when he had come home from university to find his beloved father’s health in an alarming state. During those two harrowing years before his death, Hinchcliffe had tutored Darcy on all his father’s business interests and concerns, and he could conceive of no other more suited to be his own secretary than the man who knew the Darcy interests so intimately and had kept them so faithfully and so well. He did not look for warmth from Hinchcliffe, nor did he expect deference. It was enough for Darcy to be certain that he had merited the respect and loyalty of a man who had known of all his concerns since boyhood and, further, tendered him the services of a true master at his craft.
“Mr. Darcy, sir, there is one thing more I must bring to your notice.” Hinchcliffe withdrew yet another letter from his case and, carefully opening it, laid it on the desk. “I received this from Miss Darcy a few days ago. Shall I do as she has requested, sir?”
Darcy took up the letter and read it softly aloud:
Eyebrows arched high in surprise, Darcy looked over the top of the letter at his secretary. “The Society for Returning Young Women! Hinchcliffe, are you acquainted with this society?”
“I was not, sir, previous to Miss Darcy’s letter. I have made inquiries, and it is a legitimate society with connections to Clapham, sir. Very respectable board of directors, subscribers are from the best families and even a few peers. Nothing objectionable, sir.”
“Hmm,” Darcy replied, staring at the letter thoughtfully. “That may be so, but I object to my sister knowing of such women…such evils,” he amended.
“Shall I comply with Miss Darcy’s directions, Mr. Darcy?” Hinchcliffe’s voice rumbled quietly.
“Yes,” he answered slowly, drawing out his assent to the request. “Make over the twenty-pound bequest, but do not send the hundred until you have heard from me on it. I would speak to Miss Darcy first.”
“Very good, sir. Your first appointment is with the manager of the warehouse that handles the imported goods from your shipping interests. Shall I show him in?”
Darcy nodded, and the day began in earnest with a series of meetings and negotiations. Bargains were struck and funds withdrawn or invested in quick succession, with only a short pause in the late afternoon for a cold collation and glass of ale. This had been pressed upon him most insistently by his watchful housekeeper, Mrs. Witcher. When the door had closed behind the last man in his appointment book, the clock was very near to striking six.
“A most productive day.” He sighed, closing the account books and sitting back in his desk chair. Hinchcliffe leaned across the desk, pulling the accounts into a neat pile and then taking them in a stack to the safebox hidden behind a set of weighty tomes on a bookshelf.
“Yes, sir,” replied the secretary as he took a small key attached with a chain to his waistcoat, locked the safebox, and replaced the books. “Will that be all, Mr. Darcy?”
“Yes, that is all! Go and get some dinner; I have worked you unmercifully.” As Hinchcliffe bowed slightly and turned to go, Darcy had a sudden thought. “Hinchcliffe, how is your nephew coming along? The one you are training. Is he looking for a position?”
“Your interest is most kind, Mr. Darcy. The young man is coming along nicely, sir, but I would not say he is ready as yet to look for a situation. Another half year will tell.”
“I dine tonight with Mr. Bingley, who is quite interested in acquiring your nephew’s services. A better master would be hard to find.”
“Mr. Bingley, sir?” Hinchcliffe paused and then continued. “Ah, yes, I recall him now, sir. Fortune through trade, Yorkshire family, I believe.” He sniffed delicately.
“Correct on every count, and my
“He would deem it an honor to oblige you, Mr. Darcy. Good evening, sir.”
As the door closed on his still formidable secretary, Darcy struggled out of his coat and, laying it across his desk, walked over to the hearth, stretching his back muscles as he went. Bingley was likely right about Hinchcliffe snubbing him, he thought, as he reached for the decanter and poured out a glass. He shook his head and then took a sip from the heavy cut-glass tumbler, letting the liquid roll down his throat.
The clock struck the half hour. Darcy threw back the last of the contents of his glass and set it down on the tray. Bingley would be there in an hour or so, and he had been confined to the house the entire day. He needed some exercise; a brisk walk about the square would be just the thing. Slipping his coat on, he rang for his greatcoat and hat. Witcher appeared with them, and with a caution that he would be back in twenty minutes and desired Fletcher to be ready for him, Darcy ran down the stairs and set off at an invigorating pace.
“Now then, Darcy, are you finished with work so Jack may play, or is he to continue to be a dull boy?” Bingley accepted the glass of deep red wine his friend offered and sat in his customary chair at the dining table in one of the smaller parlors of Erewile House. As the servants moved quietly about, uncovering dishes and serving them, Darcy lifted his glass in a toast.
“To a swift and successful conclusion of Jack’s obligations, so his friends will not languish in boredom.”
“Hear, hear.” Bingley laughed and downed a portion of the fine burgundy. “Truly, are you free from your account books and solicitors? It has been well over a week!”
“Not yet, and before you ask, I have had little opportunity to look at any cards, so I have not decided on anything. Except…” He paused, slowly twirling the stem of the wineglass.
“Yes…except?”
“You mentioned the diva L’Catalani, and I find myself sorely tempted to attend Lady Melbourne’s soiree.”
“Tempted, you say! Do you mean to go? I should like to go, but only if you are. That set is a bit above my touch.” Bingley began to tuck into the delicious meal before him.
Darcy snorted. “That set! Do not let their titles and airs fool you, Bingley. They hide a dangerous, deceptive lot that you would do well to stay clear of. Intrigue and ambition are their creed, and woe to the man or woman who becomes entangled in their plots.”
“Rather a dark view, Darcy! But I daresay I am too much of a nobody to attract their attention and could chance a venture into the lion’s den without much harm being done. And to hear L’Catalani!” he entreated. “Darcy, we
A shadow of hesitation passed over Darcy’s features as he regarded his friend, but in the face of such earnestness, he could not but agree. “So be it, Bingley; we shall go. But be forewarned and keep your head. I shall call for you at nine tomorrow evening.”
“Marvelous, Darcy.” Both then fell to their dinners, Bingley interspersing sporting news and men’s club
