his very practical nephew’s lips. “Your soul mate?” the earl repeated stupidly.

“Indubitably,” replied Darcy. “Forgive me for not approaching you earlier, but circumstances intervened—both my own illness and the need to fetch Princess Brunhilda for Robert. I hope now that the princess’s marriage is settled, albeit not exactly to plan, that I can count on your support?”

“But Darcy!” the earl spluttered, his conscience pricked by his nephew’s words. “Are you sure about this?”

“She is the only woman I could contemplate spending my life with. One with so generous a heart, that even my illness has not managed to come between us.”

“But her fortune?” pursued the earl.

“Is not great. But she is of respectable birth, the daughter of a squire, and one of the most learned females I have ever met.”

“She’s not a bluestocking!” expostulated the earl with disgust.