Thomas stepped forward. “Sir,” he said, “we are very much ashamed of you.”
Delivered with complete conviction, the statement might have seemed absurd under other circumstances.
Darcy regarded him steadily. “Indeed?”
Toby moved to stand beside his brother. “You said you were a gentleman.”
“I did.”
“Then you ought never to have said what you said.”
Darcy was confused. “What did I say?”
Thomas frowned. “You said our sister was tolerable.”
The word, repeated in that voice, touched with renewed force.
Darcy dismounted. He led his horse to a nearby tree, securing the reins before turning back. A fallen log lay near the edge of the rise; he seated himself upon it.
“I see,” he said.
The boys remained standing.
For a moment, he considered. “I was in a bad mood,” he said at last. “That does not excuse what I said. It should not have been spoken.”
Toby crossed his arms. “You wounded her.”
Darcy gave a slight nod. “I know.”
Thomas stepped closer. “Lizzy is the best sister ever.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“And you said she was only tolerable,” Toby added.
“I was wrong.” The admission, offered without hesitation, altered their expressions slightly.
Darcy continued. “Your sister is not tolerable. She is—” he paused, selecting the word with care, “—a very lovely young lady. I regret what I said.”
The boys exchanged a look. “You must apologize,” Toby said.
“I intend to.”
“You had best,” Thomas added. “We shall not forgive you until you make it right.”
Darcy allowed the vaguest suggestion of a smile. “That is a severe consequence.”
“It is deserved,” Toby said.
“Then I shall endeavor to avoid it,” Darcy replied.
Thomas considered him. “You tried before?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She avoided me.”
