Chapter Three
London
Fitzwilliam Darcy surveyed his aunt’s drawing room with a wry smile. They had toasted champagne with their dinner guests at midnight; at half two, nearly all of the revelers had finally departed. The fastidious earl had retired more than an hour ago, though his energetic young wife was still laughing merrily on the sofa with her step-children.
Georgiana had just curled up on one of the sofas with an endearing little yawn, and Bingley looked to be on the verge of closing his eyes, until Lady Rebecca slapped him across the face and offered him another glass of wine.
It was the usual scene for celebrating the new year with his relations and their set, and he was just foxed enough to be perfectly content. He was not always comfortable in society, but amongst his intimates he felt perfectly at ease. There had been only a handful of guests that vexed him – Bingley’s sisters had been the most irritating on this occasion, which was far from the worst he had endured at a party.
Darcy was on the point of rousing his sister and sending her up to bed, when the viscount finally persuaded the countess to retire. She gave them all a sloppy kiss on the cheek and shambled across the room, finished her wine before she reached the corridor, and bid them good night and happy new year.
Richard clapped his hands. “Excellent, just the five of us, and with Georgiana we shall again make six for our annual tradition. Shall we?”
Lady Rebecca smiled at Georgiana, who had begun to softly snore, her skirts in disarray around her. “Yes, I daresay she is properly one of us now. Utterly debauched, Darcy! And here I thought you meant to be the disciplinarian your father was.”
Darcy shrugged, his movements loose from so much drink. “After Christmastide, I am sure I shall be. She is among family, and I think she behaved very well. She deserves a little merriment.”
“And she must have a little more, for it is our tradition!” Richard scooped Georgiana into his arms and his four companions followed him down the corridor to the billiard room. Georgiana stirred and called out for Darcy, who went to her side as Richard set her down on the sofa at the back of the room.
“Will, is the party over?”
“Not quite, Poppet,” he said, laughing at his cousins as they arranged the billiard table for the ludicrous custom they had contrived a dozen new years ago.
Richard nudged Phillip. “You are the viscount, now. Open the ceremonies.”
Phillip pushed his spectacles up on his nose and nodded, squaring his shoulders in an air of pomposity.
“Siblings and cousins! In the first hour of the new year, we gather for a ritual of fate! Everyone, retrieve the talismans.” He gave a flourish of his arm before removing the signet ring from his third finger and placing it next to one of the pockets of the billiard table.
Georgiana sat up on the chaise and looked on with bemused wonder as Bingley supplied a handkerchief, Richard drew a coin from his pocket, Lady Rebecca took a hideous stuffed crow from one of the shelves, and Darcy frowned as he laid a black arm band beside one of the pockets.
They all looked to Georgiana, who sensed there was something she was expected to do. “You will find a little toy horse that Peter whittled tucked behind the big vase on the mantle.”
Darcy stepped forward to help his sister locate the object, and then he stoked the fire. Georgiana placed the horse on the final pocket. “What is this about?”
“You see before you the talismans of fate,” Richard said, assuming a theatrical tone as his late brother Peter had always done. He placed the cue ball and two red balls in their proper places on the table, and retrieved a billiard cue, which he used in his flamboyant gestures.
“Every new year, we cousins have gathered, for a dozen years now, to consult the mystical wisdom of the billiard table handed down from the first Earl of Matlock – a dashing fellow called Richard. Strike the cue ball and send the others toward what fate awaits you in the coming year. The horse for travel, the coin for fortune, the ring for marriage, the crow for peril, the handkerchief for heartbreak, and the black band for death.” This last he said in an ominous tone as he swept his arms towards the billiards table.
“It is a little family nonsense,” Darcy whispered to his sister with an encouraging smile. After what had befallen her that summer, just before her sixteenth birthday, she deserved to partake in a bit of whimsy.
“It has been alarmingly accurate since you have brought me into the tradition,” Bingley said. He had been Darcy’s dearest friend since Cambridge, and the year after they left university, they had become cousins by marriage when Rebecca wed Bingley’s late brother, Henry.
“Yes, because every year you aim for the ring and then lose your head over every pretty girl you meet,” Rebecca teased. “And Darcy always aims for the coin, even though he has piles of money already. Although last year I think you also got the crow.”
Darcy had certainly experienced his share of calamity in the year that had just come to a close, between Georgiana’s ordeal with Wickham and then the temptation of an entirely unsuitable siren in Hertfordshire. He frowned at the talismans on the table.
“This year, there shall be none of that. No cheating – we take our shots blindfolded.” Rebecca grinned and removed the sash from her waist, swaying a little as she waved a hand. “Proceed, Phillip.”
“Sister, for shame – you have forgotten the most important part.” Richard moved to the sideboard and poured six glasses of brandy, then distributed the drinks. He raised his glass. “To Peter.”
“And Mother,” Rebecca said.
“And Henry,” Bingley added.
Phillip’s voice cracked. “And my poor Violet.”
Georgiana took this in and lifted her own glass. “And Papa.”
