The assumption that everyone must be making was, unfortunately, correct.
The next morning more than a dozen visitors left their cards, though Darcy was not at home for any of them. Seeing the cards though, several from members of the peerage, and several from dear friends, he knew it was unprofitable to pretend that he would not need to return the calls.
However, Darcy had not yet readied himself to face society once more.
The next day when he returned from a three hour ramble through the least fashionable parts of London, Darcy found to a mix of dismay and pleasure that society, in the form of his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, had finagled its way past his butler’s insufficient guard of the door, and charmed from Mrs. North a wide selection of fine pastries and a plate of a diced hothouse pineapple.
“Darcy, old boy! Coz! In London for two weeks, and you haven’t called on me yet. Hurt. Terrible hurt.”
The officer speared a piece of pineapple with a silver toothpick and put it in his mouth with clear delight.
“I am here on business,” Darcy replied grumpily.
“I am here,” Colonel Fitzwilliam echoed in a deep voice that was clearly intended to mimic Darcy’s, though it did a poor job of that, “on business.” Slammed his hand on the table. Pressed his hand against his forehead. And dramatically leaned back. “Business. That evil crone! Leaves me no time to visit my beloved cousin, the man who has been like a brother to me — no,closer, like a twin! Like my own shirt. And who—”
“Richard.” Darcy raised his eyebrows.
“Alas,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said dramatically, “the only time I can spare from business must be spent upon a third rate play, produced by fourth rate actors.”
“It was one of Herr Mozart’s famous operas,” Darcy replied. “And the actors were at least second rate.”
“Were you going to visit me at all?”
Darcy shrugged, poured himself a brandy, and grabbed a piece of the pineapple.
“The pineapple is mine.” Colonel Fitzwilliam mimed slapping Darcy’s hand away.
Darcy laughed.
“I was the one who convinced Mrs. North to have it cut up.”
“Mypineapple, and you were not invited in.”
“Mrs. North happily welcomed me for a chat. Ha! ‘The master is not at home, but Master Richard, you are always welcome. You look too thin, why aren’t you eating more?’”
“I literally was not at home when you sweet talked yourself into my house.”
“Right of family, eh — but enough about my business. Messed up properly with your wife?”
“I,” Darcy replied haughtily, “am here on business.”
“That explains why Mrs. North spent five full minutes worrying about how little you’ve been eating, and talking about the way you go out every day to just walk in circles, and how you never visit anyone.”
“She should not gossip.”
“She was in the Fitzwilliam house before your mother poached her. She knew me when I was in drawstrings.”
In Darcy’s view, that Mrs. North had been employed by his mother’s father until several years after the birth of Darcy’scousin was no excuse for her telling said cousin about his habits.
“You look like the bit of pineapple you ate was rotten through.” Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “Devoted old servants are the chief unchangeable constituent of society. Can only work with, not against. She’s right. You look terrible. Half a stone lighter than a month and a half ago. What happened?”
“I am not going to tell you in any detail.”
“Embarrassing events then. I’m not startled. See. I knew you’d embarrass yourself with Mrs. Darcy — fine looking woman, but it was as clear as a bottle of that overly strong Russian spirit, the one made from potatoes, that she held some resentment against you.”
“You could see that, and did not tell me?”
“I did, you may recall.” Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged and popped another piece of pineapple into his mouth. “But there was nothing I could do. And I still hardly know the woman.”
