“A torment I endure with little enthusiasm.”
“There is always cousin Anne. She lingers perpetually in the shadows, while Lady Catherine loudly boasts of your eventual capitulation to her tightly held dreams of uniting your two grand estates in matrimony.”
A visible tremor passed through Darcy.
“Anne is... no. I cannot even consider it. She occupies as few of my thoughts as possible.”
“And succeeds admirably at remaining forgettable,” Ashton said, snagging a glass of wine from a servant’s tray. “Now tell me about your unsuitable lady. Maybe if you verbalize your agony, you can finally let go of her.”
Darcy took a cleansing breath and released it slowly, before telling him about an impertinent miss from Hertfordshire. After speaking for nearly half an hour and emptying another goblet of wine, he concluded, “As we prepared to join the others for dinner, her sister came alongside, and after a brief exchange, Miss Elizabeth mentioned a family matter requiring her attention. She left with her sister, and I never saw her again, having departed myself the following day.”
“Did you discover the nature of this family matter?” Ashton enquired.
“I cannot say with certainty, however, Miss Bingley said shewould not be surprised if the family hastened their departure from the ball because the youngest sister was discovered in an unseemly situation. She hinted broadly that the consequence of this indiscretion would make its appearance within nine months.”
“If ever you trust a single utterance from Caroline Bingley’s lips, I shall personally escort you to Bedlam,” Ashton declared with disgust. “Never have I encountered a woman of such detestable character. Her presence in your social circle baffles me.”
“She accompanies her brother. I merely endured her.”
“Your true friendship lies with Hurst. He, at least, is a gentleman.” Ashton fixed Darcy with a serious look. “You would be wise to distance yourself from both Bingley and his sister.”
“Following your refusal to be introduced at the theatre, I confronted Bingley at Whites. Hurst was there as well. The conversation ended poorly with Bingley ranting and storming off like a petulant child. I have terminated our association completely, and withdrawn my club sponsorship.”
Before Ashton could respond, Lord Blake approached with an easy stride.
“Ashton, Darcy, well met,” the young lord said with a smile. “Mother spotted you both skulking along the perimeter, and dispatched me to escort you to her side for proper greetings.”
Everyone knew Lady Blake’s delicate constitution kept the duchess seated during social gatherings, dependent on friends for company. Her matchmaking intentions for her lovely daughter, just recently presented, were equally well-known.
“Has Lady Arabella joined the festivities tonight?” Ashton enquired.
“Indeed, she is currently standing up with Sir I-Forgot-His-Name.”
Wine spluttered from Ashton’s lips while Darcy pressed his own together to suppress amusement.
“Sir I-Forgot-His-Name?” Ashton echoed.
“Her private designation for the gentleman.”
“And what sobriquet has she bestowed upon me?” Ashton ventured to ask.
“Lord Foppish Nincompoop, if memory serves,” Blake replied, eyes gleaming with mischief. He glanced towards Darcy, who merely shrugged.
“Her opinion of me is immaterial.”
“A pity, you have inspired her most inventive appellation.”
Ashton arched an eyebrow.
“Does Lady Arabella know you reveal her private nicknames to their unwitting subjects?”
“She need not worry,” Lord Blake replied with a dismissive wave. “Her creativity is reserved exclusively for gentlemen she finds thoroughly unremarkable.”
“The privilege of ducal blood, I suppose,” Ashton remarked dryly.
Darcy’s eyes swept the room discreetly, confirming their conversation remained private despite its impropriety.
“What epithet has she bestowed upon Darcy?” Ashton enquired, leaning forward slightly.
