He set his napkin on the plate and stood. “Lady Sophia expects me to review the silver salver. Thank you for the intelligence on Sir Geoffrey Hale. Ordinarily, I might have granted him the cotillion, but this breach of propriety cannot be overlooked. I shall go to Number 33 at once.”
“Brother,” Georgiana called after him, her voice brimming with quiet amusement as he reached the door, “I believe Miss Mary requested my presence as well. She is eager for a chaperone in the music room, in case Mr. John Lucas should call with his mother.”
Darcy had no interest in the Lucases or Miss Mary’s prospects. Nettle trotted behind him as he crossed the garden at a pace Georgiana would have called indecent. Stilton, the butler, let him into a house scented with beeswax and lavender. Georgiana disappeared into the music room as Darcy made for the drawing room.
“Godmama…” The words died on his lips as Lady Sophia was absent entirely. A note in her precise hand rested on the tea table:Gone to the modiste with Jane and Allegra. I assume you have brought your sister, and Miss Mary and Nettle shall provide for propriety. You have the room. Do not waste it. - S.
Waste what, exactly? Reviewing gentlemen callers?
Lady Sophia, he suspected, blamed him for every hint of romantic turmoil Elizabeth displayed—her imagination fueled by too much novel reading.
He had barely set down the note when Elizabeth swept in, balancing a sheaf of papers and a half-empty teacup. Ink stained her fingers. Her morning dress was pale blue, her hair pinned up with one rebellious curl at her neck—the same curl that had been his undoing since Hertfordshire.
“Mr. Darcy. Lady Sophia has abandoned us. She left a note that reads like a military dispatch. I had believed trips to the modiste were too hard for her bones.”
“I received similar instructions.” He took the chair across from her, and the absence of the desk between them remained, almost a month into the new arrangement, a condition he had not adjusted to and suspected he never would. “I wished to discuss the ball and a matter that arose from your visit to Cheapside.”
“Sir Geoffrey.” Elizabeth settled onto the settee with a graceful smile, rather than the challenge he expected. “Mary told Georgiana, and Georgiana told you. The intelligence network in this household operates with impressive efficiency.”
“Sir Geoffrey Hale is not what he presented.”
“I am aware,” Elizabeth said, her fingers tracing the handle of her teacup. “Uncle Gardiner dismantled his commercial pretense as well as his importunity in calling on me without a proper card.”
“His difficulties extend beyond his societal offenses. The Hale estates are encumbered. His presence on Lombard Street suggests an association with lenders of last resort. His interest in you is financial, Miss Bennet.”
“Really?” She tilted her chin with that characteristic archness. “He seemed quite besotted, unable to resist an impromptu visit upon spying my carriage in the vicinity. He called me intelligent and of?—”
“Literary merit, yes, I’ve heard from my sister. However, I shall not be approving of his call nor his request for the supper dance.”
She nodded, looking quite a bit more subdued than he would have expected after such a heavy-handed decree.
“I agree. I had not spoken to him for more than a few seconds when he presumed, based on Lady Prideaux’s recommendation, that I would be enamored with a book of poetry. Pity, it was wrapped so prettily, and one could not discern the poet’s name through the thick paper. He does, however, seem quite charmingand so gallant with his horses. And with a title of baronet, I believe.”
“He is not the only man who is calculating your fortune,” Darcy said darkly. “When we go through the salver, you shall see many whose estates are mortgaged, gambling debts, and inheritances held in trust.”
“Are you saying no gentlemen would be interested in me without my wealth?” Elizabeth speared him with that directness which had always unnerved him. “Is that the story, Mr. Darcy? The reason you, as the trustee of my fortune, are required to review my dance card?”
“Absolutely not, Miss Bennet.” Darcy wished to lower that defensive tilt of her chin. “You are far more than a number on a ledger. Those who know you value your loyalty. Your concern for your sisters and mother, your family. I only warn you, as a man who understands London, that not all gentlemen have your best interests at heart. Sir Geoffrey, for example, could claim a greater intimacy than he has by reporting how he had visited you at your uncle’s home. He should not have admitted him even into the drawing room nor allowed him to leave the book behind.”
“I believe Uncle Gardiner asked my preference, and I consented,” Elizabeth said, her face lowering as she seemed to quail slightly under the correction.
“His story about Lombard Street was designed to bring about your curiosity. I do not doubt his competency in gaining entry where he should not.”
“Aunt Gardiner made a similar observation. She distinguished between fortune hunters who are absurd and those who are competent in their implications.”
“Your aunt is a perceptive woman.”
“My aunt is the most intelligent person in my family, which is a considerable distinction in a family that includes me.” Shetook a slow sip of her tea. “I am not frightened of Sir Geoffrey, Mr. Darcy. I saw through him. I should not have consented to a dance with him, regardless of the charm and title.”
“I do not doubt your perception, Miss Bennet. What concerns me is the gap between perceiving a danger and being protected from it.”
“You think I cannot protect myself.”
“London operates by rules you have not had occasion to learn, and the consequences of not knowing those rules fall disproportionately on the woman.”
Elizabeth set down her teacup. Her dark eyes fixed upon him—not with her usual challenge, but strangely soft, almost imploring. “I’m listening.”
Darcy almost choked on his own breath. This would not be an easy conversation, but whether as her trustee, her proxy guardian, or merely a man who could not bear to see her ruined, he owed her the unvarnished truth.
