Darcy stared, trying to place his reaction. “But you were supposed to be in Eastbourne until spring.”
“Yes, well, the posting changed—the men needed a proper winter billet, so they sent me home. And I took it, of course.” Richard stripped off his gloves and flung them onto a side table with all the ceremony of a returning hero. “I mean, you knew I was still in England? I am not that useless that you forgot all about me, I hope?”
The dowager did not look up from her tea. “Your usefulness ended with your christening.”
Richard gave a gallant bow. “And yet, here I stand.”
He turned to Darcy, taking in the scattered map, the flint-eyed dowager, the general air of gathering doom. “Now, what is this?I see the war council is convened. Am I too late to veto the madness, or have you already declared a crusade?”
The dowager, without so much as a glance, began rearranging the tea service. “You may ride behind us if you like. Or cling to the undercarriage like a raccoon. I am beyond caring.”
Richard blinked.“Us?”
“She is coming with me,” Darcy muttered, one hand dragging down his face. “Apparently.”
Richard tilted his head. “Where?”
Darcy gestured vaguely toward the map.
“That explains nothing,” Richard said. “Have we declared war on Matlock? Did the butler offend you again? Are you hunting a particularly elusive pheasant?”
The dowager buttered a scone with ruthless precision. “He is chasing a woman.”
Richard’s brows leapt. “What sort of woman? Because if this is another ill-fated dance with Miss Featherstone, I must remind you that you are still banned from three counties.”
Darcy made a strangled sound and turned away.
Richard snapped his fingers. “Ha! I knew it. Now, let us see… who do we know in Derbyshire? No duchesses, no actresses. I recall no widows of suitable temperament. Well, the only female entanglement I recall from Derbyshire was probably one you would rather I forgot. Could it be…” He rubbed his chin with mock gravity. “No. Surely not.”
“Probably not, if it is one ofyourguesses,” Darcy shot back testily. “You could not possibly know—”
“Tell me it is not the girl from Hertfordshire,” Richard laughed.
Darcy’s mouth froze, wide-open and useless.
Richard’s eyes narrowed. “I knew it! I always knew those fine eyes and that sharp tongue would— Oh, Grandmother, do tell me I am right. I could do with a laugh and a bit of good gossip.”
Darcy cleared his throat and sent a swift glance at his grandmother.
Richard’s brows shot up. “Good God, itisher! About bloody time, I say.”
“I never confirmed that,” Darcy muttered.
“You did not have to. You just twitched like a man being accused of treason. That is confirmation enough.” He barked a laugh. “You are chasing the auction girl? The one with the pocket-sized disdain and the eyebrows sharp enough to open post?”
“She has a name, which you know very well.”
“Yes, but you always used to flinch whenever I said it. Shall I make up some code so we can all be clear, or are we beyond caring at this point? Let me see, she deserves something regal. Lady Sarcasm of Upper Smirkshire. Has a nice ring to it, does it not?”
Darcy turned away, muttering something about maps and post schedules and whether Mr. Gardiner kept his own carriage.
Richard’s grin turned feral. “Well. I will be damned. The auction girl.” He leaned against the fireplace like a man settling in for sport. “Right. Catch me up. What happened? Did you ruin it? You ruined it, did you not?”
Darcy stared into the fire as if hoping it might leap up and swallow him whole.
Richard’s grin widened. “Excellent. This will be fun.”
Darcy exhaled. “There was… a letter. And then a contract. And then a wedding. Which did not occur.”
