“Ah,” Darcy breathed. “The Vasconcelos family. So, even according to my uncle, the man had some prior claim on that land.”
“If you consider a debtor to have a legitimate claim, then yes.”
“So, he tried to buy it back? My grandmother’s journal made mention of him paying a visit to Pemberley.”
“That is where our relations seemed to stop talking. From what little more they did say, I could infer that Vasconcelos had tracked down Richard Darcy and offered to buy back the land. By then, however, your grandfather and mine had thought to form a partnership of sorts to make some profit from it; perhaps mining it as Vasconcelos planned to do. I would imagine they were not eager to give it up for a farthing.”
“And why would our family seek to cover it up?”
Richard shrugged again, then drained the last few drops of his glass. “Something dreadful happened all those years ago that they cannot bear to have known. They would say no more, save to profess their innocence and seek to cast blame away from themselves. Lady Catherine is threatening to murder my brother for digging up old grievances—not to mention arranging to drag you away from Anne just as you were about to make your engagement official.”
Darcy snorted. “And your father? Does he credit the viscount’s involvement?”
“He might, if he could find him. Apparently, Reginald left town rather unexpectedly, and Father has been searching for him since he first heard that you had returned. I have known generals who were losing a battle who could not swear as fluently as he did tonight.”
Richard flipped up his empty glass and looked his cousin in the eye. “I think he is sick over it all. He suspects, I’ll not deny it, but it is a monstrous thing, bringing a charge like that against his own son, and the heir at that. Do not expect him to support youcarte blanche, but he is not without his doubts about Reginald.”
“It is something, at least.” Darcy relaxed somewhat in his chair and gazed into the fire. “I daresay your evening was spent more profitably than mine. I ought to have gone with you.”
“It would not have gone so well if you had. We’d have never got anywhere with Lady Catherine trying to draft marriage articles, and my father badgering you about legal nonsense. Besides, I imagine Miss Bennet was pleased to see you.” Richard flipped the glass in his hand again, but this time it tumbled to the floor. Annoyed, he bent to sweep it up, then roused himself from the chair to refill it.
Darcy watched his cousin and weighed his words. “Not half so glad as I was to see her,” he commented quietly. “And it was a pleasure to speak with Mrs Vasconcelos. She is a remarkable woman.”
Richard jerked the hand holding the bottle as the whiskey overflowed from his cup. He set it down on the sideboard with a bang, silently wiped his hand on his trousers, and took a great swallow.
“Most military men of my acquaintance have been known to drink,” Darcy observed neutrally, “but you were never one of the more devoted enthusiasts among them. Why the sudden affection for my cellars?”
Richard dragged at his glass again. “This started when I found myself warden to my cousin overnight,” he answered shortly, still staring at the wall.
“A circumstance that has altered, yet you drink like a man who bears a grudge.”
Richard muttered an impressively scandalous curse, but did not turn around.
Darcy shifted in his chair and unfastened the top button of his waistcoat. “Richard,” he sighed, stretching his long legs, “why did you not wish to marry Georgiana or Anne when given the opportunity?”
Richard’s shoulders bunched under his thin shirt. “Damn you, Darcy,” he growled, “I know what you are doing. Stop pretending innocence, and let it go.”
“Pretending? I am not the one pretending, Cousin.”
The glass slammed on the sideboard, Richard’s hand still gripping it as though he had thought to drive a hole directly through the wood. His entire figure was panting, each breath seeming to tear through his lungs. “I cannot go on like this, Darcy!” he gasped at length. “How can I see her and not cast myself at her feet? Yet how can I stay away and let her believe that I feel nothing at all? You cannot know what it is, that she is here and still forever beyond my reach!”
Darcy closed his eyes in pitying silence. Oh, but he did know—how well he knew! Yet for all their trials, Elizabeth had not married another. He put a hand to his forehead, aching for his cousin, but he could not leave the obvious unsaid. “The young lady deserves better than to become a mistress. She cannot remain in London, if these are your feelings. One of you will crumble in a moment of weakness.”
“No! Not she.” Richard turned round at last, shaking his head and pinning Darcy with red-rimmed eyes. “Never she! She has greater strength than I, and she has already seen how worthless can be the affections of a man. She cannot leave; there is nowhere for her to go, so I must. I would not see her suffer danger and hardship, simply because of my feelings.”
Darcy covered his mouth with his hand and stared at the fire. “You could resign your commission. I will be in search of another steward at Pemberley. You know you always have a home there, if you have need.”
Richard turned once more to his glass, but he did not take it up. His fingers stroked down the side and he gazed meditatively at the golden streaks lining the rim. “No,” he answered quietly. “I am going to Spain. There is a war on, don’t you know. As soon as this nonsense with my brother is settled, I will ask to be reassigned.”
“Settled? How can it be settled? I see no circumstance in which the family does not require your presence more after all this, not less.”
Richard’s shoulders shook in a rueful laugh. “If you believe any true consequence will find Viscount Matlock, you are very much mistaken, Darcy. He will remain untouched by the scandal, marry another heiress if he cannot get Georgiana, and in a few years, it will all be forgotten in favour of a more salacious rumour. You, meanwhile, must guard your own back, marry the woman you love, and father an heir. I go back to war.”
“Richard—”
“Enough, Darcy!” Richard bellowed, spinning around. “The matter is beyond your money and your wisdom to repair! There is nothing more to be done but to live our own lives, and I shall let Amália live hers.” He was quivering, tears threatening to spill from his eyes as he stared back at his cousin. He clenched his fist and blinked fiercely, drawing a ragged breath.
“I beg you, Darcy,” he pleaded in a lower voice, “the best you can do for me is not to mention her name. I know she is safe now, and I shall try to forget her.”
