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“Did you not notice when our duet became a solo?” Georgie laughed. “You seem rather preoccupied,” she teased.

Elizabeth and Darcy both admitted they had failed to notice the change.

“A footman came from Matlock House to escort Brunhilda back,” explained Georgie. “Apparently cousin Robert has finally made an appearance.”

Chapter 44: The vice man cometh

If disaster had been averted at the Darcy townhouse thanks to Darcy’s candour and respect for Elizabeth, a very different story was unfolding across the square. Word had reached Matlock House the previous day that Robert was finally on the way home. The countess had decided not to apprise Princess Brunhilda in advance, lest her son failed yet again to appear, but against her better judgement, she had caved into her husband’s insistence to put all in train for the celebration of the nuptials. In the earl’s opinion, the thing ought to be done quickly.

Having finally been cornered by the Bow Street runners, Robert Fitzwilliam, Viscount Stanley, was escorted back to Grosvenor Square. Accompanied to the front door of Matlock House, Robert was relieved to discover the runners did not intend to cross the threshold. Finding himself alone after the footman who had opened the door went off, Robert quietly crossed the vestibule, intending to slip down the servants’ stairs. His plan was to escape through the back garden. But upon traversing the servants’ hall, Lord Stanley opened the back door to find yet another Bow Street runner knocking the tobacco from his pipe on the step.

“Afternoon, guv’nor,” the runner remarked casually to the viscount. “Nice garden you have here.”

Grinding his teeth, Robert returned inside where he encountered his father in the hall, stepping out of his study. Although the earl had been ranting and raving about his prodigal son for the past several weeks, all was forgotten when he saw his eldest had finally done his duty and returned to the nest.

“Robert! My boy!” he said, clapping his son across the shoulders and pulling him into a one-armed bear hug. “Well, come upstairs and kiss your mother. Wait till you meet the princess! She is a gem—handsome and jovial! She has had us all in stitches laughing at her jokes!”

Robert was already wondering about his father’s use of the epithet ‘handsome’ rather than ‘beautiful’ or that dreaded word ‘pretty’, which was generally bestowed on every eligible plain Jane. He wasn’t about to get leg-shackled to anyone, least of all a jokesmith—how abominable to wake up to that after a hard night’s drinking!

As the earl’s butler descended the grand staircase towards the pair, the earl shot him a question.

“Is Hildie in, Greaves?”

“No, sir. She went avisiting with Miss Georgie, but I saw the carriage return to the Darcy townhouse. Shall I fetch her from there?”

“Yes, Greaves, immediately.”

“Father, this is unnecessary!” protested Robert. “I’ll just go off to the Continent again to evade the tipstaffs.”

“No, Robert, that won’t wash—a more permanent solution is required. Besides, your last trip to the Continent was rather expensive.”

“I’m not getting riveted to pay off a few grimy debts!” declared Robert.

The short period of amicability between father and son was over. The hand that had been fondly grasping his son’s bicep moved swiftly upwards to deal the viscount a ringing cuff on his ear. Breaking free, Robert attempted to land his father a facer, which was angrily deflected by the earl, the emerald ring on Lord Matlock’s finger bruising his son’s knuckles.

“Just try me!” snarled Geoffrey Fitzwilliam. “You may be able to run faster than me now, but I’ll wager that’s all! Five to one I can still knock you down!”

Having regained his temper after having his ear boxed, the viscount decided it would be safest not to take his father’s bet. They glared at each other like two angry dogs facing off. However, the sounds of the altercation had been sufficient to draw the countess from her drawing room.

“Robert! Dear!” came her voice from the top of the stairs. “I was just about to have tea! Do come up! Where is Greaves? We must fetch Princess Brunhilda at once!”

“Already done, Cissy!” replied the earl jovially.

Robert sighed. It looked like he was going to have to endure tea. What a dead bore!

Installed in a fauteuil upstairs, Robert accepted a cup from his mother while she fussed over him, smoothing his hair and telling him he looked a trifle pale. The countess began singing Princess Brunhilda’s praises, with the earl acting as a gruff chorus. Robert listened impatiently, exerting himself enough to harumph occasionally.

Shortly afterwards, the door opened, but instead of Princess Brunhilda, Robert’s younger brother, Richard Fitzwilliam walked in. Already suspecting that Richard was the one who had set the runners onto him, and now doubly suspicious at his brother’s immaculate timing in arriving at such a crucial moment, Robert attacked.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled.

“Came for tea,” answered Richard innocently.

Robert glowered.

Attempting to head off any contretemps between her children, the countess proceeded to fill her eldest son in on all the latest on dits, some involving his school friends from Eton. Finally, a woman’s voice could be heard chatting pleasantly to Greaves as she ascended the stairs. With suitable pomp, Greaves opened the door to announce her.

“Princess Brunhilda von Wolfbach!”