Page 67 of The Matchmaker’s Mistake

“I am only attempting to assist. Your mother is a marvel, and you do not know what you are missing.” Wickham lifted his glass. “Nor you two either. A good woman is the best part of life.”

Darcy knew that had proved true for Wickham. As boys, they had played together, but by seventeen, George Wickham had fallen in with the wrong sort and been on a path to a very different life. He had begun cultivating his godfather’s favour in a cynical manner, and the first signs of rivalry between him and Darcy had already appeared.

Then his course changed.

He had attended Cambridge and enjoyed himself a good deal more than Darcy. But he had also applied himself to studying the law with enough diligence to make a respectable beginning.

Em had done the rest. She was the only person in George’s life who came before Darcy’s mother. She had met them all, insisted they call her Em—which he could only do when they were with family and sometimes not even then—and settled into their lives as though she had always been there.

Darcy privately considered Wickham’s marriage the crowning triumph of his mother’s talent. For while she was an expert at creating compatible and therefore happy marriages, this pairing was special.

Miss Emmeline Hopkins was the daughter of a wealthy gentleman, well educated, lively, and possessed of a spirit a deal too bold for most of the men who sought her. Those who were not frightened away by her confidence had generally intended to curb it. Fortunately, her father had been too wise to give over her care to anyone who might mistreat her. Em’s parents had nearly resigned themselves to her remaining unmarried when Darcy’s mother had suggested they meet the well-educated son of the Pemberley steward, a young barrister with a close connection with the Darcy family.

From their first meeting, George and Em had taken a decided fancy to one another.

Emmeline Wickham would never have allowed a husband to master her. What she had required was a man who could keep pace, and Wickham was that man. He delighted in her mischief and her willingness to show affection. She loved to dance upon the boundaries of propriety, but she never stepped over—and Wickham was too enamoured of his wife to travel where she would not follow.

Despite Darcy’s distaste for his mother’s efforts on his own behalf—and his growing alarm that she might yet succeed with Miss Elizabeth, he had to own this much: Wickham and Em were a perfect match.

They moved on to other topics, but Darcy’s mind had been wandering all evening from Miss Elizabeth to Wickham’s happy marriage and ultimately to Bingley’s disappointment. He lost the thread of conversation until Richard’s voice broke through his reverie.

“—Darcy’s occupation of the field is the sole reason the rest of us are able to sleep at night. You said it yourself, Cousin, back in December. So long as you remain your mother’s principal object, we are comparatively safe.”

“As to that,” Milton said wryly, “you overrate your safety and underrate your attractions.”

This caught Darcy’s attention, for it sounded dangerously like a compliment.

Richard stopped with his glass halfway to his mouth and regarded his brother with deep suspicion. “I beg your pardon?”

Milton did not look at him. “Father has given me permission to tell you, as he dislikes maudlin scenes.”

“I am aware of that much,” Richard said. “Is that all?”

“No. He has completed the arrangements. I saw the papers earlier today.”

Richard’s brows drew together. “What arrangements?”

“Fifteen thousand, settled,” Milton said, and took a measured sip of port. “And Fernilee Manor besides.”

“Fernilee Manor is a house. I have been there.”

“Yes, very perceptive, Dickie. It is a decent size and has land, a home farm, and a new roof. It is also in the Peak, near Matlock, which Father knows is the country you love best.”

For once, Richard had nothing droll to say.

“You have not sought out a wife because you did not think you could afford one. Now you can. Which means you should leave the army and come home.” Milton took a sip of his drink. “And find yourself a woman who will take you before your aunt realises you are eligible.”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Richard looked down at his glass. His hand was quite steady, but Darcy, who had known him all his life, could see that he was deeply touched.

He rallied quickly. “I feel I am being insulted,” he said, “but the figures are making it difficult to be certain.”

Milton cleared his throat and returned to his wine. “You are being handsomely insulted. Do try to keep up.”

George looked from one brother to the other with a wide smile upon his face. “The earl has provided Richard with a dowry?”

“Would you take him for nothing?” Milton inquired.