“Have a care, Fitz.” He turned and in a breath was swallowed whole by the darkness.
Chapter 6
Under Transgression Bowed
“The next time you and Brougham decide to have a go at each other, I trust you will send me notice.” Sir Hugh Goforth used his queen of clubs to scoop up the trick he had just won. “Heard it was one damned fine show of swordsmanship!”
“Would not have thought that frippery rattle pate knew which end of a sword meant business,” Lord Devereaux drawled as he threw his cards into the middle. “Although, I will grant, he is a regular hell-for-leather in the saddle. Ran his horse into the ground at Melton last year, I understand. Had to put a bullet through him.”
Squarely caught between a desire to defend his friend and fear of revealing something he ought not, Darcy gathered up the cards and confined himself to shuffling them. It had been more than a week since their confrontation at Genuardi’s, but he had only today looked in at Boodle’s, where both their absences from the clubrooms had prompted speculation.
One by one, Sir Hugh soldiered the cards Darcy dealt him into the company in his hand while Devereaux and the fourth of their rubber palmed theirs all at once before setting about to order them. Darcy glanced again at his unlikely partner across the table. Lord Manning met his speculative regard with a mocking lift of a brow. “If you had been at Cambridge instead of Oxford, Devereaux,” Manning observed, “you would not labor under such a misconception. Brougham is, or was then, an excellent blade. When he and Darcy were not flinging academic prizes in each other’s face, they were drawing edges.”
“Ah, inside information!” Sir Hugh closed the fan of his cards. “The betting books are in Darcy’s favor at the moment. A pony on Brougham or Darcy, Manning?”
“Oh, on Darcy” — Manning sneered — “but only to annoy him. He hates to be the subject of public interest; do you not, Darcy?”
“Shall we play, gentlemen?” Darcy deflected Manning’s question. “Your bid, Devereaux.” With His Lordship’s bid, the game and the evening proceeded with no further mention of a possible re-match, but with a shift of his shoulders Manning ably communicated that his point had been proved. The appearance of his old antagonist in the club’s rooms had surprised Darcy, for although Manning was a member of Boodle’s, he was also a member of White’s and had demonstrated his preference for the latter with a prolonged absence from the former. Darcy had not seen him to exchange even a word since the horrible business at Norwycke Castle. There was no telling why Manning had suddenly chosen to grace Boodle’s with his presence unless it was for the perverse pleasure he took in pinching at Darcy, as he did now. For that, Manning had certainly positioned himself well, offering himself as Darcy’s partner when, upon reception of an urgent note, Sanding-ton had to quit the game.
Although he could not enjoy his company, Darcy could not fault the man’s play. Manning was as shrewd at cards as he was at provocation, slicing at their opponents’ strategy as deftly as he did the reputations of those other club members who chanced to pass by. Both Goforth and Devereaux snorted with amusement at the remarks, leaving Darcy alone in disgust of the Baron’s entertainment and wishing himself elsewhere. They ended the evening victors, but Darcy took little pleasure in it or in Manning’s curt expression of satisfaction. Nodding his reception of his partner’s tight-lipped compliment, Darcy rose from the table, intent upon departing for Erewile House when Manning stepped around to him. “A word?” The tone of his request was almost civil.
“Your servant,” Darcy replied evenly, masking his irritation. Manning motioned him over to a small table away from the swell of activity. Taking chairs, they once again faced each other. “What is it, Manning?” Darcy demanded without preamble. “I am for home and have no desire to tarry.”
“I wish to speak to you…about a personal matter.” His Lordship’s arrogant voice faltered even as his eyes shifted away from Darcy’s. “I know how incongruous that must sound. Imagine me asking something of you! Only the most pressing necessity would, I assure you, bring me to you with this. Damn!” He fell back in his chair, his aspect stormy. Everything tempted Darcy to rise and leave, but something in the picture Manning made stayed him. Sitting back, he waited for the Baron to continue. “It is Bella; you remember my sister?” His Lordship looked back at him.
“I hope that Miss Avery is well.” Darcy’s brows came together. What could Manning want with him concerning his sister?
“Yes…and no! She is not ill in the common sense of the term.” His Lordship scowled. “But you know how she is! Ever the colorless little mouse. And that blasted stuttering of hers!” Darcy’s frown deepened. Yes, he knew quite well Manning’s opinion of his younger sister and his careless mistreatment of her. Returning him what he trusted was a look communicating his disapprobation, Darcy was gratified to see His Lordship had the grace to flush and cease his complaints.
“Here it is, Darcy.” He lowered his voice. “I have come to see that Bella has lacked proper guidance. Our parents died before she was eight years old. Her governesses since have been adequate but not inspired. I have never known what to do with her.” His voice rose again in irritation. “And, Lord knows, my sister, Lady Sayre, never showed her a particle of interest even before the business last January. I have wasted a Season on her already and am in a fair way to be doing so again this year.”
“My sympathies go out to your sister —”
“Yes!” Manning stopped him. “I thought they must. You handled her so well at Norwycke. That is why I have come to you.” Darcy stared at him uncomprehendingly. “You are very close to your own sister, I believe.”
“I have that honor.” He regarded Manning with suspicion.
“I have noticed your unusual esteem for each other; so has Bella.”
“When —?”
“Saw you together at the theater, Monday last, Lady Lavinia’s recital on Thursday, although you came late and left early, and the opera on Saturday.” He ticked them off. “The short of it is this: Bella stands in admiration of you and Miss Darcy.” His Lordship’s rancor was unmistakable. “And frankly, although you are insufferably correct in all particulars, it is obvious that you do more than suffer the company of your sister. A man of your intelligence…” Darcy’s brow lifted, feigning just a bit more astonishment than he truly felt at this, the first genuine compliment he had ever received from Manning. “Yes, I admit to all your talents and graces,” Manning conceded. “A man of your intelligence and temper would not be so attentive to his much younger sister if she were a hubble-bubble, bird- witted miss on the one hand or a damned nattering bluestocking on the other. Bella would do well to acquire some of your sister’s self-possession and intelligence.” He paused as a servant came by with a tray. “You there, what is on deck?”
“Brandy, my lord.” The man bowed and offered the tray.
“Excellent! Dry work this!” Manning snatched a glass. “Darcy?”
“No, I thank you.” He watched as the Baron attempted to soothe the discomfort of the distasteful position in which he found himself.
“Would you — despite our long-standing antagonism — would you allow an introduction, encourage a friendship between Miss Darcy and Bella?” The proud look, so briefly abandoned, returned, daring Darcy against pity or triumph in whatever his answer might be.
Everything inside Darcy went very still as he made shift to recover from the surprise of Manning’s request. How could he answer him? It involved so much: years of what Manning had rightly called an “antagonism,” of which he had taken the brunt, the foisting upon Georgiana of a “friend” not of her own choosing, and the increased contact with Manning that this meant for both of them. This was not to mention that Manning’s Sayre connections were in serious social and financial disgrace, one of whose members was up to her lovely neck in sedition! Narrowing his eyes on the man across the table, Darcy looked for anything that indicated some feeling in his bosom for his sister’s difficulties beyond irritation and the desire to be relieved of responsibility for her. The fact that Manning had come to him for assistance was unaccountably wonderful and spoke in favor of more than a concern for his sister’s effect on his purse, but the hard eyes and arrogant demeanor Manning displayed as he waited for his answer mitigated against the possession of softer affections. If Darcy agreed, it appeared that it would make no real difference in Manning’s disdain of him, a disdain he had never understood or discovered how he had earned. If there were any justice in the world, he should take this opportunity to —
