The twins stopped only because they had exhausted sufficient breath to require another.
Darcy regarded them with measured patience. “I must beg you to speak one at a time, or I shall understand nothing at all.”
The boys exchanged looks.
“You first,” Thomas said.
“No, you.”
“You are older by six minutes.”
“That means you ought to lead.”
Darcy waited.
At last Toby sighed dramatically. “Mr. Wilson is awful.”
Thomas nodded with fierce agreement. “Sincerely awful.”
Darcy dismounted more from instinct than conscious choice. Conversations with the twins rarely concluded quickly, and experience suggested they communicated best with listeners brought physically to their level.
He looped the reins loosely over one arm.
“Mr. Wilson,” he repeated. “Your cousin from Lancashire.”
“Our cousin,” Thomas corrected darkly. “Unfortunately.”
Darcy hid a smile with some effort. “What offense has the gentleman committed?”
The twins began speaking together again.
“He follows Lizzy everywhere—”
“And talks and talks and talks—”
“And he sat beside her at dinner—”
“And breakfast—”
“And he tried to walk alone with her—”
Darcy felt himself bristling in irritation. “Did he?”
“Yes,” Toby said with visible indignation. “But we stopped him.”
Darcy’s gaze darted between them. “You stopped him.”
Thomas crossed his arms. “Someone had to.”
The statement, delivered with perfect seriousness, nearly undid Darcy’s composure.
“And how precisely,” he asked carefully, “did you accomplish this noble intervention?”
“We told him Lizzy promised to walk with us.”
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly. “Had she?”
“No,” Toby admitted cheerfully. “But she understood.”
