Fletcher’s careful ministrations completed, Darcy occupied the remaining time until his fellow guests should arise with composing a letter to his sister. Such close correspondence as he had heretofore maintained with Georgiana had always made such missives a pleasure, but her new easiness did not aid him in the setting down of his narrative on the ivory sheet before him now. A portion of his difficulty with its composition lay in the nature of their parting. The changes his sister had lately exhibited and the loss of understanding between them caused him to question the suitability of his habitual manner of addressing her. The remainder lay in the somewhat curious conduct of the gathered company as well as in his purpose for being one of their number. How, after all, did one tell one’s sister that one was — what was the abominable phrase? — “hanging out for a wife”?
In the end, he wrote of his misadventures upon the road and favored Georgiana with a short description of his hosts and their other guests, ending with an adjuration to enjoy whatever entertainments their aunt might suggest and to regard Lord Brougham’s advice with the greatest solemnity, no matter in what manner it was given. Sanding down the letter and folding it, he looked about him for his seal, but search as he might, he could not find it among the items in the writing desk. Odd that Fletcher had neglected to notice its absence.
Pushing back the chair, he rose and crossed into the dressing room. It would likely still be in his jewel case, since he had had no use for it upon his journey. Flicking up the clasp, Darcy opened the case, his eyes scanning the interior. Ah, yes, there it was, right next to…The silken threads lay serenely where he had placed them. Bypassing his seal, his fingers hovered over the strands. The temptation to retrieve them and return them to his waistcoat pocket was irresistible. He knew that if he touched them…No! Quickly, he snatched up the seal and snapped the case shut. At all cost, he must stay to his resolve. He returned to his letter and, lighting the wax wick, let fall two drops before stamping it with the seal. Then, affixing the franking wafer, he left it and his seal on the desk for Fletcher to see to. It was now two o’clock, and drawing down his cuffs and waistcoat, he turned toward the door just as a tattoo was rapped upon it from the hall.
“Manning!” Expecting almost anyone else but the Baron, Darcy greeted him with surprise. During their days as hall mates, he and Manning had not gotten on well and, as a consequence, had not kept in touch since the older fellow’s graduation.
“A rack or two of billiards suit you before this afternoon’s expedition?” The Baron’s cool green eyes surveyed him. “I take it you’ve breakfasted.”
Darcy nodded and motioned Manning to lead on. “Your long friendship with Sayre and close relation through Her Ladyship must make you familiar with Norwycke and its environs.”
“I know my way quite well, yes,” Manning replied. “The billiard room, the salons, the dining room, certainly.” Darcy’s companion sent him an appraising glance, then added, “Several of the maids’ chambers are within my scope also should you desire direction.”
“You are too kind,” Darcy murmured back, tamping down firmly on his welling distaste.
“Not at all, Darcy,” Manning rebuffed him as they entered the wood-paneled sanctum that sheltered a grandly carved green baize billiard table.
Darcy followed his companion to a glass-fronted case that displayed a selection of cues, noticing as he passed several patches of discoloration in the paneling. It was only after he had chosen his stick that the shapes of those discolorations suggested an answer to their puzzling presence. Pictures no longer graced the walls, leaving behind their proportions in the darker shade of the paneling they had shielded from the sun. The nails were missing as well, indicating to Darcy that the pieces were not returning. More evidence, he noted while chalking his cue, that Hinchcliffe’s information and Fletcher’s observations had been accurate as usual.
“Do you play billiards with the same intensity as you fence, Darcy? I cannot recall.” Manning’s regard attempted to discompose him. It had been thus between them at University. For reasons known only to him, Manning had amused himself by assuming the role of Darcy’s personal inquisitor. Little that the younger man had done had passed Manning’s notice without disparagement.
“Quarter is neither asked nor given,” Darcy replied evenly, refusing to be goaded.
Manning laughed. “As I anticipated. Single-minded as ever, eh, Darcy?” Darcy met his gaze coolly, the lift of one brow his only response. The Baron laughed again. “But you have learned to school your temper, I see. How long will it last, I wonder?” He lifted the rack and motioned expansively. “I offer you the break, sir. Make of it what you can.”
The solid crack of the break was particularly gratifying to Darcy, as was the explosive curse of his opponent once the balls came to rest.
Chapter 7
The Frailty of Woman
Although he would much rather have met and prevailed over his challenger, Darcy derived some small satisfaction from the fact that he had played Manning to a draw before they were called away to join the other guests. It was really quite ridiculous, he chided himself as he brushed down his buckskin riding breeches, but the underclassman who yet lurked in his soul and had suffered innumerable stings at Manning’s hands could not help but rejoice a little.
The afternoon’s expedition to a local sample of the mysterious stone circles that dotted the countryside had been enlivened by Lord Sayre’s offer of mounts to those who wished to ride rather than sleigh. Therefore, with the partial success against his old antagonist behind him and the prospect of an afternoon out in the elements before him, Darcy strolled across the castle’s courtyard with a lighter heart than he had experienced in some time. His crop tucked under one arm and his beaver at a jaunty angle, he was pulling on his riding gloves when he arrived just in time to catch an exclamation by Miss Farnsworth on the perfection of the weather.
“You think it ‘fine,’ Judith?” Lady Chelmsford addressed her niece in disbelief. “Fine for what, pray, besides freezing one to the bone?”
“It is not so very cold, Aunt,” Miss Farnsworth answered in an amused voice, “and you are to ride in a sleigh with hot bricks, after all. I do not think Lord Sayre would allow that you freeze, ma’am.”
Darcy raised a hand to his eyes as he looked up into a bright, crystal blue sky. He had to agree with Miss Farnsworth; it was a beautiful day. The air was chill, but the sun’s rays were warm on his upturned face. Although, truth be told, the sleigh was not inviting. He would much rather ride than —
“I, for one, would rather ride on such a day.” Miss Farnsworth echoed Darcy’s thoughts. “And am grateful to Lord Sayre for the opportunity to do so.” She turned from her aunt to smile at the gentlemen in the group and must have detected some sign of approval on Darcy’s face, for she paused. “I see you agree with me, Mr. Darcy. You must lend me support, sir.”
“But you are such an Amazon, my dear,” Lady Felicia interposed with a smile of condescension at her cousin. “Always chasing about the countryside. You must make allowances for the less
“May I assist you to horse, Miss Farnsworth?” he inquired.
“You are very kind, Mr. Darcy.” She accepted and, with his assistance, sprang lightly into the sidesaddle, expertly gathering up the reins.
“My pleasure, ma’am.” He allowed himself a slight smile. Miss Farnsworth was a pleasing picture in her smart riding habit, and her confident, easy air upon a strange horse could not but elicit admiration. “I second your sentiments and choose to ride as well. Gentleman or lady, one can enjoy the prospects of the country far better from the back of a horse.”
“I have always thought it so.” She smiled back at him, inclining her head in thanks.
Darcy returned her courtesy and turned back to the other gentlemen. Monmouth and Trenholme had also elected to ride, and as their mounts were being led into the courtyard for them, Darcy swung up upon the rangy bay
