Page 121 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“Well,” she said, addressing the room in general and Darcy in particular, “I am to call in Gracechurch Street on Tuesday morning. Miss Elizabeth has been good enough to grant me an hour.”

She plucked a glass from a passing tray.

“I call there early every day,” Darcy said.

“Not on Tuesday. On Tuesday you may call after noon but will have business elsewhere earlier.”

“May I know what you intend to say?”

“You may not.” His mother regarded him over the rim of her glass. “I will tell you, Fitzwilliam, that in all my years of matchmaking I have never encountered a more difficult case.”

“She is not a case.”

“That is precisely the difficulty.” His mother took a sip. “Both sisters are impossible. Neither one would permit herself to be arranged. I may have to declare the Bennets beyond my powers.”

“That would be a wise decision, I think.”

Sir John Marchmont interrupted them by appearing at her elbow. Sir John possessed the loud, easy voice common to the hunting field and had never found reason to alter it indoors.

“Lady Anne. The very woman. I hear you have had a capital season. Married off half the ton.”

“You are too kind, Sir John.”

“Not at all. Which brings me to my purpose.” He planted himself before her. “I am in want of a wife, madam, and I have made a hash of finding one these ten years.”

Darcy turned his attention very firmly towards the musicians.

“I am an excellent hand at horseflesh,” Sir John continued, “but I cannot tell one young lady from the next. I require a woman who can ride to the hunt. None of your parlour misses. A woman who will take a fence cleanly and not scream at a wet ditch. A pretty seat. Good hands on the reins. Find me such a woman, Lady Anne, and I am yours to command.”

There was a pause.

Darcy had heard that pause perhaps a thousand times in his life.

“Sir John,” his mother said, every trace of martyrdom gone, “I believe I know exactly the young woman. Her father is Russian and her mother English.”

Darcy closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them, Miss Elizabeth was sitting next to an open chair and watching him, her eyes bright with amusement.

He moved to take the chair beside her, and after the concert, Darcy took her home in his own carriage, his mother sitting beside her.

They discussed the music, Sir John, and whether any woman could be persuaded to marry a man who was searching for a wife so he might have her join him on the hunt.

“He does not mean it unkindly,” Miss Elizabeth said. “That is what makes it so dreadful.”

“He does not mean much of anything,” his mother replied. “That is not the worst quality in a husband.”

“Your mother will have him married by Whitsun,” Miss Elizabeth said.

“Before,” Darcy replied.

His mother looked pleased. “You do have faith in me.”

Miss Elizabeth laughed.

His mother turned to her. “Do not encourage him. He has become very impertinent since I agreed to leave him alone.”

“I had thought him rather impertinent before.” Miss Elizabeth’s eyes met his.

His mother looked out of the window with unusual concentration.