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“I beg your pardon, sir, but Miss Georgie had just asked me to remind you of tea when I was summoned to your assistance.”

Darcy glanced with some surprise at the clock and saw it was already a quarter past eleven. With a nod to Farley, he invited his uncle to tea, all the while hoping he would instead take himself off. Unfortunately, Lord Geoffrey was not inclined to do so, knowing the company at White’s was always rather thin before noon.

As they headed into the hallway, the earl retrieved the thread of the conversation.

“You cannot be too careful with these Cits, Nephew. They will have the matter before the courts if you do not beware. The best way to avoid that is to make yourself scarce, as Robert has done when necessary.”

Darcy bridled at this comparison to his dissolute cousin but had no wish to discuss the topic in front of his sister.

“Yes!” said Lord Geoffrey, immediately seeing a solution to both their problems, “the way forward is clear! You need to spend some time on the Continent, dear boy, like your father before you! It was considered a necessary part of a young gentleman’s education before Boney came along and ruined everything! And what better way to see it than by doing your uncle a favour and going to Vienna!”

Since his uncle had made this pronouncement as he stepped over the threshold into the parlour, Darcy was considerably annoyed on following him to see that his sister and her companion were not alone—the Bingley sisters had come to call.

“Are you going to Vienna, Mr Darcy?” asked Caroline. “What a delightful scheme!”

“It is just conjecture, Miss Bingley,” said Darcy, hoping desperately that Caroline and Louisa had not witnessed the ejection of Mr Gardiner.

Over tea, Darcy tried gallantly to turn the subject from the projected trip to the Continent to more mundane topics. His uncle and Miss Bingley conspired against him to such an extent that by the time he had finished his scones and tea, they had settled the proposed itinerary between them.

“Do not worry, Nephew,” said his uncle, finally taking himself off. “My secretary, Mr Trevor, will handle everything. I should imagine it will not take him more than a few days, and you can be off!”

Annoyed, and with no intention of stepping off British shores, Darcy used his uncle’s leave-taking to bid the ladies good day and returned to the study to deal with his correspondence. His mind, however, was elsewhere. It occurred to him that he had placed his hands on Miss Elizabeth’s waist during the waltz. It was just like a set of country bumpkins to make a big deal of it! He then recalled how he had been startled when the musicians had struck up the waltz; had thought it imprudent of Caroline to include the controversial dance in the ball. No doubt, she was keen to show the provincials how à la mode she was!

A few more lines were written before further mortifying reflections intruded. He had carried Miss Elizabeth up the stairs, and a cosy armful he had thought her at the time! Was that also common knowledge in Meryton? Louisa Hurst had advised him to wait for a footman. He had dismissed her concerns. Worse still, he had returned to Miss Elizabeth’s room alone afterwards with the cameo. Had Elizabeth Bennet revealed that piece of damning information to her uncle? He felt a little betrayed just imagining it. Still, Darcy began to think that Mr Gardiner’s indignation was not so unjustified. Nevertheless, he reminded himself, it was unreasonable to expect him to marry a country squire’s daughter for such a trifle!

Darcy opened the window to the garden to breathe the fresh air. Sitting back in his chair, he tried to imagine a conversation with Almeria on the topic. He was sure she would not think it necessary for him to marry on such grounds, but… she would probably urge him to try to think of the situation from the lady’s point of view. Although it appeared a trifle to him, the loss of a lady’s reputation could immeasurably harm her marriage prospects, especially if she had little or no dowry, and he did know that to be the case with Elizabeth Bennet.

The air from outside was crisp and, having breathed his fill of it, Darcy stood to close the sash when his movements were arrested by a robin that alighted on the sill. It had a beautiful bright red breast. The bird watched him with an inquisitive eye.

“You are very pretty,” he murmured as he stepped towards it, encouraging it to depart, yet silently admiring it for its boldness and wishing it would stay, “but you do not belong here.”

With one more step the robin was gone and he closed the latch.

Adjusting his jewelled cufflinks, Darcy’s duty became clear to him. If Mr Gardiner should call again, Darcy would express his sympathies while remaining firm in defence of his conduct. He would offer Miss Elizabeth’s uncle some money for her dowry. A few thousand pounds should be sufficient to allow a prospective husband to overlook a small slip on a lady’s part. It was true, he reflected, that money could solve all problems.

Finishing his letter before getting up to go out, Darcy was assisted into his coat by Farley in the vestibule.

“I am sorry if I was mistaken in admitting Mr Gardiner earlier, sir,” his footman said. “I’ll see that he does not bother you again.”

“Not at all, Farley. I am afraid my uncle took offence at something he said, but I do not think it was unreasonable in the circumstances. Should he call again, admit him, provided my uncle is not with me; otherwise arrange an appointment. I cannot like the way my uncle ejected him.”

“No, sir. I am sorry if I did wrong to assist the earl, but in the circumstances…”

“I understand, Farley. It would not do to gainsay my uncle. It was unfortunate that he was present when Mr Gardiner called.”

And with what he thought to be admirable generosity of spirit, Darcy took himself off to Charles’ club, Boodle’s, where he had agreed to play his friend at billiards that afternoon. Peace, however, was not to be found there. Caroline had primed her brother well. He was bubbling over with excitement at the prospect of joining his friend on the tour to Vienna.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was added when Darcy and Bingley dined at Watier’s later. The earl walked in as they were eating their cheese and sat down to help them polish off their wine.

“I have a proposal, Darcy,” said the earl, surveying him over the brim of his glass. “Get Robert’s princess from Vienna and I’ll do you a deal—I’ll give you carte blanche to do the townhouses any way you wish.”

Chapter 12: Of Books

At Longbourn, Lizzy was happily, or perhaps not so happily, unaware of these manoeuvrings on her part. She had spent a lonely night in the bed she had shared with Jane from the time they were little girls. True, they had been parted before, but always with the knowledge that the split was temporary. Now, Elizabeth knew not when she would see her beloved sister again.

She had gone to her father’s study after breakfast to begin the arduous and sad task of packing and sorting his library. Her uncle, Mr Philips, had promised to send crates from Meryton for the purpose of transporting the books to London. For the moment, Elizabeth was dusting and rearranging the volumes into those that were inscribed ‘Matthew Bennet’ and those labelled, ‘Bennet Esquire, Longbourn’. Thus had her father distinguished between his own property and that which had been purchased with funds from the estate. No doubt Papa had thought for some time that his own son would one day be the possessor of both sets of books, but after four centuries the name Bennet would no longer be associated with Longbourn. It seemed a sad oversight on the part of their forbear, Thomas Bennet, who had set up the entail to prevent its diminution among females under Norman law. Many other entailed properties required the heir to take the family name but not Longbourn. Now, the master was ‘Collins Esquire of Longbourn’.

Dusting each volume, Elizabeth set those bequeathed to Mary and herself back onto shelves she had allocated for them, while the estate’s books were arranged roughly into alphabetical piles by author on her father’s desk, ready to be itemised. As she sorted, it occurred to Lizzy that with the exception of the works in Latin and Greek, she had read almost every volume in her father’s library—mostly voluntarily, but occasionally at her father’s bidding. He had urged her to read some of the heavier philosophical works to broaden her mind, but it was clear from the ensuing discussions that her father felt the need for an intellectual companion. Inheriting Longbourn had been a double-edged sword for Papa—it had freed him from the ecclesiastical studies that he had grown to hate, enabling him to study what he wished, but it had also ultimately robbed him of the intellectual environment he had loved at Oxford. Unable to bear the companionship of his pretty but uneducated wife, Mr Bennet had retreated to his library and groomed his second eldest daughter to fill the void left by his alma mater. Now each volume was touched and remembered by his intellectual heir as it was catalogued.