they sat in silence, sipping at their tea, it slowly took on the appearance of reason. He would not tell him all, of course. Nothing about…well, nothing but what Dy needed to know to help him with Bingley.
“You know my friend Charles Bingley?”
Brougham nodded his head. “Young chap from up north with more ready than sense. You have done him more than a few good turns from the look of him lately.”
“He took a year’s lease on a small property in Hertfordshire and got himself entangled with a young woman from a most unsuitable family.” Darcy wove his tale, careful to leave unmentioned his own fall into a tender fascination. “So,” he concluded, “as the man has turned quite intractable on the subject and will not listen to reason, I am engaged in a game of subterfuge. Planting doubts, that sort of thing. I find it is exceedingly uncomfortable.”
“I would imagine so! Not your game at all, Fitz. Do you think he suspects anything?”
“No, I do not believe so. At least, I doubt it. He trusts me implicitly, you see.” Darcy flushed and fell to examining his ruby-crowned ring.
“Likely you are right that he does not suspect. ‘The heart that is conscious of its own integrity is ever slow to credit another’s treachery.’ Ah, sorry, Fitz!” Brougham apologized at Darcy’s pained expression. “Did not mean it the way it sounded. Well, you
“We are to attend Lady Melbourne’s soiree tonight.”
“The divine Catalani! Fitz, you are in luck. I myself have sent my acceptance to this soiree. How can I assist with the enchanted Mr. Bingley?”
“Help introduce him to new enchantments. You know how awkward I am at these things, Dy. But wait,” Darcy responded quickly to the knowing look on Brougham’s face, “by that I mean proper young ladies. If you introduce him to any of Lady Caroline’s intimates, I’ll call you out, just see if I don’t!”
Brougham threw up his hands in mock horror. “Heaven forbid, Fitz. But just where, at a soiree hosted by Lady M, do you propose I find these ‘proper young ladies’?”
“I should not think it much of a challenge to one ‘cursed with such a retentive mind’!” Darcy quoted back to him. The apparent reasonableness of taking Dy into his confidence was beginning to fade.
“Yes,” Brougham drawled, “there is that. I shall do my best, my friend. Now, do we go together or shall I ‘happen’to meet you there?”
“We shall meet you there, but I won’t pretend it is not planned. I shall tell Charles that we’ve arranged to meet at, say, half past nine near the card room.”
“Done and done! Nothing like a bit of intrigue to liven up the evening. Can I drop you at Erewile House?”
The two rose from table and sauntered through the various rooms of the club, pausing now and then to exchange a word with one or the other’s acquaintances, but in general making their way to the front door. Brougham’s curricle was called for, and the horses pointed toward Grosvenor Square.
“You haven’t told me about Georgiana,” Brougham accused Darcy. “Lord, she must be quite a young lady by now.”
“Yes…yes, she is. I intend to bring her back with me to Town in January.”
“Not for a Season! She cannot be that grown!”
“On that we agree! No, I only wish to allow her some of the delights of Town. She so enjoys music and has cultivated a very fine taste.”
“And you wax eloquent whenever you speak of her.” Brougham’s face took on a distant look. “I envy you, Fitz. I envied you even when Georgiana was a troublesome little moppet who innocently spoiled our plans for fun. Remember that summer I spent at Pemberley after our first year at Cambridge?”
“How could I forget? It was you who found her! The sight of her in your lap as you rode into the courtyard I shall never forget.”
Brougham’s sigh was so quiet that Darcy almost missed it. “Fitz, now I have a confession to make. It was I who hid the blasted doll she was looking for. If I had not found her —” He stopped abruptly. “Well, I did, and that, as they say, is that. And here we are!” He brought the matched bays to a neat stop and leaned over to unlatch Darcy’s door. “Lady M’s card room at half past nine. I’ll be the one with the posy in his buttonhole.” He saluted Darcy with his whip. “Au revoir!”
Darcy stood in the gathering dusk, frowning after the curricle until it turned the corner and disappeared from sight. Then, shaking his head slowly, he mounted the steps to Erewile House.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” The bedchamber door had barely shut behind him when Fletcher, in a fine agitation, nearly sprang upon him from behind it.
“Great heavens, Fletcher!” expostulated Darcy, more than a little startled. “I have not rung for you yet.”
“No time for ringing, Mr. Darcy. We must begin! Your bath will be ready momentarily. Shall we decide on your attire for the evening? Did you have anything in mind?” Darcy surveyed his chamber, noting with amused alarm that most every item of evening attire he owned was draped or stacked here and there. A pile of freshly starched cravats lay docilely beside his jewel case. His several pairs of evening shoes were polished to perfection. It all had the look, he thought, as his gaze returned to his valet, of a military campaign.
“I believe you have been seriously misinformed, Fletcher. It is only a soiree, not a summons to Carlton House.”
“Indeed, sir” — Fletcher sniffed — “if it were only Carlton House! But it is, rather, Melbourne House, a much more refined address, sir.”
“Umph” was all Darcy replied as he started toward the dressing room, Fletcher in his wake. His valet’s ministrations during his disrobing and bathing were performed with the utmost professionalism and speed. A whispered command to a kitchen lad here or a low-pitched inquiry to himself there, and Darcy found that he was bathed, wrapped in a dressing gown, and in his shaving chair in amazingly short order.
As Fletcher expertly tested the edge of his blade, Darcy settled back into the chair. The routine nature of shaving — Fletcher always executed the strokes in the same order and manner — ever allowed him a few precious moments of reflection. This evening there was much to reflect upon…too much, if he permitted his mind to wander where it would. Dy’s sudden appearance had the mark of Providence. Brougham was much more capable of guiding Charles through the labyrinthine intricacies of a gathering of Society’s flowers than he could ever be. Aside from a true appreciation for the acclaimed diva, his only interest in the soiree was as an opportunity to distract Charles from his infatuation in Hertfordshire. The attention of the young ladies to a new, rich face appearing among them would be, for Charles, heady wine indeed. That, in addition to the doubts Darcy had planted in the other quarter, would, he hoped, channel Bingley’s wavering convictions into proper courses. Tomorrow, he would send a note to Miss Bingley, and if she could restrain her disparagement of Hertfordshire and do as he had instructed, Charles would be safely out of danger, and he could go home to Pemberley.
“There, sir. Your towel, sir.” Fletcher dropped a soft Turkish towel into his hand and, turning to the tray of toiletries, selected a bottle. “The sandalwood, I should think, sir.” Darcy nodded and received a daub of the scent mixed with alcohol into his palm.
“Have you decided on your attire, Mr. Darcy?”
Darcy pulled himself out of the comfort of the chair and looked into Fletcher’s face, animated for the first time since their return to London. “No, I have not given it any thought, whereas you have given it a great deal, if the condition of my bedchamber be the judge! What do you suggest, Fletcher, keeping in mind that the Beau himself will be in attendance and the regent, too, most likely?” He strolled back into his bedchamber and again surveyed the troops.
“Restrained elegance, Mr. Darcy. And as you, sir, have more claim to that than certain celebrated fellows —”
“I have no wish to compete with Mr. Brummell,” Darcy clarified as he removed his dressing gown. “I mentioned him only in warning and do not wish to occasion any undue notice on anyone’s part.”
“I perfectly understand, sir. No
