by Leenie Brown
Alistair handed his outerwear to the man standing at his post near the door that Ralston had thrown open.
“I know how you long for activity after being confined to a carriage. Therefore, even though I am certain you could defeat me in a match wearing your travelling clothes, you must change at once and accompany me to Angelo’s.” Ralston led his friend to the dressing room next to his bedchamber. “Do not wait for your trunk. I have had a set of clothes laid out for you.”
“It is good to see you,” Alistair said with a smile. He and Jack had been friends since Harrow. It was an odd mix. One being the studious sort of scholar who was often overlooked while the other was more of a sportsman and generally popular. “You know your clothes will not fit me.”
Ralston nodded. “But Harold’s will.”
“Did you make a request to borrow these or a demand?” Alistair’s brow cocked as he picked up the shirt that hung on the back of a chair. Harold was Jack’s younger and slighter brother, and Jack at times forgot that they were no longer children instead of both grown men and resorted to requiring assistance from his brother rather than asking for it.
Ralston shrugged. “Does it matter?”
Alistair laughed as he pulled off his coat and began to remove his shirt. “You are very fortunate to have such an accommodating brother.”
“So he has told me time and time again,” Ralston said with a smirk. “Sit and extend your foot. I can remove your boots as easily as your man can, and I can do it in better time since his hands are occupied.” He flicked his head toward a wardrobe on the not-so-far end of the small room. “There is room in there for what you will need,” he said to Alistair’s man, who was just entering with Jack’s bag, followed closely by a pair of footmen carrying a trunk.
Alistair did as instructed, and as soon as he was free of his boots, he began working quickly on his breeches before his rather impatient friend decided to assist him with those as well. Alistair despised sitting idly for any length of time, but he was able to bear the inconvenience with a measure of aplomb. Jack, on the other hand, often wished things to be done before they could be started and thought it his duty to be the one to see them completed. It was not entirely unusual for him to become so engrossed in what needed to be done that he would act without thinking, and should there be a great deal of activity in the room to capture his attention or should there be a fascinating topic of discussion, the possibility of Jack’s acting without thought increased.
“I thought you might need some sustenance before we go. There is a tray in the drawing room. Do not be long.” Ralston gave a nod of his head and closed the door behind him.
“I do hope he leaves a few morsels for me,” Alistair muttered to his man as the servant began gathering his master’s discarded clothing.
~*~*~
A few minutes later, dressed in fresh, though borrowed, clothing, Alistair stepped into the drawing room to discover that there actually were a few morsels left for his consumption as well as a cup of tea — perfectly prepared. That was an uncanny thing about his friend. Jack might not be able to remember the words of a sonnet or the lines of a play, but he could always remember a name and a face as well as the preferences of his friends and other sundry facts about family, friends, and even mere acquaintances.
“My carriage will be waiting for us. I instructed them to have it sent around as soon as yours was brought in.” He rose and walked to the window where he propped himself on the edge of a table and continued drinking his tea. “Was it a good trip?”
“As good as a few hours locked in a carriage can be,” Alistair said with a smile.
Jack’s lips curled into a smirk, and he turned his head once more to look out the window. “That depends on your company, or so I hear.”
Alistair chuckled. “Conversation with one’s self is not nearly so pleasant as with a friend.”
“You are too proper,” Ralston said with a laugh. “I was not speaking of conversation, and you know it.” He drained the last few drops of tea from his cup and lifted his brows in question as he looked at his friend.
“I am almost finished,” Alistair assured him.
Ralston nodded and returned his cup and saucer to the table in front of Alistair. “I feel almost ready to permanently name a lady to take the seat next to me in my carriage.” He sighed. “It will mean giving up this,” he said, indicating the apartment with a wave of his hand, “as I will have to find a larger dwelling. I should say a wife would not enjoy being told the cot in the dressing room is for her use.”
Both men laughed at the thought.
“No,” Alistair agreed, “I should say not.” He placed his empty cup on the table, popped one last piece of cheese into his mouth, and stood to leave. “What has wrought this change in you? I thought you were determined to remain a bachelor.”
Ralston led the way from the room. “Miss Georgiana Darcy.”
Alistair’s steps faltered. “I beg your pardon? Miss Georgiana Darcy? As in sister to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy?”
“One and the same.” Ralston flashed Alistair a wide grin. “We shall be cousins.”
Alistair shook his head in disagreement and disbelief. “She’s not out yet,” he cautioned.
“I know,” Ralston said as he climbed into his carriage. “I have a year to wait, but Al, she’s an angel.”
“Her brother is protective, and you have a reputation of being… um… overly friendly.”
“I have never ruined a lady,” Ralston replied. “I do not even have a mistress as many do, nor do I keep company with lonely widows. I am friendly — as in cordial and obliging — but that is all.” He shrugged. “A few stolen kisses in a garden are not ruinous or reason to call a chap out.”
“Unless he gets caught kissing the lady and refuses to offer for her,” Alistair mumbled.
“Which has never happened,” Ralston retorted.
“And cannot happen for a full year if you are to be successful.”
“Stop shaking your head. I can be perfectly chaste for a year. And lower that eyebrow. Honestly, Al, it is as if you have no faith in me at all.”
“I trust you and your friendly manners more than I trust the ladies of the ton — several of whom will be at this house party.”
Ignoring his friend, Ralston looked out the window and smiled. “Good,” he said, clapping his hands together. “I do believe that is Darcy’s carriage.”
Alistair cocked his head, and his brows drew together. “At Angelo’s?”
Ralston nodded. “I have a year to make a good impression on Miss Darcy’s brother. I thought I would start tonight. You are as respectable as they come. Having you for a friend must count for something.”
Alistair muttered his agreement, but as he was planning to elope with Darcy’s cousin and stir up a bit of a scandal, he was not certain being Jack’s friend was going to benefit Jack very much.
~*~*~
“If you could allow me, perchance, to land a few points at the opening,” Ralston said as the two friends entered the building. He waved to a friend or two and nodded to another. “What do you say, old chap? Help me appear better at this sport than I am.”
Alistair chuckled. “You are better at all sports than I am. I shall not have to allow you to look so. It will just be so.”
Ralston shrugged out of his coat and began preparing himself for their match. “No, that is not true. You often outdo me with foils. Your lunge is stealthy. I have yet to guess your tell.”
“I have no tell,” Alistair replied. “I simply react as the situation dictates.”
“Yes, but others have a slight cock of their head or a shuffle of a foot — even a tensing of their frame can tell me about an opponent’s strategy,” he shook his head, “but not you. You keep to no set pattern, which I might point out is very unlike you in most things, for I dare say one could set his clock by when you do this or that on a normal day.” He flicked his foil in the air and then sliced through it as if drawing a z.
&nb
sp; Alistair readied himself. “I like structure.” It was true. Alistair Pratt prized schedules and routines. He liked to rise at the same time each day, take an hour of exercise, and then have tea and toast with two eggs and an occasional piece of ham. He would then see to any tasks that needed to be done. His father always had a list of items that he expected Alistair to oversee as well as articles to read. It was his father’s way of readying Alistair to take over the estate and preparing him to eventually take his seat in the House of Lords.
“Structure would include a routine method of defense.” Ralston stepped into place and took his position. “If you could just structure your swordplay, it would be of benefit to me. That is all I am asking.”
Alistair shook his head. “You would not be the first to request such. Do you not remember our master at school scolding me for not following their figures as he prescribed?”
Ralston broke out of his ready form and stood. “Indeed, I do. You were so diligent to follow the letter of the law in every other class. Why did you not when fencing?”
“It did not seem practical to broadcast to my opponent my every move, and I do like to be practical.”
Ralston guffawed.
Alistair grinned at the response. His friend knew that Alistair rarely did things just for ceremony’s sake if there was a more effective way of performing a task. It was what Jack claimed would one day lead Alistair to make a great discovery, for, according to Jack, it was the need to find a better method of doing something that led to all great inventions.
“Now, shall we?” Alistair sank into position, and the match began. Forward and back they shuffled, metal striking against metal and occasionally thwacking off cloth. Finally, after several minutes, the match was over, and the two men had joined a few others who were resting along the wall while the floor was occupied by others.
“So how did you leave your lady?” Ralston asked as he stretched out his legs and leaned back.
“She was not pleased to know why I was leaving,” Alistair said, tipping his head toward the two men approaching them and giving his head a small shake. “No names,” he whispered.
“Why?” Ralston whispered back.
“He is her cousin.”
Ralston’s eyes grew wide. “I apologize. I had forgotten. But was she in good spirits?”
A smile slid across Alistair’s lips. “Very good. Perhaps better spirits than should be allowed. We have tentatively settled things between us.”
“So soon?”
“We have been courting for some time. I would not say it was soon.” He would say that the marriage would be soon — or rather sooner than it likely should be –, but he would not say he had come to the decision to marry Anne too quickly. They had known each other for years and had been secretly courting for many months.
“But you are only just finished school. You are in the prime of your maleness. Would you throw that away when the season has so many delightful debutants? Are you so certain of this one?”
Alistair folded his arms across his chest. “And I assume you have had ample time to consider and be in company with the lady for whom you claim you would give up your apartment at Albany?” He bit back a smile as Jack’s eyes narrowed. Jack might have the physical advantage over Alistair in most sports; however, when it came to well-reasoned debates, there were few who could outwit Alistair when he was certain of his correctness on a matter. His father had trained him with debate after debate about nonsensical things as well as current issues in the news.
“I concede your point.” There was very little joy, admiration, or anything that spoke of pleasant feelings in Ralston’s tone. In fact, much to Alistair’s delight, for it was enjoyable to disconcert his self-assured friend at times, Jack seemed rather put out. Of course, that might have been attributed more to the fact that Mr. Darcy and his friend Mr. Bingley had taken seats on Ralston’s left, and one of those gentlemen was the very one Jack wished to impress.
“Mr. Darcy,” Alistair greeted, leaning around his friend. “I trust you are well settled back into town after your sojourn in Kent.” He blinked and attempted to school his features into not showing his surprise at the blackness of Mr. Darcy’s eye.
“I am. Thank you,” Darcy answered. “Did my aunt inform you of my stay or was it her parson?”
Alistair chuckled. “Neither. I saw you at church, and your cousin mentioned to me that you and Colonel Fitzwilliam had been to Rosings for a visit.”
“Anne?” Darcy’s brows rose.
“Yes, Miss de Bourgh. I accompany my mother often when she calls at Rosings, so Miss de Bourgh and I have become friends.” They were, of course, more than just friends, but they were friends, so it was not a complete untruth, or so he told himself. He hoped that the warmth he felt creeping up his neck would be credited to the physical exercise he had just had and the temperature in the room and not to the discomfort he felt in trying to explain his relationship to Darcy’s cousin.
“Ah, yes, the illustrious Lady Metcalfe,” Darcy said with a smile. “My aunt often speaks of your mother.”
“They are good friends of long standing,” Alistair said.
“My aunt has assured me of that fact many times,” Darcy replied.
“Do you know my friend?” Alistair asked in response to the nudge he felt to his foot.
Darcy cocked his head. “Ralston, is it not?”
“Yes, sir. Jack Ralston.”
As much as Alistair wished to allow his friend to continue impressing the brother of a lady he fancied, Alistair was more eager to press his own suit in regards to his own lady’s freedom from any possibility of being forced into marriage with Darcy. “Miss de Bourgh mentioned she had gained a new friend these last few weeks. I believe it was some relation of your aunt’s parson?” The heat that had begun to slide back down his neck resumed it crawl up to his ears. He really must learn some technique to quell such a response when withholding information before he entered politics, for he was certain it would do him no good. It was a tell. And as he had told his friend earlier, tells, as much as routines in defense, were not practical.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
Alistair could not keep his brows from raising slightly at the smile that spread across Darcy’s face as he said the name. It seemed Anne had been correct in assessing the gentleman’s feeling for Miss Elizabeth.
“Her cousin is Mr. Collins.” Darcy tossed one leg over the other and seemed to relax into his chair.
The sight was startling. Alistair had never seen Darcy be anything but rigidly proper.
“You have a sister, do you not?” Darcy asked Alistair.
“Yes, Clarice.”
“She is not out yet, is she?”
Alistair’s brows drew together. These seemed odd questions for Darcy to be asking. “She is only thirteen.”
“Right, that is why your mother needed my aunt’s recommendation about Miss Pope. She is getting on well in her position is she not?”
“As far as I know, Miss Pope is an excellent governess, and my sister has not driven her to distraction. She reserves that for me.”
“It is the way of younger sisters,” Darcy agreed.
“Did you fall?” Alistair pointed his eye, indicating he was questioning Darcy about his bruise. This Mr. Darcy seemed far too relaxed and conversational to Alistair, and it was making him feel uneasy.
Darcy chuckled and rubbed his eye. “No, this is Bingley’s handiwork. You both know Bingley, do you not?”
“By sight and name,” Ralston said. “We have never officially met.”
Darcy took a moment to apologize for the oversight in not making introductions and then allowed Bingley to introduce himself. This was followed, for a few moments, by a discussion between Ralston and Bingley about pugilism.
As Bingley and Ralston spoke of boxing, Darcy pulled his chair around to sit next to Alistair. “The reason I asked about your sister is that my sister insisted I stop at the best shop for lace and such fripperies today
when we were in Cheapside, and I must agree that it is a very dignified store. I would not hesitate to recommend it to your mother or your sister when they are in town. It is owned by Miss Elizabeth’s uncle, who from all appearances and the reports of his nieces, is a fine, reputable merchant. My sister was delighted with the few things she purchased.”
“Oh,” Alistair muttered. “Thank you, I shall tell my mother when she is in town. I should think Miss de Bourgh might enjoy such a place. She does like to stitch, or, at least, she is often working on some item of sewing when I visit.”
Darcy shrugged. “She might, but she rarely comes to town.”
“Yes,” Alistair agreed. “But she is getting to an age where it might become necessary if she is to marry.”
Darcy smiled. “This is true. There are not so many opportunities to find a husband in the country as there are in town — or so my aunt, Lady Matlock, and my grandmother, Lady Margaret, assure me. However, I think that perhaps the quality of selection rather than the quantity from which to choose is of more importance and that the country can be an excellent place to find a wife or husband.”
“I would not disagree, no matter what my mother might say to the contrary,” Alistair concurred. “We, Ralston and I, are on our way to a less than ideal place to find quality wives — a house party.”
“A house party?” Bingley interjected. “Not even I enjoy those, and I do enjoy most places where I find myself.”
“We intend to do our best to avoid any pitfalls while we are there,” Ralston said. “I am of half a mind to not attend, but my mother is so insistent.”
“As is mine,” Alistair agreed. Then he tipped his head as an idea struck him. “Perhaps we could make an appearance — long enough for the hostess to not feel slighted and for her to inform my mother that I did arrive — and then we could find some excuse to leave early.”
Bingley chuckled. “It would never work. If your mother and the hostess are friends, there will be a letter soon after your departure lamenting that your stay could not be longer and detailing the reason you gave for leaving. Females bent on marriage are of a devious nature whether they are looking to snare you as their husband or as their daughter’s husband.”