Page 51 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

He paused to nod seriously. “I wonder you did not begin with that. It is the one accomplishment no one ever disputes.”

His mother’s mouth tightened, but not enough to conceal that she wished to smile.

“Sometimes,” she said, “one must meet a few wrong matches before one is willing to recognize the right one. Miss Macomber I brought to show you I was in earnest. Lady Honoria I brought because her mother has been describing her to me these two years and I wished to see her for myself. Neither of them was ever going to be yours. You knew it. So did I.”

Darcy crossed his arms.

“Miss Finch is not that,” his mother said. “Miss Finch I have chosen.”

“And what, precisely, am I meant to learn from Miss Finch?”

“That she is handsome, sensible, well-connected, and not at all responsible for your dislike of being matched.”

“Does she know she is coming to be examined?”

“She is coming to call with her mother. You are to appear by chance.”

Poor Miss Finch. Darcy looked over his shoulder at the now-closed door. The winter morning and freedom waited just beyond it.

He closed his eyes. “I will be here on Thursday.” He bowed. “Good morning, Mother.”

His mother went back up the stairs. Georgiana was on the landing with a book in her hand. “Was that about Thursday?”

“It was.”

“Miss Finch.” She came down three steps. “Mrs. Paulson had it from Lady Finch’s woman on Monday. I did not know whether I ought to tell you.”

“You ought to have told me.”

“Mother thought you would go to Derbyshire.”

Darcy considered it. “I might have.”

Georgiana just looked at him. “She might be pleasing.”

“She will be handsome and accomplished,” he said. “I know enough of Mother’s skill to say that I shall probably like her. But it will come to nothing.”

“Why?”

He was not prepared to admit to the real answer. “Because I am difficult. Everybody says so.”

“You are not difficult.” Georgiana tucked the book under her arm. “You are only decided.”

He chuckled, pleased that she was attempting to defend him and amused at the way she had done it. “That is the same thing, though you have said it politely.”

She went up. Darcy watched her go, then took his hat from the table where he had set it down a few minutes earlier.

By the time he was finally able to walk through the door, Richard was standing by the coach, his gloved hands tucked beneath his arms against the cold.

Darcy stopped on the step. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

“You might have come in.”

“I might,” said Richard. “I might also have volunteered for a court martial, but I am unlikely to do so.”

Darcy gave him a flat stare and set his hat firmly on his head.