'Nothing in the way of pleasure can
ever be given up by the young men of this age.'
'Good match.' The Earl of Chatfield removed his fencing mask to reveal damp, dark blond locks pressed against his forehead. He offered his hand, which Darcy grasped heartily.
'Indeed,' Darcy agreed. Their bout had proven an intense contest. Both he and his friend Chatfield were men of varied interests who did few things by halves, and their mutual pursuit of perfection extended to their training at Angelo’s fencing school. Several years ago they had established a standing weekly appointment to cross foils whenever both were in town, an engagement Darcy considered one of the highlights of any trip to London.
'When you left town with Mrs. Darcy in December, I did not expect to enjoy the challenge of your blade for some time,' the young earl said. 'I hope nothing urgent called you from Pemberley?'
Darcy laughed. 'That is a matter of opinion. To my mother-in-law, chaperoning my wife’s sister through her first London season is a matter of utmost urgency.'
'Ah, the obligatory premarital promenade! You have my deepest sympathy. How many times have you endured Al-mack’s thus far?'
'None.'
'You truly lead a charmed life. You cannot avoid it all season, you know.'
'I can if Miss Bennet meets an acceptable gentleman elsewhere.'
'Any prospects yet?'
'Perhaps. A Mr. Harry Dashwood has come to call. Do you know him?'
'Dashwood,' Chatfield repeated as he and Darcy removed their gloves. 'I think he’s a friend of my wife’s youngest brother, Phillip. Bit of a wild bunch, their set. Most of them barely finished university — more interested in learning sixteen different ways to tie a cravat than in learning anything from a book. Tumbled out of Oxford and into town to pursue a full-time occupation of general carousing. Too much money and not enough responsibility. You know the type.'
Unfortunately, Darcy did; it was all too common among his peers. Born into privilege and untempered by duty or conscience, many of his fellow 'gentlemen' behaved like anything but. They lived lives of self-absorbed leisure, frittering away their time and fortunes on meaningless pursuits. The worst of them carried this extravagance to excess — slavish attention to clothes, overindulgence in drink, high-stakes games of chance, fast horses, faster women — and in many cases ultimately found themselves undone by it.
'I am sorry to hear this of Mr. Dashwood. For Miss Bennet’s sake, I had wanted to like him.'
'Those are just my general impressions of Phillip’s crowd, Darcy. I’ve heard no genuine harm of Mr. Dashwood in particular,' the earl said. 'Say, he isn’t related to old Sir Francis Dashwood, is he? Now
'Let us hope not.' Sir Francis Dashwood, though dead more than thirty years, had been a libertine so notorious that schoolboys still talked of him in the dormitories of Eton and Westminster when they wanted to impress younger schoolmates with their worldly knowledge. Perhaps, Darcy mused, that is why Mr. Dashwood’s name had sounded familiar.
'So, you are here long enough to find a husband for Mrs. Darcy’s sister, and then it’s back to Pemberley. Is that the scheme?'
'Essentially. I do hope to locate a good clergyman while in town. I recently received word that the vicar of Kympton is taken quite ill, so the living will likely become vacant by year’s end.'
'How much is it worth?'
'About four hundred a year.'
'You have not already sold it? A living that valuable? I should think someone would have paid you handsomely to hold it for him.'
Darcy had never much cared for the practice of accepting payment from a gentleman or his family in exchange for appointing him as a parish priest. Fortune and connections had their place in the worlds of business, law, politics, and the military, but not, he believed, in matters of the spirit. The men who guided their parishioners from baptism through death, who married and buried them, who counseled and consoled, should be selected for their office on the basis of merit alone.
'According to my father’s will, it was to be held for an individual who has since elected not to take orders,' Darcy said. 'When the living became vacant about three years ago, I granted it to the best candidate I could find, despite his advanced age. Now that his health is in decline, I once again wish to select a clergyman based on aptitude alone. I would grant the benefice free and clear to the right person.'
'Simply circulate that fact, and you’ll have half the clerics in Christendom knocking on your door.'
'I would settle for a single good one.'
As they left the fencing club and entered the street, the earl invited Darcy to dinner. 'Lady Chatfield wishes very much to see your wife again. Can you come round on Wednesday?'
'Only if you engage to be our guests the Wednesday next. I believe Mrs. Darcy and I are already one dinner in your debt.'
'Agreed. Bring Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet, too. We’ll invite some young gentlemen. Perhaps, Darcy, we can save you from Almack’s this season after all.'
Though the Chatfields’ dinner party was a success by all other standards, it failed to interest Kitty in any gentleman lacking the name Dashwood. Even the attendance of Lady Chatfield’s brother, Lord Phillip Beaumont, could not excite her beyond his status as a friend of Mr. Dashwood’s. From this association, they all managed to learn that Mr. Dashwood preferred faro to hazard, surtouts to box coats, and curricles to gigs. He bought his boots at Hoby’s, rode a thoroughbred stallion named Dionysus, and was among the thrusters in any foxhunt.
And so it was that Kitty left the earl’s home satisfied that she knew all the essentials of Mr. Dashwood’s character, and the Darcys, none of them — a deficiency they undertook to correct as expediently as possible.
'Your report first,' Elizabeth said to Darcy. She sank into a chair before the fire in their bedchamber, looking exhausted by their seemingly endless social engagements. The week of Mr. Dashwood’s absence had seen them attending soirees, assemblies, and dinner parties every night. The events had helped keep Kitty occupied and had also provided the Darcys with opportunities for discreet enquiries regarding Mr. Dashwood. Between evening events and daytime conversations — Darcy’s at various clubs, Elizabeth’s in social calls — they had learned all they could about the gentleman.
Darcy stirred the fire. He’d heard enough about Mr. Dash-wood to form an opinion of him already, but he wanted to hear what Elizabeth had discovered. 'I defer to the superior communication of women in matters of gossip. What have you learned?'
'Harry Dashwood is the son of Mr. and Mrs. John Dash-wood of Norland Park in Sussex. He is twenty years old and will reach his majority next month. Upon his father’s death last autumn, he came into possession of Norland, which provides him an income of four thousand a year. John Dashwood’s remaining estate, a sizable fortune inherited from his mother, went to his widow, Fanny Ferrars Dashwood. As Harry is an only child, this fortune, along with Fanny Dashwood’s own legacy of ten thousand pounds, presumably will pass to Harry upon her death, adding another two thousand a year to the income derived from Norland.'
He took the other chair and sat facing her. 'This confirms what I heard. What have you learned of his connections?'
'Mr. Dashwood’s mother has two brothers. Edward Ferrars, a clergyman in Devonshire, is married to John Dashwood’s half-sister, Elinor. They have two children, or perhaps three — the couple never come to town and Fanny Dashwood seldom talks about them. Her other brother, Robert, though the younger of the two, became the heir to the Ferrars estate following a breach between Edward and his mother. Apparently, the family row somehow
