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Finally, Mr Trevor reappeared with the princess’s man and Darcy was summoned to a nearby desk to sign the settlements on his uncle’s behalf. The princess rang her bell again. A maid appeared with a magnum of champagne, prompting Mr Trevor to propose a toast to the bride, following which another was drunk in honour of the groom, in absentia. Darcy sipped his champagne quietly, noting the intelligent conversation of the two ladies in a language that was not their own. Mr Trevor began contributing the occasional comment and witticism, some of them in German, prompting Darcy to join the fray.

After a third bottle was called for and broached, Darcy was quite taken aback to hear the princess make a blue joke. Convinced he must have misheard her, he was trying to reparse her utterance into speech more befitting of a lady, when Bingley completely mortified him by elaborating on the jest. To his utter shock, the princess burst into full-throated laughter and slapped her thigh, while Madame Bamberg resorted to tittering behind her fan. It was at that moment that Darcy decided it would be prudent to leave before any more wine could be consumed.

Getting up, he said all that was proper. On behalf of the whole party, he accepted the princess’s offer of a tour of the city on the morrow, followed by a visit to the opera in the evening and a formal dinner the day after. They made tentative arrangements for their departure in three days hence—a time dictated by the princess as the minimum necessary to arrange removal of her retinue and effects.

After their guests departed, Princess Hilda looked at her friend and grimaced.

“Oh, dear, Tilly,” she sighed, reverting to her native Germanic tongue. “I fear Mr Darcy did not appreciate my wedding joke. I am afraid I was a little nervous that yet another one would jilt me. I am glad my uncle was not present, else I would have been scolded once more for my barracks humour.”

“Well, he is not here, Hildie, so do not despair. They signed the papers and that is all that matters. By all accounts, the earl is desperate to secure a well-dowered bride for the viscount. I do not think they will back down.”

“I only hope I can handle the viscount. The Swedish envoy described him as a hardened reprobate.”

“Have courage, Hildie,” said Tilly, squeezing her friend’s hand. “Given that neither of your uncles have married, you are your family’s only hope. Your parents would be proud of you.”

After leaving the princess’s abode, Darcy’s attempt to return directly to their own palais was thwarted by Bingley.

“Oh, come now, Darcy! We cannot go home yet! We’ve come halfway across the world to secure this princess for your cousin. We need to celebrate!”

“We’ve already polished off three magnums of champagne, Bingley.”

“Oh, pish! I’m only half sprung! You’ve dwelt in your cabin like a hermit for the whole of the voyage down the Danube. I hear there are some very good beer halls in the Leopoldstadt.”

Seeing that his friend was disinclined to be conciliating, Bingley then turned to their companion. “Mr Trevor, this has been a tremendous amount of work for you. Surely you feel like celebrating?”

“I really should send the earl’s copy of the settlements off to England,” apologized Mr Trevor, “and I need to go back to the Baden to secure it for the return voyage.”

“Nonsense, I doubt you will find a courier willing to start near sundown, and the Leopoldstadt is between here and the dock, so it will not hurt to have a tankard of ale on your way.”

Neither Darcy nor Mr Trevor was inclined to accept Bingley’s offer, but neither did they wish to offend the other. By some skilful arm-twisting, Bingley managed to imply to Darcy that Mr Trevor’s hard work needed to be acknowledged, and to Mr Trevor that Darcy needed to relax for his own health. Despite his tendency to act like a squib in his older sisters’ presence, Bingley had a talent for convincing people—it was the chief thing that Darcy admired about him. Bingley was tall, he had the gift of the gab, and he was enthusiastic. Raising money for business enterprises was his forté. In short time, Darcy and Mr Trevor found themselves in a fiaker with Bingley.

Bingley’s sign language and the magic name of Leopoldstadt were easily interpreted by their driver, who deposited them not fifteen minutes later at a cheery beer hall where buxom serving maids abounded. To the accompaniment of the music of a loud accordion band, Mr Trevor dutifully downed his tankard in the space of half an hour and headed off to the docks, hoping he might not be accosted or fall into the Danube in his inebriated state. After watching the earl’s secretary depart, Bingley called for another round and got to the main reason for their excursion.

“Heavens, Darcy! I am so frustrated! I have not spent two weeks cooped up with my sisters for years! This,” he said, laying down a gilt-edged card on the table, “is apparently one of the best brothels in the world. Everyone used to visit it on their grand tour!”

“Oh, Bingley! Not tonight! Why do you not go tomorrow with Hurst?”

“Now, Darcy, how can I do that? Hurst is my brother-in-law. I can hardly cart him off to a fancy house. Louisa threw a dreadful tantrum the last time I did it. Tonight’s the night. Hurst chose to stay at home rather than go with us to the palais and now I can enjoy myself with a clear conscience. Come on, man!”

Darcy spent the half-hour it took him to finish his second tankard trying to persuade Bingley they should go home, but his heart was not in it. He too was frustrated, both by the failure of his proof and his dreams of Miss Elizabeth. He had not visited a brothel for years, but nor had he seen the duchess for months now. Surely his dreams of Miss Elizabeth demonstrated the strain of his celibacy?

The place was not two blocks from the beer hall. Bingley, well prepared for their adventure, pulled a roll of soft from his waistcoat pocket as soon as they were through the door and got immediate attention. They were each handed a glass of port and led upstairs.

They found themselves in a luxurious salon full of gilt-edged furniture and women who contrived to be both over- and underdressed at the same time; bare shoulders and arms combined with elaborate jewels. Darcy knew his choice as soon as he laid eyes on her. He hardly registered what she was wearing—it was the dark, almond-shaped eyes and chestnut hair that immediately drew his attention, just like hers. The courtesan smiled knowingly at him as he surveyed her, and the madam, seeing his gaze fixed, approached. After a whispered exchange with him, the entremetteuse signalled the girl with her fan.

As the woman got up and slipped out of the room, Darcy finally noticed she was wearing a wine-red silk, cut low across her bosom. Finishing his port, Darcy surveyed Bingley over the rim of his glass, already laughing in a corner surrounded by three beauties. He wondered how his friend could be so at ease with people he did not know from a bar of soap.

Then the madam led Darcy down a dark but sumptuously furnished hall, stopping at a chinoiserie cabinet set into a niche from which she withdrew several lamb’s gut sheaths, depositing them into his palm. Opening a door, she held aside a curtain and ushered him through.

He found himself in a bedchamber decorated in a rococo style dominated by a massive bed. The headboard was moulded and painted to resemble a shell. Sitting posed upon the pillows to display her fleshy legs was the woman, wearing only a black corset tied under her white breasts. He found her blatant sexuality repulsive; would have preferred her to greet him in the red dress she had been wearing or a diaphanous gown; but he approached the bed nonetheless and mechanically began to strip off his clothes. Kicking off the last stocking, he reached the bed naked as Adam, holding one of the sheaths in his hand.

After she helped him put it on, he bent down to kiss her, imagining it was Elizabeth’s lips that he was silencing after she had issued a volley of words at him. He trailed kisses down her neck and onto her breasts. But upon reaching her nipples, he found she had coloured them with rouge and drew his hand across his mouth to try to rid himself of the bitter taste. She fell to kissing him with hot lips, pressing him back against the pillows and sticking her tongue in his mouth. Her precipitate ardour caused him to flinch away. Then she climbed on top of him. He had not remembered much after that, or at least, he had thankfully forgot it.

Darcy woke to the sound of splashing water, with a sense that not much time had passed. The woman was sitting astride a French-style bidet in a corner of the room, cleaning herself. She smiled at him leeringly when she noticed his gaze, as if welcoming his voyeurism. Darcy suddenly felt intensely disgusted with himself, remembering why he had gladly avoided brothels while dallying with Almeria for the last few years. Why had he let Bingley drag him to this den of vice?

Getting up, he peeled off the sheath, dropping it into a brass vase that had clearly been left on a low side table for the purpose. Two other sheaths rested at the bottom. He dressed quickly, suddenly determined to be out of the place, winding his cravat round his neck like a stock and tying the ends with a careless knot. So eager was he to be gone that he pulled his top-boots onto his naked feet and stuffed his stockings into his pockets.

Emerging into the dark hall he almost stumbled into the madam.