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By the time the gentlemen descended the steps at the front of the townhouse in Grosvenor Square, the carriage had returned from the mews, washed down and with fresh horses harnessed. Climbing in with their valises, the friends headed off to The City.

“Is there some trouble at the mill, Bingley?” enquired Darcy, wondering what urgent business had demanded Bingley’s unscheduled departure from Netherfield.

“No,” replied Bingley. “It’s just routine stuff that needs to be signed before the next quarter day. And you?”

“I am about to start building some townhouses on land belonging to my uncle near Hans Town. I need to discuss the designs with him at the architects.”

Bingley knew Darcy had several uncles on his mother’s side of the family, He surmised that Darcy was likely referring to the Earl of Matlock, since he was the Fitzwilliam family’s money bags, and added:

“Well, that sounds far more interesting than what I am doing, which will no doubt be signing a heap of paper.”

“I thought I would enjoy it when we first started this venture,” sighed Darcy, “but my uncle and I are at odds over the design of the townhouses. He wants to build the cheapest and nastiest things that he can lease, whereas I think it is worth investing a little more to produce quality structures with some architectural merit. I believe such housing will be in greater demand. The townhouses will not be that far from Mayfair.”

“Well, who is paying the piper?” asked Bingley, knowing the likely answer and considering this the clincher.

“I am paying for the building but unfortunately the issue is complicated by the fact that Uncle is one of my trustees.”

“I see, he does not want you squandering the family fortune, eh?”

“No, but I think he is shooting himself in the foot. More care and money applied now will yield higher long-term profits.”

Bingley agreed with a nod and then retreated into thoughts on his own business dealings.

The friends parted ways in The City, arranging to meet at a coffee house after each had finished his business. They would return to Mayfair together in the Darcy carriage.

Hours later, Bingley arrived at their rendezvous to find that Darcy was not alone. Darcy’s uncle, the earl, was expounding with animation on some topic while Darcy calmly sipped his coffee. Darcy’s cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, was leaning against a wall with his arms folded and a set look on his face. The earl stopped talking as Bingley approached and scowled at him. Looking around to find the source of the earl’s displeasure, Darcy’s face lightened upon seeing his friend.

“Uncle, may I introduce you to my friend, Mr Charles Bingley. We met at university. Charles, this is my uncle, Lord Geoffrey Fitzwilliam, tenth Earl of Matlock.”

The earl’s gaze shifted dismissively from Bingley’s tall, lanky form back to his nephew. “Is he that weaver’s brat?” he asked his nephew sotto voce.

Charles, who could hear the earl quite clearly despite the background noise, suppressed a smirk.

“Charles was on Oxford’s fencing team,” continued Darcy smoothly, “which we defeated for the cup, but he acquitted himself well with a couple of moves I had not seen at Angelo’s.”

“Hmmph,” replied the earl, reconsidering Bingley. Lord Geoffrey was an aficionado of fencing, though he had given it up due to his gout. But he still attended Signore Angelo’s Fencing School almost daily to watch the young bloods sweat. The earl had wounded three men and killed one in duels in his younger days. The latter might have caused him some trouble, except the victim had been a foreigner who cheated at cards, and so everyone except for his wife had been unperturbed by his demise. Having decided that Bingley might not be so contemptible as he had at first supposed, the earl transferred his attention back to his nephew.

“Well, I suppose we should be heading back to Mayfair. I guess I will take an ordinary at White’s…” said the earl despondently. “Perhaps you could drop me off, Nephew?”

Darcy would have liked to avoid having his uncle’s company for dinner. He had already invited Bingley and his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, and he had no wish to extend the argument he was having with his uncle about the townhouses. But he could not resist his uncle’s hangdog look. The earl’s financial situation had forced him to recently dispense with either his expensive European chef or his mistress, and the Frenchman had been shown the door.

The earl brightened considerably upon being invited to dine, and the four gentlemen climbed into the carriage for the journey.

Fortunately, Bingley’s presence constrained the earl to keep to neutral topics during the trip back and for most of dinner, but that changed after he had downed his third glass of port. Lord Geoffrey started by renewing his efforts to bully his nephew into accepting the cheaper design for the townhouses. He kept to this topic for one more glass of port before rounding on his son about a trip to Europe. Richard’s instantly pugnacious attitude revealed his father had already been haranguing him.

“Father, you asked me to take furlough not two months ago to extract Robert from that gaming hell in Dieppe! The major-general wasn’t happy about granting me leave then and he is most certainly not going to be amenable to another application so soon after the first.”

More particularly, Richard was sick and tired of covering for his elder brother Robert, the dissolute viscount.

“But what can be the difficulty?” exclaimed the earl. “Napoleon has been packed off to Elba! There isn’t even a war on anymore! The least you can do is help the family arrange this marriage for Robert.”

Richard sighed. “It sounds like gammon to me, anyway. Why would a woman want to travel across Europe to leave her family behind? She must have buck teeth or a peg leg!”

“None of that thieves’ cant, please!” retorted the earl. “She is a princess! That should be enough! Besides, she is an orphan, and her uncle has been appointed to the Russian ambassadorship. He wants to close his house in Vienna. He asked his younger brother to take in Princess Brunhilda, but he lives in an hotel in Paris, and it is not the place for a female. The best thing for her is to marry.”

“So, you met this younger brother at a gaming table in Paris?” responded Richard, mostly for Darcy’s benefit.

“Yes, that is how Robert ended up in Dieppe!” snapped the earl. “But that is by the by! The uncle has since sent me the princess’s portrait and she is perfectly presentable. They are eager for the match.”