Darcy massaged the bridge of his nose. “If my head pained me any less and I thought I could walk the distance to your chair, I would cut out your tongue for such a speech.”
The colonel laughed. “I’d like to see that. What do you intend to do now? You cannot very well go back home, or Aunt’s claims will be unassailable. She has already gone to my father.”
“She has!”
“Unless, of course, there is someone at your house who can vouch for you. You have a veritable army of servants. Surely at least a few knew of your activities last evening.”
“That is precisely the problem. It has come to my attention that not all my servants believe a variance exists between my interests and my aunt’s—or worse, some have tendered her their loyalty. The only one I know I can depend on for a certainty is my valet, Wilson.”
“Well, then, there you have it. Your valet sleeps in your dressing room. He would surely have noted if a lady were in the chambers.”
“Not if he were drugged as well, as I believe he was. Even if he could provide a reliable account, who would believe him against Lady Catherine de Bourgh, particularly if several others of the household dispute his testimony?”
“Ah! Then you do have a problem. Well, I offer you my congratulations on your recent engagement, Cousin.”
“Engaged! You must be mad. Have you ever thought about what a man’s life would be with our aunt as his mother-in-law? I think I would sooner join the Navy and die under Nelson’s flag.”
“They say the sea is as good as a mistress to a man,” the colonel chortled. “But seriously, what will you do, Darcy? Our aunt has you neatly trapped. You cannot very well go home until you have a convincing alibi, and you can do nothing about that from here.”
“I must contact my valet. He was to report all he learned this morning while giving the appearance of cooperation with Lady Catherine. Will you have your batman carry a message to him?”
“Strategic error, cousin. Aunt saw my batman just this morning, as did her own manservant. If they discover secretive messages passing between the two, your valet becomes suspect.”
Darcy growled in frustration. “At least lend me a respectable suit of clothing. I cannot bear to be seen as a footman any longer.”
“The livery becomes you rather handsomely, but I shall see what I have to suit the great Fitzwilliam Darcy. On second thought, you may want to consider keeping that livery. Did anyone look at you and speak to you by name as you were walking here?”
“Well…” Darcy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “No.”
“Something to consider, if you have need to return to wherever you were last night without being noticed. Or,” he grinned at the expression of horror upon his cousin’s face, “you can take a suit of my clothing and hire a chair back to your own house, where you will be served with marriage articles by my father and our aunt. I leave it to you.”
Darcy’s frown deepened further, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, if forced to confess, might have liked to make some comments about enjoying Fitzwilliam Darcy’s great dilemma rather enormously.
Chapter six
At least the shoes were an improvement.
Darcy had also traded his hat for one belonging to Fitzwilliam’s batman, hoping that the nondescript chapeau would lend him a bit more anonymity. He had no notion where he was to go or what he was to do, and Fitzwilliam had been blasted little help. Somehow, he must find a way of speaking to Wilson, and learn what could be said in his own defence. Surely there was some other who could testify to the conspiracy his aunt had brought to his own household.
But how to prove his location last evening? The only persons capable of vouching for him would be those who did not even know his name. Darcy shuddered. There were a great many things he would rather do than go back to that tradesman’s house, announce his identity, then beg for a witness to his presence. There were two single ladies living in that house, and he did not wish to become their prey any more than he wished to be shackled to his cousin.
He marched aimlessly down the pavement, his mind focused on his walk only enough to be certain that he was not noticed by anyone who might recognise him, when a flash of inspiration dawned. Hertfordshire was only half a day’s ride, and he had more than enough pocket money with him to hire a mount. He could ride fast and hard to Bingley’s newly leased estate and establish himself as a guest there. He had been intending to journey there the following week anyway, and Bingley would be only too happy to have the house opened to him early.
However… the notion passed when he realised that in the eyes of theton, fleeing Town at this precise juncture would be as good as an admission of guilt. No, he must face his aunt to contradict her falsehoods, and he needed information. He dared not count upon his uncle’s assistance, either.
He rounded a corner and paused upon noting a familiar carriage just setting down its passenger on to the same street. Heaven forbid, it was Lord Wexley’s execrable wife! Darcy glanced about for a doorway into which he might slip, but every one of those would lead him into a shop where people could see his face even more closely.
He turned about, glancing only once over his shoulder to see where the lady had moved after her carriage had set her down. Before he had fully turned back to his path, he collided headlong into a wall of parcels, seemingly all shrouded in a frothy array of cream satin and lace.
“I beg your pardon!” cried a sickeningly familiar voice.
His apology was automatic, and he was already reaching to pick up the boxes he had crashed into when he looked up at the faces of the young shoppers. If Fitzwilliam Darcy had ever wished to be swallowed up by the pavement or disappear into a nearby shrubbery, this was the moment.
Dark brown eyes sparkled, and rosy lips twitched. “I see we are destined to encounter one another repeatedly today! Tell me, sir, shall I assume that you have caught up with us to enquire after a new position? I am afraid my uncle has no present need for a jester.”
Confound the woman!Did she have to be so bleeding glib at every encounter? Darcy tipped his hat, biting firmly down on his tongue. “I beg your pardon, madam. It was quite accidental, I assure you.” He bent to collect the dented hat box and dusted a bit of imaginary dirt off the top. “I hope I have not damaged your purchase.”
“If you have,” the lady returned, “I would think it a poor performance on the part of the hat box. I am certain it has managed toserve its office.” She sighed very lightly, an expression of teasing exasperation, and held out her hand to receive the box.
