Four days had passedsince Darcy had sent his letters, and Meryton bustled with midday activity. The grey sky above threatened snow, and the air held the crisp bite of winter. Darcy stood near the market square, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves, his gaze shifting toward the approaching carriage.
At last, the vehicle came to a halt with a creak of wood and jingling harnesses. The door swung open, and Colonel Fitzwilliam descended, his boots striking the snow-dusted cobblestones with purpose.
“Darcy! Greeting me in town instead of at Netherfield, are you? A rather quaint scene you’ve chosen for this reunion. What happened to my dignified cousin?”
“Needs must,” Darcy replied, shaking his cousin’s hand. “You are here to assist, not to critique.”
Fitzwilliam arched a brow. “Assist with what, exactly? You’ve been maddeningly vague.”
Darcy gestured toward the pub down the street, its windows glowing warmly against the frosty air. “You shall see soon enough.”
Fitzwilliam hesitated, a smirk tugging at his lips. “A public house, Darcy? You, willingly stepping into such a den of common conviviality? I should have the apothecary examine you on the way.”
“I trust your wit is as sharp as ever,” Darcy said, his tone flat but his pace brisk as he led the way toward the pub.
“I am merely trying to imagine what grave calamity has driven you to such measures,” Fitzwilliam said, following. “Do tell me you’ve not taken to rustic indulgences.”
“Your imagination,” Darcy said over his shoulder, “is both unnecessary and unwelcome.”
“And yet, I shall continue imagining all I like.”
Darcy shot him a look, sharp enough to warn but lacking the bite to silence him. “If you could temper your sarcasm for five minutes, Fitzwilliam, you might notice that we are being watched.”
Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow, slowing his pace slightly. “Watched? Ah. I see now.” His voice dropped, though the smirk remained. “This is theater, then.”
“Of a sort.” Darcy inclined his head subtly toward a small cluster of shopkeepers standing just outside the draper’s, their conversation halting as the two men passed. “And thank you for bringing your father’s newest carriage. I wonder that he did not object.”
“Who says I asked him?”
“I see. Well, whatever means you employed, I daresay I am grateful. It is important that we be seen.”
“Doing what? Strolling with an air of consequence?”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. “Engaging with the community. Showing that Netherfield’s occupants—Sir Thomas’s people—are not beneathournotice, which means they are not beneaththeirs.”
“Fascinating,” Fitzwilliam murmured, glancing around at the curious glances they were garnering. “And here I thought your talents lay in accounting figures and brooding.”
“Keep your voice down,” Darcy muttered, steering him toward the entrance of the inn. The smell of roasting meats and the warm hum of voices greeted them as they stepped inside, the sudden heat brushing the chill from their coats.
“Now you’ve really lost me,” Fitzwilliam said, his tone pitched low. “You hate places like this.”
“Yes,” Darcy admitted. “But this is where people talk. And I mean for them to talk about the right things.”
“Such as?” Fitzwilliam asked, though his gaze wandered to the barmaid who had paused mid-motion, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of them.
Darcy removed his gloves deliberately, meeting Fitzwilliam’s gaze with quiet intent. “The party. The preparations. And the fact that we are here, inviting them to attend.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled under his breath. “Well, this is unexpected. Very well, Darcy. Let us play our roles.”
They approached the Golden Fox, a modest but respectable establishment on Meryton’s high street. Darcy stepped inside first, his gaze sweeping the room. The warm hum of conversation buzzed around them as townsfolk sat gathered at tables, their faces lit by the glow of the hearth.
Darcy selected a table near the center of the room and gestured for Fitzwilliam to sit. Fitzwilliam hesitated, clearly nonplussed. “Here? Truly? Not a private alcove?”
“Yes, here,” Darcy said evenly. “And keep your voice at a volume the room might appreciate.”
Fitzwilliam raised a brow but took his seat, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You never fail to amuse, Darcy. First, a public house, nowyouinstructingmeon manners. What next?”
Darcy waved over a serving girl and ordered drinks for them both. As soon as the ale was brought to the table, he lifted his mug and nodded toward Fitzwilliam. “To the season, and to good company.”
