Duty and Desire

easily shut up his roiling anger and indignation. His whole being demanded action, but he could neither move to relieve it nor guess what course would satisfy its demands.

The choir stood to sing, the rustle of their unison movements and the triumphal chords of the organ rousing Fitzwilliam from his inattention. He sat up straight and blinked, owl-like, at his cousin. “Did I miss anything?” He yawned as they came to their feet.

“It was much the same as always,” Darcy replied, averting his face from his cousin, who would need but a glance to know something was amiss. Taking advantage of Fitzwilliam’s ritualistic endeavors to shake loose from the effects of slumber, Darcy slowly retrieved his hat and book. A diversion was required. With a studied carelessness, he turned to his cousin. “Save for when His Grace, the Duke of Cumberland, ran down the aisle, confessing to the murder of his valet.”

“Cumberland!” Fitzwilliam’s eyes sprang open, and he swiveled halfway round before catching himself and turning on Darcy. “Cumberland indeed! Badly done, Fitz, taking advantage of a poor soldier worn out in the service of —”

“In the service of the ladies of London, shielding them from the terrors of a moments boredom!” Darcy snorted. “Yes, you have my unalloyed sympathy, Richard.”

Fitzwilliam laughed and stepped into the aisle. “Shall you mind me stretching out my boots under your dinner table today, Fitz? His Lordship and the rest of the family left for Matlock last week, and I am sore in need of a quiet meal away from the soldiery. I think I’m getting too old for kicking up continually.” He sighed. “Settled and quiet would, I believe, answer all my ideas of happiness. In truth, it is beginning to appear highly attractive.”

“‘Settled and quiet’ was exactly what you were during the greater part of services this morning, but —” Darcy smiled tightly as his cousin protested his perception of the matter — “I’ll not berate you upon that score.”

“As you said, ‘it was much the same as always.’”

“Yes, quite so,” Darcy drawled. “Rather, tell me the name of the ‘highly attractive’ lady with whom you aspire to be settled and quiet.”

“Now, Fitz, did I mention a lady?” The heightened color around Fitzwilliam’s stock belied the carelessness of his question.

“Richard, there has always been a lady.” They had, by now, reached the church door, and with more reserve than usual, Darcy nodded to the Reverend Doctor. As they stepped out from the doorway, Darcy’s groom, Harry, who had been watching for them, motioned for the carriage, which smartly rolled forward to the curb.

“This is the most deuced awful weather.” Fitzwilliam shivered as he waited for Harry to open the door. “I hope we are not in for an entire winter of it. Glad the pater and mater left for home when they did.” He climbed in behind Darcy and hurriedly spread a carriage robe over his legs. “By the by, Fitz” — he squinted across at his cousin as the carriage pulled away — “is that Fletcher’s knot that cut Brummell off at the knees at Lady Melbourne’s? Show your poor cousin how it is done, there’s a good fellow. The Roquefort is it?”

“The Roquet, Richard,” Darcy ground back at him. “Not you as well!”

“Fitz? Fitz, I do not believe you have heard a thing I have said!” Colonel Fitzwilliam put down his glass of after-dinner port and joined his cousin’s vigil at his library window. “And it was rather witty, if I must say so myself.”

“You are wrong, Richard, on both counts,” Darcy replied drily, his face still set toward the panes.

“On both counts?” Fitzwilliam leaned in against the window’s frame for a better look at his cousin’s face.

Darcy turned to him, his lips pursed in a condescending smile. “I heard every word you said, and it was not witty. Amusing? Perhaps, but not anything that would pass for wit.” He lifted his own glass and finished off the contents as he awaited Fitzwilliam’s counter to his thrust.

“Well, I shall be glad, then, to be considered ‘amusing’ according to your exacting taste, Cousin.” Fitzwilliam paused and cocked a knowing brow at him. “But you must admit that you were not devoting your whole attention to me and have not acted yourself today. Anything you care to tell me?”

Darcy glanced uneasily at his cousin, silently cursing his acute powers of observation. He had never been able to hide anything from Richard for long; his cousin knew him far too well. Perhaps the time had come to speak his concerns. Taking a deep breath, Darcy turned back to the warm haven of his library. “I have had several letters from Georgiana in the last month.”

“Georgiana!” Fitzwilliam’s teasing smile faded into concern. “There has been no change, then?”

“On the contrary!” Darcy plunged on to the heart of the matter. “There has been a very marked change, and although I welcome it most gratefully, I do not entirely comprehend it.”

Fitzwilliam straightened. “A marked change, you say? In what way?”

“She has left off her melancholy and begs forgiveness for troubling us all with it. I am instructed — yes, instructed,” Darcy repeated at the disbelieving look Fitzwilliam returned him, “to regard the whole matter no longer, as she does not, save as a lesson learned.” Fitzwilliam uttered an exclamation. “And that is not all! She writes that she has started visiting our tenants as Mother did.”

“Is it possible?” Fitzwilliam shook his head. “The last time we were together, she could not as much as look at me or speak above a whisper.”

“There is yet more! Her last letter was most warmly phrased, and if you may be persuaded to believe it, Richard, she offered me advice on a matter about which I had written her.” Darcy walked over to his desk while Fitzwilliam pondered his words in stunned silence. He opened a drawer, withdrew a sheet, and held it out to his cousin. “Then, when I had returned to London, Hinchcliffe showed me this.”

“The Society for Returning Young Women to Their Friends in the Country…one hundred pounds per annum,” Fitzwilliam read. “Fitz, are you playing me a joke, because it’s a damned poor one.”

“I am not joking, I assure you.” Darcy retrieved the letter and faced his cousin squarely. “What do you make of it, Richard?”

Fitzwilliam cast about for his port and, finding it, threw back what remained. “I don’t know. It appears incredible!” He looked at Darcy intently. “You said her letter was ‘warmly phrased.’ She sounded happy, then?”

“Happy?” Darcy rolled the word about in his mind, then shook his head. “I would not describe it so. Contented? Matured?” He looked to his cousin in an uncomfortable loss for words. “In any event, I will join her at Pemberley in a few days’ time, and I intend to keep her by me.” He paused. “I bring her back to Town with me in January.”

“If she has improved as you believe…” Fitzwilliam allowed his sentence to dangle as he stared into his empty glass, his brow knit.

“Do you go to Matlock for Christmas, or must you remain in Town? You could then see for yourself and advise me, for I would value your opinion, Richard.” Darcy’s steady look into his cousin’s eyes underscored his words.

Fitzwilliam nodded, acknowledging both the import and the singularity of Darcy’s request. “I am granted a week’s leave and had not yet decided where to spend it. His Lordship will be much pleased to see me at Matlock, and Her Ladyship will, of course, be cast into transports that all her family are home. Shall you host the family for a week as in Christmas past?”

Darcy nodded, and after replacing the letter in his desk, he poured his cousin and himself more of the port. He tipped the glass to his lips after saluting him, letting the pleasant burn slide down his throat as he closed his eyes. There was more he wished Richard’s views upon, but how to begin?

“I have seen Wickham.” Darcy’s quiet announcement broke the silence like the crack of a rifle shot.

“Wickham! He would not dare!” Fitzwilliam fairly exploded.

“No, we met quite by accident while I was accompanying Bingley in Hertfordshire. Apparently, he has joined a militia stationed in Meryton.”

“A militia! Wickham? He must be at the end of his resources, or hiding from pressing obligations, to do so. Wickham a soldier! I wish, by God, I had him under my command!” Fitzwilliam paced the length of the room, then turned and demanded, “Did you speak with his commanding officer? Tell him what a villain