“I cannot approve of sabotage.”
In truth, Darcy was far from angry. The knowledge that he possessed allies did much to improve his spirits.
“That is different,” Toby said, suddenly looking anxious.
“It is,” Darcy agreed.
Thomas grinned. “Then you will improve your campaign.”
Darcy regarded him. “My campaign?”
“That is what this is,” Toby said. “Courtship resembles war, except with dancing.”
“And flowers,” Thomas added. “Papa says so.”
“And considerably less blood,” Toby amended. “In most cases.”
“One sincerely hopes so,” Darcy murmured.
The prospect of fighting a duel to defeat a rival suitor was one he preferred to avoid.
Thomas nodded with satisfaction, apparently interpreting this as complete agreement. “Excellent. Then we are allies.”
Darcy ought to have corrected them. He ought to have explained that courtship required delicacy, consent, propriety, and above all the lady’s own inclination.
Instead, he found himself unexpectedly warmed by the word.
Allies.
Absurd allies, certainly.
Dangerous allies.
Muddy, meddlesome, and profoundly unpredictable allies.
But allies nonetheless.
“I shall give your advice every consideration,” he said.
Toby appeared dissatisfied. “That differs from actually taking it.”
“It is the fullest assurance you will receive today.”
Darcy raised a brow and crossed his arms.
Thomas sighed. “Very well.”
“We must go,” Toby said. “Lydia is waiting.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes at the boys. “Miss Lydia?”
The boys froze.
Then Thomas smiled with conspicuous breadth. “For lessons.”
“Miss Lydia does not share your lessons.”
“She provides moral encouragement,” Toby said.
