He couldn’t dismiss the man, his family had been with the Darcys for generations. Not that he would dismiss him. It was better to accept things one could not change. “Right. Well. We’d best get home before my sister becomes irate with me for missing luncheon.”
Later than evening, Georgiana entered his study. He sat in front of a small fire, an open book in his hand.
“William, did you see this invitation?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.
“I received several this week.” He held out his hand to take it from her, glancing at the contents, and sat up straighter in his chair. “Ah! That’s where I heard the name.”
“You are going, of course. You never refuse an invitation from Charles. I thought perhaps you had forgot to tell me.”
He had, because this one time he had decided not to go. A ball? Darcy grimaced slightly. “I was not going to go, but now. . .” It would give him an excuse. Grayson would not be fooled, but as long as Darcy had plausible deniability, his seneschal could say nothing.
“Are you looking for a bride?” Georgiana took the armchair next to him. “If you are, I should go with you. A masked ball is the perfect place for you to begin to pay some mind to our mother’s last wish.”
“What? No, that was not. . . .” He paused. Plausible deniability. “But of course I have changed my mind. You are correct. A masked ball with all the ladies within a few days travel invited would be an excellent opportunity.”
He would slip into town, find Wickham and retrieve the ring without burying the man in a cold grave, and then come home. The thought of their priceless family heirloom, the ring all Darcy brides wore, in the possession of that thief curdled his gut. Without that ring, Darcy could not wed. In untold generations, the thing had protected itself from theft, and now, all of a sudden, its protection failed. The possible reason why both confounded and worried Darcy. But the blasted enchantment only worked for the wives of the prince, so unless he wed he would have no way of knowing if the ring’s power was finally depleted or if there were some other purpose guiding its journey.
Over his dead body would he allow that man to pawn or destroy the ring.
Georgiana rose. “I will begin preparations to travel. I don’t think a new gown is called for, I have several that will suit. It is only Hertfordshire, after all. They do not even have a duke.”
It took him another moment, but then his mind woke up. “No—I would like you to remain here.” Under no circumstances would he allow her to come with him to Netherfield. If the scoundrel truly was stationed near Bingley’s new estate, Darcy wanted Georgiana nowhere near him. “There are several minor matters of state that need to be seen to, and you are my heir.”
His sister gave him a look. “What are you hiding from me, brother?”
Darcy frowned. “It is as I have said. There are several minor matters of state—you insist I should go to this ball and attempt to find a wife. Therefore your duty is here.” His expression softened. “Don’t worry, George. I would not betroth myself without your approval.”
“See that you don’t.”
Chapter Three
“What is that infernal noise?” Mrs Carson asked, slamming a ball of dough onto the table. She kneaded it with force, and Elizabeth surmised that if they ever needed protection, Mrs Carson and her strong hands might do the trick.
“It sounds like Lydia and Kitty,” Jane said, wiping her hands on her apron. She was busy braiding strips of dough into pretty shapes to be baked, the most strenuous task Elizabeth had allowed her this afternoon. A bit of colour had returned to her elder sister’s cheeks, and she did not want to risk a relapse.
“It sounds like a dying cat,” Elizabeth said. “I am debating whether I should stir myself to investigate or remain here and hope it passes.”
The dilemma soon resolved when the cacophony came closer, exploding into the kitchen in the form of two young women once pronounced the silliest girls in Hertfordshire. Mary slipped in behind them, silent and dark eyes faintly contemptuous.
“Lizzy, Jane! Have you heard the news?” Lydia asked. “I’m beside myself, it is so exciting.”
Besides Jane, she was easily the loveliest of the Bennet girls with snapping hazel eyes and brown curls that shone red in sunlight. Having been out several years, she insisted the cut of her gowns emphasize a well-blossomed figure. Elizabeth herself preferred not to go about advertising her likeness to a milking cow by lowering the neckline of her gown, but to each her own, she supposed.
“What news?” Jane asked.
Lydia bounced, mouth opening to reply, then scowled as Kitty elbowed her aside and stepped in front. “It is all in town. Netherfield is let at last, and you will not guess by whom.”
Elizabeth watched them jostle for prominence. “I will not have to guess. I am certain you will tell me.”
Lydia won the scuffle, turning back to Elizabeth. “His name is Charles Bingley, and I have it on the best authority that not only is he young and single, but he is rich!”
“Rich is of course the most important quality of the three. We can overlook young, and a certain sort of woman might even overlook single—”
“Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed. Lydia laughed, throaty and mischievous.
“—but rich? That changes everything.”
“Five thousand pounds, Lizzy! Can you imagine?” Kitty pressed her hands to her chest while Lydia rolled her eyes. “If I had that kind of income, I should have a new ribbon every day of the week. And two on Saturday.”
“If the height of your ambitions in spending your husband’s money is pretty new ribbons, I suppose he should consider himself fortunate.” The sisters were all silent in a rare moment of agreement.
“We must have our odious cousin call on him,” Kitty said. “Let him be useful for something besides living in our home and eating our food.”
Lydia’s eyes widened. “Oh, la! He is certain to attend the assembly. I’ll make sure he dances with me at least twice.”
Kitty sniffed. “If by dancing, you refer to stepping on your partner’s feet in a giddy tangle.”
“You are just jealous that I am the better dancer and the young men all prefer me as a partner. I have tried to instruct you on your flirting, but you are hopeless.”
“You hope he will marry one of you?” Mary asked. “I doubt he would. A man desires a lady who will not embarrass his house. Jane would be mostly likely to win the hand of a rich, self-respecting gentleman.”
Lydia rounded on her. “Lofty words from a bluestocking.”
Mary flicked her fingers, turned and exited the kitchen in a flurry of brown skirts.
“Come, Kitty,” Lydia grabbed Kitty’s hand. “We must tell Mama. She will make Mr Collins do his duty.”
They left the kitchen, taking their high voices with them. Elizabeth and Jane shared a look. “It would be a good thing if one of them was so well settled.”
“I would prefer it was you,” Elizabeth said.
Jane shook her head. “They are lovely, spirited and full of perfect health, like butterflies.”
“Like magpies, you mean.” Elizabeth took a moment to restrain her tone, seeing Jane’s look. Dear Jane, who disliked hearing ill of anyone. Elizabeth was not nearly so angelic. “Fine. But you are the eldest. The eldest should wed first.”
Jane’s smile was soft. “If I should find a decent man who loves me and I him, I would be truly happy.”
“Don’t worry, sister. I will find you that man.” The richer, the better. Perhaps she should call on a few local ladies and determine if this Bingley was as handsome and rich as Lydia and Kitty said. And then plan how best to throw her golden elder sister under his nose at the assembly. For surely a man of quality would prefer Jane above all others.
For the day Jane wed and was safely under her husband’s roof, Elizabeth would have her freedom.
“Come. Let us go upstairs and see what we might have to wear to the assembly.”
Jane blinked. “You weren’t concerned last week what we
might wear.”
“Last week a rich young man wasn’t expected to come.”
“Lizzy, promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”
Elizabeth smiled, eyes widening innocently. “My dear, we are simply going to add some new lace to one of your gowns, nothing more. Come, so I can determine whether a late walk into town is warranted.”
Darcy undertook the last leg of his journey on horseback, unable to endure another moment in the carriage. No matter how well appointed, a box on wheels was still a box on wheels. The sharp evening air biting his face and attempting to scramble underneath his leather gloves invigorated him, a glow from the half moon lending a sepulchral quality to wisps of fog along the road.
Memories of this part of the country came back to him as he rode. It was not the first time he had travelled through Hertfordshire, though it had been long ago. His recollection enabled him to cut across country, however, impatience lending urgency to his horse’s canter.
He planned to arrive in Meryton dressed inconspicuously in a well-to-do tradesman’s attire—a barrister or a surgeon, perhaps. The carriage with his family’s crest he’d abandoned right before crossing the boundary of Hertfordshire, intending to travel the rest of the way incognito. No one in Meryton should recognise him.
He would enter town, discreetly make inquiries and ascertain where Wickham was staying. At some point, he would devise a plan to search Wickham’s quarters. It was doubtful the man would keep so precious an item on his person. It would be hidden somewhere, and Darcy had only to find it.
He had considered presenting himself to Wickham’s superior, identifying himself as the Prince of Pemberley and demanding Wickham’s pockets be turned out, but the folk in Hertfordshire were proud. They answered to no prince, to no duke. They self-governed county by county and took poorly to interference from outsiders. No one here would be obligated to obey his commands, though the local society and businesses would be pleased enough to court his patronage.
Darcy’s lip curled slightly. Tradesmen. Even the upper echelons in society in Hertfordshire were simply elevated tradesmen. It made sense that Charles had chosen this place to settle. They were his sort of society.
A cloud passed over the moon. Darcy pulled on the reins, slowing his horse to a walk. Riding in the dark had its hazards, and damned if he would injure himself in a foolish accident through carelessness.
The cloud dispersed suddenly; his horse reared, whinnying in fright, as a figure appeared out of the fog.
Darcy cursed, wrestling the animal under control. A voice exclaimed, the figure stumbling back several steps, voice high and angry. Horse pawed at the ground, snorting but calmer, and Darcy dismounted.
“You there,” he said sharply, approaching. “Are you injured?”
He waited impatiently for a response. The figure stirred, though Darcy remained several feet removed. He doubted the person was a brigand of any sort, and Darcy had his own means of protection under his thick coat, but it never paid to be careless.
“No thanks to your carelessness,” the husky voice said, person unfolding from the ground, pausing, and then stooping back down again.
“Perhaps it is a poor choice to be out walking this time of night and in this weather,” he retorted, vaguely irritated by the word carelessness. He was never careless.
“And running over women on foot while on horseback is somehow preferable?” She straightened, pushing back the hood that muffled her voice.
Darcy stared, the sliver of moonlight shimmering on her cheekbone, eyes glittering at him with the malice of a witch. Dark hair blended into the night, tumbling over her cloak, the weave and colour indistinguishable. Her accents were not that of a farm girl, however; she must be gently bred.
Why would a gentlewoman be out walking this time of night, alone?
“You have my apologies, madam,” was his crisp reply. “I, of course, did not see you. You are not injured?”
“No.”
He bristled. Some attempt at basic courtesy would be appreciated. “I will escort you home.”
She stared at him, and even in the dark, he recognised the disdain on her face. “No, thank you. I am quite able to find my way home.”
“If you were quite able, you would not be running into strange men in the dark. You are fortunate I am no brigand.”
Her teeth flashed. “I know all the brigands in these parts by name, and they are fortunate not to run afoul of me. Sir.”
Women. His already poor mood soured. He disliked a woman who eschewed the dictates of gallantry—it was his nature to come to the aid of women in distress and one of the few privileges of his rank. If she knew who he was, she would never address him so cavalierly.
“Nonetheless. It is my duty to offer protection, yours to accept it. If your father has not instructed you properly that makes no difference to my duty.”
There was something about the curve of her cheek, her jaw, in the moonlight that hinted at uncommon beauty. She should not be out alone.
“Astonishing,” she murmured. “A man who does not understand no.”
His teeth grit. Darcy bowed. Gallantry be damned, he would not force himself on her. “As you wish, madam.”
She brushed by him, skirting just close enough to avoid insulting him, but far enough he would be hard pressed to grab her before she darted away. As a brother he approved, as a man and a prince, he suppressed the impulse to reach for her arm and haul her atop his horse. But he had never accosted a woman in his life.
He ignored the irony of his desire to strangle her, however.
“The road is that way, sir,” she said over her shoulder just before disappearing into the night. “Perhaps you should return to it if you are lost. Someone may even be out to offer you directions.”
Darcy mounted, taking several moments to shake off his irritation at headstrong young women poorly controlled by their fathers and brothers. It was the absurdly independent nature of this region; he could not get out of Hertfordshire fast enough once his business was concluded.
Chapter Four
“
. . .but of course we shall have the opportunity to make the acquaintance of all the ladies at the assembly. An introduction to the neighbourhood, if you will. I have seen several handsome women, even you could not find fault, Darcy.”
Darcy stared into his wine glass, brooding. No sign of Wickham in town, though that only meant he had to look harder. Grayson would not have come to him if he hadn’t been certain.
“And the butterfly spake unto my cow, and thus sayeth the prince, you shall not dance!”
Darcy looked up, expression mild. “I’ve been listening. Handsome ladies, assembly, unbecoming girlish delight, so on and so forth.”
Charles stared at him, exasperated. “Why are you really here, old son? It’s not to attend my ball, for you never dance.”
“I dance.”
“You never dance with strangers or women seeking a husband, and everyone there will be a stranger or husband hunter.”
“Can I simply not have yearned for the company of my best friend?”
“Certainly. Is it likely, however?” Charles snorted. “I would say not.”
Darcy rose. It was an elegant room, made pleasant by Caroline’s absence for once. He joined Charles at the fireplace, drained the wine and set his glass down on the mantle. “I am searching for Wickham.”
Grey eyes widened, Charles choking on his sip of white, floral stuff. “Wickham?” he wheezed. “That blackguard is here? In Hertfordshire?”
“In Meryton, to be exact. He has joined a London regiment and wears the red coat now. Evidently, they have permission from the town elders to winter here.”
“A soldier. I am at a loss for words. One imagines that soldiers are honourable men.”
“Soldiers are hungry men with no other prospects.”
“That is harsh. What are you planning?”
“Not to confront him, you need have no fear on that. I simply plan to verify
his whereabouts and status and then slip out of town with him none the wiser.” After retrieving what belonged to his house.
Charles scratched his head. “Well, the thing was, I had thought to invite the regiment to the ball. There are quite a few more ladies on the guest list than gentlemen, and it would annoy Caroline.”
They had a moment of silent understanding. Anything that annoyed Caroline was well worth doing.
“Invite them,” Darcy said. “It would serve my purpose.” The longer he considered the idea, the more merit he saw in it. If Wickham was busy dancing and drinking, then Darcy would have the cover he needed to search the man’s rooms and find the ring, returning well before the end of the evening. “Even if he sees me, he will stay well clear.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult if you stand in a darkened corner as usual.”
Darcy smiled, though it wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Not too difficult at all.”
Charles sighed. “At least attempt to enjoy yourself. Especially since you are here as Mr Williams and not Prince Darcy of Pemberley.”
“I always make the attempt. One might have better success if the current trend in society was not towards flippant discourse.”
Charles lifted his glass. “If any man ever needed an introduction of flippancy in his life, it is you, old son. Flippancy, and a woman unfazed by your icy demeanour.”
Darcy snorted, straightening. “I am to bed. There is correspondence I must see to before I retire.” He paused. “You say you have noticed several handsome women hereabouts.”
“Indeed. Why, when I rode through town the other day—”
“Have you seen a woman with dark hair and fiery eyes? A haughty demeanour that is not altogether unbecoming for a gentlewoman.”
“Fiery eyes? Haughty demeanour? Have you been reading your sister’s gothics?”
Darcy gave him a look.
“Not that there is anything wrong at all with gothics, but I never knew you to use so romantic a turn of phrase.”
Prince Darcy Page 2