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“What has changed?” asked the countess, who had entered the room so quietly that neither he nor Miss Elizabeth had been aware of her presence.
“Howard’s methods,” Darcy explained as he stood to greet his aunt. “With Georgiana, there was no physical attack.”
“Perhaps he thought Georgiana, being so young, would be easier to persuade,” the countess offered. “Or perhaps he was made angry when Miss Howard’s ruination became known.”
“What?” Darcy asked, shocked. “There are rumors? Who started them? How could I have been unaware?”
The countess raised her eyebrows. “I do not know, William. They have been in circulation for some time.”
Elizabeth leaned forward. “Pray, pardon me for asking, Lady Matlock, but is the source of the rumors something you could discover? It might be important.”
“Why?” the countess asked.
Darcy groaned. “Because Howard may believe that I am to blame.”
Elizabeth barely had time to register Mr. Darcy’s statement when the door was flung open and a fashionably dressed man entered the room, the butler trailing helplessly behind him. She had teased Miss Darcy about her brother’s penchant for black clothing, but she preferred his sober appearance to the dandy who appeared before them now. He was handsome in a way the colonel was not, but his auburn hair was the same color and fashionably disarranged. He was arrayed in a bright blue coat, a waistcoat adorned in wide horizontal stripes of blue and gold, and a gleaming white shirt. He wore buff-colored trousers cut long with a slit over the shoe. There were no buckles on those shoes; rather, they were fastened with silk bows.
The countess was affectionately exasperated with the man. “Henry, when did you arrive home? You have not yet met Miss Bennet, your cousin’s betrothed.”
Henry. It must be Colonel Fitzwilliam’s elder brother.
Mr. Darcy sighed. His exasperation was not as fond as his aunt’s. “Miss Bennet,” he said formally, “may I introduce my most troublesome cousin, the Viscount Milton?”
“Your best-dressed cousin, you mean. Miss Bennet,” the viscount bowed so deeply Elizabeth suspected he was mocking her. “Your servant.”
“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir,” she replied, casting an uncertain glance at Mr. Darcy. That worthy gentleman was frowning.
“I arrived late last night, Mama,” the gentleman said as he took a seat next to her. “Or rather, early this morning. Father was in raptures over some letter he was sending off to Kent.”
The countess shook her head fondly. “I should have known he would write Catherine.”
Viscount Milton shrugged. “I hope you do not mind, Miss Bennet, but I have come to take Darcy away for a time.”
“Of course,” Elizabeth replied hesitantly.
The viscount nearly bounded over to Mr. Darcy to take him by the arm. He was immediately shaken off. “Come, Darcy,” the viscount reprimanded. “Father told me all. No one will believe for an instant that you have married willingly if you do not show your face at the club with me and offer a toast to your lovely bride!”
“You really are the most insufferable peacock, Henry,” Mr. Darcy responded, crossing his arms over his chest.
Elizabeth bit her tongue. It was all she could do to keep from laughing at the pair of them. She could imagine them as boys together, the elder always goading the younger. She wondered whether the colonel had sided with Mr. Darcy or with his own brother. The viscount had likely taken them both on without a single qualm.
The viscount elbowed Darcy in the ribs. “You must write your name and wedding date in the books, Darcy! Fortunes will be made and lost today!” He exited the room in a flurry of arm waving, a call for his hat traveling back to them from the hall.
Elizabeth was still forming the question when Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I am not going, Elizabeth. I would prefer to spend the day with you.”
“Oh, pish-posh,” his aunt protested. “You shall have her all to yourself after tomorrow. Elizabeth and I have yet to discuss the wedding breakfast. It will be a small gathering as so many of our friends are not yet in town. Still, we must make what we can of it.”
“Aunt,” Mr. Darcy said warningly. “Fitz was not sure it would be safe.”
“Pair of old ladies, the two of you,” the viscount scoffed as he returned, doffing his hat, tossing a greatcoat at Mr. Darcy, and reaching back to take a walking stick from the aged butler. “I receive threats on my life every day.”
Mr. Darcy folded the coat over his arm. “You deserve them.”
“True,” his cousin agreed amiably. He gave the head of his stick a twist and lifted it from the wood by a few inches.
Mr. Darcy rolled his eyes. “Which is why you carry a blade hidden in your walking stick.”
“You ought to have one made, Darcy, now you shall have a pretty wife to protect,” the viscount advised, smiling at Elizabeth. “You are not half bad with a foil, and it is always wise to be prepared.” He slid the weapon back into place. His dark eyes twinkled. “Also, I have been in three duels this week.”
