These Three Remain

“Proceed as you have begun, and trust to God that fate will intervene, that something will happen to end this!”

“Fitz! Fitz, is something the matter?” Richard’s voice echoed from among the trees in the direction opposite that which Darcy had taken to Hunsford. In moments Fitzwilliam was before him, his breath coming in puffs.

Coloring briefly, Darcy hastened to assure him, “Richard! No, nothing is amiss!”

“Then why the blazes were you yelling?” His cousin looked at him accusingly. “I thought you were being attacked or had fallen or something!” He looked to his coat and waistcoat, giving them a tug back into place.

“Nothing of the sort,” Darcy answered, “but I thank you for the heroic charge to my defense. I fear that I was thinking aloud.”

“Thinking! All that racket was thinking?”

“Aloud, yes.”

“Thinking.” Fitzwilliam’s dubious regard almost put him to the blush again, but he stood firm. “Fletcher told me that you had gone out for a walk and was mum as the dead on where this walk was to take you. Now I know it was not in that direction.” He pointed behind him. “For that is the way I took until it was obvious that you had not chosen it. Which leaves only that direction.” He pointed beyond Darcy. “Unless you went blazing a new path.” The Colonel eyed his cousin narrowly. “It appears to my admittedly simple military brain that you are dressed uncommonly fine to be cutting new paths through Her Ladyship’s grove, leaving me to conclude that you have been to Hunsford already this morning!”

“Yes, that is true,” Darcy confessed but said no more.

“And the ladies were at home and in good health this fine morning, Cuz?” Richard cocked a brow at him.

“Yes, all are in perfect health, I can assure you.” Darcy smiled back innocently.

“Which prompted you to thinking — aloud, as it were?”

Darcy returned his cousin’s questioning stare with a calmness of mind that he knew would infuriate him as little else could do.

“My dear Cuz,” Fitzwilliam drawled, “it would give me no end of pleasure to plant you a facer for depriving me of a most agreeable visit this morning, and I would gladly do it if I did not fear spilling your blood over this new frockcoat of mine!” He tugged again at the front corners of the garment but then paused, a wicked smile slowly lighting up his face. “But I shall have my revenge for your taking leave this morning to visit without me! I have here” — Fitzwilliam patted his chest, surprising a rustling sound from underneath his coat — “a packet of letters that arrived express after you left. From London.”

“Georgiana!” Darcy immediately regretted his teasing. “Here, Richard, you must give it me at once!”

“Oh, must I?” Fitzwilliam laughed, placing his hand protectively over the place where it lay.

“Richard!” Darcy breathed his name menacingly, then all of a moment threw down the malacca, sent his hat after it, and unbuttoned the first button of his frock coat. Suddenly, the idea of a brawl with his cousin was very appealing. It answered more than one sort of agitation he had suffered this morning.

“Fitz, what are you doing?” Fitzwilliam took a step backward.

“Obliging you, if you can get over my guard.” The second button was undone as he spoke, and Darcy started on the third. “But I suggest that you follow my lead if you are concerned about blood!”

Darcy refolded the letters carefully and, without thinking, reached for the delicate ivory knob of the desk drawer before being brought up short by the sudden pain. Grimacing, he drew back slowly, a low groan whistling through his clenched teeth. Richard had a damned punishing right! The purplish bruise on his midsection would be a week in healing, but he discounted the annoyance as well worth the satisfaction of not only denying Fitzwilliam his “facer” but also prevailing so thoroughly in their contest that he had forced the surrender of the letters under the most favorable of terms. Darcy smiled at the memory of Richard’s protests and petulant agreement to those terms, but it faded as his regard returned to the letters still in his hand. One, indeed, was from Georgiana. Her precise script had arrived once more wrapped in a letter from Dy Brougham, sent express by His Lordship. Although it was wise to open Dy’s letter first, he had set it aside immediately, broken the seal on that of his sister, and settled in as comfortably as he might to give it his full attention. It opened with her best wishes for his health and that of their cousins and aunt, and continued on with an account of the extension of her studies beyond music.

My Lord Brougham has been so kind to suggest other books worthy of my perusal and has undertaken to better my understanding of art as well. To that end, we read together often and attend exhibitions and lectures of both historical and artistic subjects. You will also be happy to know, dear Brother, My Lord is not satisfied until I am able to ask intelligent questions of the subject at hand or I can answer his.

“I am to be happy to know, am I?” Darcy frowned down into the delicate paper balanced between his fingers. “The deuced hedge-bird!” What was Dy up to? This was doing it far too brown. He’d asked him to watch over her, not live in her pocket! Darcy had almost decided to send off a pointed note to his overly conscientious friend when a name farther down Georgiana’s letter caught his eye and sent a chill up his back.

Her Ladyship begged an introduction of D’Arcy, who obliged her and presented her to me as the new wife of a friend of yours from Cambridge, Viscount Monmouth. Lady Sylvanie Monmouth was most attentive, asking about my music and other interests. She particularly asked after you, Fitzwilliam, and was desirous of knowing when you would be returning to London. I was about to inform her when Lord Brougham, who had gone to procure some punch, came upon us and had the misfortune of spilling one of the glasses on Her Ladyship’s gown, quite ruining it, I fear. Needless to say, Lady Monmouth was forced to retired to her carriage but promised to call upon me later this week.

“Sylvanie!” Darcy closed his eyes. “Good God!” He had hoped rather than believed that Tris would keep her at one of his estates for at least a half year before daring the gossips of London. Nothing of the events at Norwycke Castle had reached those itching ears, but the Viscount’s hasty marriage was enough to set the London cats among the pigeons. More to the point, what did Sylvanie want with Georgiana? Why concern herself with an introduction to a girl who had not yet come out? That there was a purpose behind this contrived introduction, he had not a shred of doubt. Might she see Georgiana as a potential vehicle for her revenge for the death of her mother Lady Sayre? “Thank God, Dy was there!” Darcy blessed his friend, knowing better than to suppose the punch an accident, and reached for his letter.

Darcy,

Sending Miss Darcy’s note express, old man, because something is up and I cannot like it. I wish you had confided to me what happened at Norwycke, for it would put me in a better position now to serve you. But enough. I have my own resources and will set about to discover what the new Lady Monmouth is about intruding upon Miss Darcy’s notice. I swear, my friend, I left her for only a moment — you must thank your idiot cousin for the introduction, but what can one expect from a man who would offer for Lady Felicia? I succeeded in sending Her Ladyship packing before the conversation had progressed very far. Unfortunately, Lady Monmouth indicated that she intends to pay a call. Never fear; I will lay down instructions with your butler — maybe Hinchcliffe as well — to say Miss Darcy is not at home. Now there is a formidable fellow but very soft where your sister is concerned! Good man, that! Of course, I shall also enlist the excellent Mrs. Annesley, and I shall double my vigilance. My friend, you may place full confidence in me with regard to this matter, and I vow to keep you apprised. No need to toddle back to town. All is in hand.

— Dy

Darcy eased his body forward and grasped the knob, pulling the small drawer wide. Carefully, he placed the letters inside and shut it. “All is in hand.” As flighty as Dy appeared at times, Darcy knew that his word on a matter made it as good as done. He could not be pleased about the meeting of his sister and Lady Monmouth, but rushing back to London might be just what Sylvanie desired by it. No, he would stay in Kent, for Kent was where his future was to be decided.

“Darcy? I say, Darcy!” It was the laughter in Fitzwilliam’s voice rather than his call that dragged Darcy’s attention away from the marvelous way the sunlight was playing among Elizabeth’s luxurious curls. “I have never