Page 8 of Most Truly the Gentleman

Fitzwilliam grinned. “My prospects are not so dire as all that, I assure you, Cousin. Come now, let us ascend this rise, which I am told is called, somewhat in jest, Oakham Mount, and see what we may see of the landscape.”

They rode up to the top of the prominence, where the whole of the area was spread out before their eyes, even to the Great North Road stretching along a part of the eastern horizon. The gently undulating landscape was a patchwork of greens and browns, broken by stone walls, hedges, stands of trees, roads, houses, the cluster of buildings that was Meryton, and the occasional stream or pond. It was a peaceful scene at this early hour, and in the stillness, Darcy asked his cousin a question which had been preying on his mind more and more as the days went by.

“Are you going back to your regiment?”

“Likely not,” Fitzwilliam replied quietly. “It does not seem that I shall be fit for service again.”

“You are always welcome at Pemberley.”

His cousin turned his head and granted him a small smile. “I know, and I thank you for it. I am considering my options at present. My general thinks there may be work for me in London at the War Office. I also have an invitation to make my home with Aunt Beresford,” he revealed.

Darcy was quite sure he would choose the War Office, if there truly was a place for him there, over being a constant guest in another’s home, however happily offered. “If you choose London, I will insist you reside at Darcy House.”

“Unless I marry a lady with a town house of her own, I shall take you up on that, Cousin.”

5

CIVILITY

Having sufficiently admired the landscape, Darcy and Fitzwilliam urged their mounts forwards again, for the path continued down the opposite side of the mount and they were both in a mood to ride farther before returning. Hardly had they begun the descent when they saw a lady near the bottom of the rise, ascending. She had a light and pleasing figure in her pale green walking dress, and as they drew closer, Darcy could see that she had chestnut curls bobbing merrily along cheeks slightly flushed with exertion under her simple straw bonnet. She was remarkably pretty, and also vaguely familiar.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Fitzwilliam cried jovially, just as Darcy began to try to puzzle out where he had seen her before. “Good morning! How do you do?” He swept an extravagant half-bow from his seat upon Boreas, and Darcy froze for a moment as she beamed and dipped a curtsey. Had he ever seen such a brilliant smile? If he had, he could not recall it.

“Very well indeed, Colonel, but so I always am on such a fine morning,” she claimed cheerfully. “I hope you can say the same?” She then turned and nodded to him, saying civilly, “Mr Darcy,” before returning her attention to his cousin.

“Darcy and I have just followed your advice to view the neighbourhood from atop Oakham Mount,” Fitzwilliam said. “I must thank you for it, and inform you that upon reflection, I may honestly claim to have an appreciation for the bucolic, after all.”

“Well, in that case we may be friends,” she laughingly replied. “I was just on my way to enjoy the same view.”

“Then we shall impede you no longer,” Fitzwilliam said, directing his mount off the path. Darcy followed suit.

“I thank you, sirs. I hope we shall see you at Denby Hall, the evening after next? You may tell your party that Mrs Denby sets a fine table.”

“For my part, I have every intention of being there,” Fitzwilliam said. “I shall not presume to answer for anyone else.”

She smiled and nodded and bade them farewell, though Darcy noted that nearly all of her attention was directed to his cousin. She moved past them and upwards, her stride brisk, and they resumed their descent. When they were out of earshot, Darcy remarked, “I take it you met her last night?”

Fitzwilliam cast him a startled look, pulled his mount up, and burst into laughter. “You do not know her,” he murmured as if to himself after a time, wiping a tear of hilarity from his eye. “Of course. How could it be otherwise?”

“I have not the pleasure of understanding you,” Darcy said stiffly.

Fitzwilliam chuckled and shook his head. “I cannot say whether you were introduced, it is true, but it is entirely comedic that you are able to insult a lady before the company in the evening, and fail to recognise her in the morning. Only you, Cousin. Only you.”

“I am quite certain that I never insulted the lady,” Darcy retorted, offended. “Why should I have done?”

Fitzwilliam smirked, tightening the reins as Boreas shifted restlessly. “Did you not tell Bingley, when he encouraged you to dance, that the lady he suggested as a partner was not pretty enough to receive your attentions?”

Darcy’s face warmed. Now that it was mentioned, he did recall it. Had he looked at the lady his friend attempted to push upon him? He had, for the space of a heartbeat. He recalled dark hair, a yellow gown, and his own overwhelming wish to be any place at all but that teeming, clangorous room. Surely, however, it had been a different lady. He could not have entirely overlooked such beauty, could he? Yet it seemed that he had. “That was a private conversation,” he replied defensively. “I cannot believe Bingley has bruited it about. Someone was eavesdropping, and ought to have kept their tongue between their teeth.”

“The person who ought to have done that was you,” Fitzwilliam said, a smile yet lingering. “You spoke clearly enough to be heard by Miss Elizabeth herself and by at least one other person of the neighbourhood. You know how such things are—it was all over the assembly room within half an hour. I heard of it not terribly long after it occurred, I believe.”

Darcy shifted uneasily in his saddle, causing Zephyr to sidle away from the path. He patted the horse’s neck until he stilled, then told his cousin, “I meant no offence. I only wished to be left alone.”

Fitzwilliam sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I am sure you mean to cause but a tenth of the offence that you do.”

“You speak as though I go about affronting people whenever I leave the house.”

His cousin regarded him seriously. “You do, rather. Have you never realised that your aloof manner and frequent refusal to engage in conversation with anyone not already admitted to your inner circle give the impression that you think far too highly of yourself, and far too meanly of everyone else?”