“That tree should not have been placed there,” Robert mumbled.
“Smile, Robert. On three. One. Two. Three,” Darcy commanded, pointing the paper-knife at him.
Robert forced the corners of his mouth upward, attempting to project warmth and amiability.
“Desist! Desist! Stop it at once!” Richard said, laughing hard and holding his stomach. “You look like a gargoyle experiencing a muscle spasm. If you smile at her in such a way, she will call for the apothecary.”
“It is disturbing,” Anne chimed in. “If you look at her like that, she will assume you are digesting bad mutton.”
“And let us talk about the eyes.” Darcy leaned down to scrutinise his cousin. “A glare implies you wish to tax her property. A gaze implies you wish to kiss her hand. Do you remember these lessons, Cousin? Or did your intellect evaporate the moment you saw her?”
Robert dropped the grimace. He leaned back in the armchair, staring at the vaulted ceiling of the library.
“I remember the lessons, Fitzwilliam, but they are useless.”
The mockery died in Darcy’s throat. He recognised that tone, because he had used it himself multiple times.
“Why are they useless?” Darcy asked, placing the paper-knife on the desk.
“Because she is toogood,” Robert confessed, the truth tearing out of him. “Jane Bennet is... she is pure grace. She is completely devoid of malice, of cynicism, of the calculating ambition that infects every other woman I have ever met in London. She is the light, Fitzwilliam.”
Robert ran a hand over his face, a shuddering breath escaping him.
“If I speak,” he continued, his voice thick with fear, “if I open my mouth and deploy my usual banter... I will say something frivolous. I will say something cynical or mocking, because it is my default state. And if I do that, she will see right through me and she will realise that I am a hollow fraud, an idiotic peer who plays the fool to avoid feeling anything real.”
Everyone was silent. Even Richard was no longer smiling.
“But if I do not speak,” Robert whispered, staring at his boots. “If I stand there like a mute idiot... she will think I am a dullard, that I have no mind at all. I am paralysed, Darcy. I amscared of frightening her away, and I am scared of proving that I am unworthy of her.”
Darcy knew exactly what it felt like to be dismantled by a woman’s goodness. He knew the terror of realising one’s own character was flawed in the face of her light.
He walked over and placed a firm hand on Robert’s shoulder.
“You are not a fraud, Robert,” Darcy said, his voice ringing with certainty. “You are the most loyal, perceptive man I know. You threw me a rope when I was drowning and you saved me from myself. Jane Bennet will see that. You just have to be brave enough to let her look.”
“He is right,” Anne added from her chair. “You play the fool by choice, Robert. Choose to be the man who plays Mozart. She will love that man.”
Robert let out a long, shaky exhale. He looked at Darcy, the panic in his eyes slowly receding.
“I need to know.” Robert sat forward, his hands clasping his knees. “I need to know that her heart is free. I cannot charge into battle if the ghost of Charles Bingley is still occupying the fortress.”
“Miss Bennet assured Miss Elizabeth that she holds no lingering attachments,” Darcy reminded him. “She absolved me of my interference and stated plainly that she sees Bingley for the weak-willed weather-vane he is.”
“Words are one thing,” Robert argued, his mind finally re-engaging. “But the heart is a treacherous organ. I need to see it. I need to witness the closure with my own eyes. If she flinches when she sees him, I will step back and give her time. But if she is truly free...”
Robert’s eyes hardened with resolve. “If she is free, I will marry her. I will lay my viscountcy at her feet.”
“And how do you propose to test this?” Richard asked, leaning forward on the sofa.
Robert stood up, smoothing his waistcoat and adjusting his cuffs, the paralysis gone.
“I sent Boodles to Astley’s Amphitheatre to secure a private box directly opposite Bingley’s for tomorrow evening.”
Darcy blinked. “You intend to ambush Charles Bingley at a circus?”
“I intend to orchestrate a serendipitous encounter,” Robert corrected. “We shall invite the Gardiners and the Bennet sisters. We are going to watch trick-riding horses, Fitzwilliam. And we are going to watch Bingley.”
Robert began to pace again, but this time, it was the stride of a conqueror mapping out a campaign.
