“A pity.” Bingley sighed theatrically. “I had my hopes on the duchy.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze sharpened. “You know, Mr. Darcy, youarequite an enigma. A gentleman of good family, certainly—nephew to an earl is something, you know—but one who does not speak of that family. One who disappears to London at the most unpredictable times.” She offered a slow, assessing smile. “One who is, I suspect, far more than he appears.”
Darcy’s grip tightened slightly on his riding crop.
Bingley laughed. “Indeed! I have often wondered if my dear friend is secretly a covert agent for the Crown or some such intrigue.” He turned to Darcy with a teasing grin. “Come now, old man, confess. Have you been leading a double life?”
Darcy forced a faint smirk. “Hardly.”
Miss Bingley studied him, something speculative in her eyes. Then, she smiled with something approaching warmth. “I had not thought much of it before, but… Mr. Darcy, I should very much like to hear more of your work at the Home Office.”
No.
No, no,no. He could not allow that.
Before she could say another word, Darcy cleared his throat. “Perhaps another time. If you will excuse me, I should like to change before dinner.”
Bingley waved a hand. “Oh, of course. Your usual room, as always.”
Miss Bingley’s gaze lingered a moment longer before she, too, demurred, returning her attention to her embroidery.
Darcy wasted no time retreating up the stairs.
Dinnerthateveningwasa more animated affair than usual. Colonel Forster, the officer in charge of the regiment stationed at Meryton, had been invited, and he had brought his new young bride along—Mrs. Harriet Forster, barely eighteen and delighting in every moment of her elevated position.
Bingley engaged the colonel in a spirited discussion about local society, while Mrs. Forster dribbled on and on about the upcoming planting festival to a tight-lipped Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst.
Darcy, meanwhile, listened.
Waited.
And then, quite casually, he asked, “I am curious, Colonel, how do you find Meryton? A quiet post, I imagine?”
The colonel wiped his mouth with his napkin before replying. “Oh, quite! A charming little town. No real disturbances to speak of. Such a peaceful winter we passed here—I quite fancy our little regiment has been forgot about, because we ought to have been sent to Brighton for training by now, but alas, here we remain.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “I should think your men must find it somewhat dull.”
Colonel Forster chuckled. “Dull, perhaps, but the young ladies keep them entertained well enough.”
Mrs. Forster giggled. “Indeed! My dear colonel can hardly keep them in line.”
“I should hope you do not need to keep them in line,” Bingley interjected with an easy smile.
The colonel shrugged. “A few minor disputes here and there. The usual foolishness.”
Darcy tilted his head slightly. “Nothing more serious?”
The colonel hesitated briefly. “Well… I have had a few reports of strangers in town. Men who do not belong to the regiment, nor to the town itself.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened.
“Oh?” Bingley asked. “And what do they do?”
The colonel shook his head. “Nothing, so far. Just loitering. As if they are waiting for a carriage or some nonsense. It is probably nothing.”
Darcy did not believe that for a moment.
He lifted his glass, masking his expression behind the rim. “Have these men been here long?”
