As soon as he was away from the inhabited area, Darcy spurred his horse into a gallop. His emotions needed the air to vent them. It was not so long ago that he had held her in his arms, and now some lewd, common drinkers were abusing her name. He remembered every word uttered by Tidwell, and then willed himself to forget all of them so as not to fan his fury even further.

He realised he was angry at Vian for literally beating him to the punch more than anything else and knew at the same time how petty his uncontrolled emotions were. There would be little he could do. Not only with such mean excuses for gentlemen as the locals here, but also within his own sphere. He knew well that many would rather compare Elizabeth to their own mistresses than to their wives, and he knew that even more would entertain some licentious thoughts about her. He could not possibly be the only man in the world so strongly attracted to her. No, if he did not have the example of Vian directly before him, it would be enough to remember his own cousin. Damn, if he hated to even introduce her to his own family, not to mention society in general, then why should he worry about a little inconsequential scum.

Yet worry he did, and he could not help wishing he could whisk her away from the outside world and lock her firmly in his arms.

It was madness. He had to admit it. He could not imprison her nor censure the thoughts of others. He could not even comprehend why he felt as he did. In a way he supposed he had always been jealous when it came to her. As unpleasant as admitting such a base feeling was, he had to be honest with himself. But now, somehow, his newly acquired right to her demanded its exclusivity, and the awareness of this was most disturbing. Jealousy could be understandable under the previous circumstances, but envy under the present ones was not.

His main concern early this morning had been whether she would ever have him. How quickly he had forgotten!

The reminder of her nearness and their shared kisses had had an immediately soothing effect on him. She would be his and only his to touch, kiss and caress. His own. No one would ever take her from him. But as satisfying as this thought was, it was still too fresh to be easily trusted.

Was he guilty of envy? He most probably was, and he needed to tame this feeling before it would slip out of his control. He was well aware that he had almost revealed the news of their engagement to Vian just to see the look on the Frenchman’s face. He would risk their privacy and his own word to her for such a trivial reason!

God, he needed to stop this and soon! He was risking losing her love if he were to go further in this direction. He needed to admire her and show her his trust, not let himself be poisoned by malice.

He slowed his horse to a trot and turned in the direction of Clyne. His thoughts took another turn. He would not allow Vian to deal with Tidwell alone. The mere fact that the man would not even ask about what he himself knew was evidence enough that Vian was not competent enough to deal with it properly. He would never resolve it once and for all. Vian was correct in that it was his family that was endangered by this man, but he did not know that Elizabeth was Darcy’s family too now. Surely he could simply take Elizabeth away soon enough to spare her the rake’s presence, but still, it was her family and she would not rest easy until they were safe and secure at Rosefarm. No, he would not leave it alone as Vian wished. He would still try to find out as much as he could on his own, and he would act accordingly.

Brougham returned home and cautiously poked his head into his library. He let out a sigh of relief upon observing it was empty. With a fresh newspaper in hand, he settled into his favourite chair and smiled contentedly.

Darcy was right. It had been a damn silly idea to hire a librarian during his own stay at Clyne. He preferred to have his home to himself, and now the library barely resembled the favourite place in the world that it had been for him. He looked around to gauge the progress of the work. The many stacks of books that had been covering the floor not so very long ago were now slowly disappearing. It still might be a week or two before Miss Tournier would be finished with it, but not longer.

Good. He would be content with not only having his library to himself again, but also with having it vacated by the librarian at last. He now looked back to his arrival to Clyne with an almost aching longing for those quiet and peaceful days. Even the arrival of his friend had been fine and not really objectionable, for it had not disturbed the silence very much and had provided some entertainment in the bargain. He gave a small chuckle and decided that perhaps entertainment was not the word that should be used in conjunction with his friend, but some sort of diversion was always in the offing where he was concerned.

However, he found himself avoiding Miss Tournier’s presence more and more, which lately had resulted from his being exiled from his own home when she was in it. Their discussion this morning was only just one more reason to add to his already ample supply of them. They had not exactly got along well with each other from the very beginning, but at that time he had only thought her impertinent, and although he had not been ready to admit it and behave in the silly manner his friend seemed to entertain nowadays, he had observed that she was quite pretty. He had even looked forward to her working for him, hoping for a pleasant battle of wits. This, however, was not to be, for he had since decided that wit and pleasantness were two things completely lacking within her. Actually, by now she had fully convinced him that she did not have a sense of humour at all. No matter what he might say she seemed to wilfully take it offensively, and her response or remarks always came off as rude. He no longer saw her as impertinent at all. She was insolent. And if Darcy was too blind to notice it, sooner or later it would become his friend’s misery, because now Brougham was certain that Miss Bennet’s impertinence was in fact insolence as well. He was, in fact, no longer surprised by Miss Bennet’s attitude towards his friend. If she and her cousin were of one mind – and of course they had to be, as all young women are to their close confidantes – then it seemed clear now why she would not have him.

And now, some hours later as he sat in the long desired peaceful silence of his empty library, he found himself further resentful that he was now marring the coveted experience by dwelling on such unpleasantness. It was at that exact moment that he suddenly realised where he had gone wrong in his talk with Miss Tournier. His mistake had come in that he had spoken to her at all. He resolved that as soon as conditions allowed him to return to the days of holidays casually spent in the company of the well-bred deer’s head hanging over his mantle, he would never again let anything vulgar and gross intercede to ruin it. Some women, he mused, should never be encouraged to talk. It was a sure way to lose all of the presumption of grace and good sense that one might charitably attribute to them before all hope of those attributes was decidedly lost when they opened their mouths and spoke.

Brougham sighed. If young lassies showed a bit more sharpness, just as Mrs. Tournier did, the world might be a much more interesting place. He sat back and gazed up at the trophy head, mounted so long ago by its previous owner.

“It will be just you and me one day again, you know. It will happen. Darcy will not stay around playing the lap dog for very much longer.

“What is that you say? You have faith in him? I do as well, my friend. I do as well.”

It was then that he heard Darcy coming in, but since his friend went directly to his chamber, he himself chose to remain in the privacy of his favourite room even longer, and when he later decided he had still not got quite enough of it, he also ordered their dinner served there.

Darcy entered the room with some obvious doubts written on his countenance.

“Brougham, I am certain one could find a place in your house less stuffed than the head of your stag.”

“Darcy, good to see you too.” Brougham smirked and added with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes, “I have heard congratulations are in order.”

Darcy looked at him, surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Why, you must be engaged!”

Darcy was speechless. He could not contradict it, but the fact that Elizabeth had betrayed their secret hurt him deeply.

Brougham observed his friend’s painful expression and realised his mistake.

“I am sorry Darcy. It seems ill manners and bad humour are contagious. I shall place the blame where it rightly belongs and confess that it was Miss Tournier who seemed to expect that a gentleman must become engaged as soon as he chooses to ask a lady to dance. Apparently she learnt of your dancing with Miss Bennet at the fair and decided to tell me I should keep you on a shorter leash. And I shall blame you as well, for it seems you were very sly with me and did not share that bit of information. It must have had its considerable share in your improved humour yesterday.”

Darcy gazed at Brougham, still a bit confused.

“No, I… well, we do not usually discuss our dancing partners, do we?”

“You do not usually dance.”

Darcy smiled bashfully. “I had no idea I should inform you every time I do something that you consider out of the ordinary.”

Brougham sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and added casually, “I am surprised Monsieur Vian did not perform the duty with Miss Bennet. The two of them seem inseparable.”

“I think you must be mistaken.” Darcy took a chair at the other side of the table.

“How so?”

“I do not think they spend a lot of time together.”

“Well, after observing their familiarity yesterday, and seeing them out together today, I would call them familiar enough.”

“What?” Darcy looked sharply at Brougham.

“Why, I saw them today on my way to town. They looked intimate enough to not warrant my interruption, so I refrained from it.”

Darcy gazed at his friend strangely but said nothing.

“But then,” Brougham added, pouring wine into the glasses, “maybe there was another reason for their standing in the middle of the road, talking intimately and being so oblivious to all the world around that they did not even notice me off in the distance.”

Brougham’s shrewd eyes looked piercingly at his still silent friend.

“So Darcy, how did it come about that you performed as dancing partner for Miss Bennet instead of Monsieur Vian? Did she decide to show some compassion or was it rather a magnanimous gesture offered by him, the victor?”

“I see you think me a loser.”

Brougham looked at his friend with disbelief. Exactly when had Darcy lost all sense of reality?

“Forgive me if I sound too harsh, but I believe I saw you lose yesterday. Two contests at one time!”

“Your tone is beside the point. What I disagree with is your assessment of the situation.”

“Why not enlighten me then. What made you dance with Miss Bennet?”

“She did.” Darcy answered while calmly cutting his veal.

“I see.” Brougham uttered. Suddenly, his own words unpleasantly reminded him of his earlier and most vexing conversation with Miss Tournier. When his friend was not forthcoming with explanations he continued, determined to be clear and concise about his intended meaning.

“She asked you to dance. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Darcy reached for the bottle of wine and refilled their glasses.

“Is that a new custom or are women so determined nowadays?”

Darcy looked at Brougham impatiently. “She asked me to dance. We did. That is the end of it.”

“And where was Monsieur Vian, may I ask?”

“How would I know? I am not his keeper,” Darcy said, his eyes now taking in his friend. “Just as you are not mine.”

Brougham ignored the implied message and said triumphantly, “Just as I told Miss Tournier this very afternoon! I told her you were not a dog! But that is neither here nor there. I do believe we were discussing dancing.

“Let us see… Miss Bennet was in the mood for a dance, her partner had temporarily abandoned her, you chivalrously stepped into his place and looked to her needs, and voila, suddenly you feel yourself a winner because you were given some leftovers one afternoon? I do not even recognise you, Darcy.”

“Yes, I think you mistake me with someone else.”

Brougham, usually one to retreat when Darcy became vexed, did not back down this time.

“What a pity then for you that her partner was back at her side today and your assistance was no longer needed.”

Darcy gazed coolly at Brougham. Nothing betrayed his emotions except the clunk of his glass when it touched the table a little too harshly.

“I would request that you refrain from using the word partner.”

“How would you like me to refer to him then? Admirer? Paramour? Lover?”

“That is quite enough. I suggest we change the subject.”

“Very well then.”

Brougham paid Darcy a look clearly indicating that all was indeed not well. He cleared his throat before speaking again.

“We have been invited to a dinner. I took the liberty of accepting for us both.”

“When?”

“Does it matter? Do you have some other engagements?”

“I would like to know when I am obligated for this one.”

“In two days time.”

Darcy raised his brow and glanced Brougham’s way. “Quite short notice.”

“The host was so kind that I decided not to be capricious about it.” The man also had some fair company to offer, but Brougham would not admit that had been his goal all along.

“I thought you did not favour so much socialising while here.”

“Well, I rather think it is too late for such considerations. I have socialised to the point of no return on this trip already, as I am sure you would agree. Besides, it would not do to associate ourselves only with the lower classes and not recognise our own.”

“Who is it then?”

“Sir Tristan Torence. He returned for the harvest and was kind enough to call on me two days ago. Today I repaid his politeness.”

“I see.” Darcy kept his eyes on his plate. “He must be a great favourite of yours if you keep meeting him so frequently.”

“He is quite sensible like me and does not socialise much.”

“You, Brougham, are a veritable social butterfly, just not when you are here.”

“True, and he is as well – in Town, when among his own.”

“You mean to say not with the lower gentry.”

“Exactly.”

“Quite impolite for a local laird.”

“Well, he does do everything that charity demands.”

“I see.” Darcy felt offended by the remark and all it indicated, but let it go.

“His wife and daughters visit the poor and help with the local Sunday school.”

“Daughters?”

“Yes, Prudence and Patience. Both are extremely charming women. I trust even your fastidious tastes will be gratified by their musical skills and lively conversation.”

Darcy looked at Brougham doubtfully. He would never have believed it if someone had predicted it, but he was now willing to swear that Brougham was playing matchmaker for him.

“Musical skills?” He offered feigning interest.

“Indeed. The harp and piano. A delightful duet.”

“I hope it is not Prudence that plays the harp?” Darcy’s lips twitched in an amused smile.*

Brougham laughed at the quip. “No, indeed, Patience does.”

“So which one is Miss Torence?”

“Prudence.” Brougham paid Darcy a joyful look. “Well, you always prefer younger sisters anyway.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.” Brougham raised his glass to his lips and added, “I always think that is because they have less restraint.”

“I see you know me very well then.”

The men ate in silence, while Brougham mused on events. He was not fooled that Darcy would change his interest quickly, but Miss Patience seemed to have lively manners and wit enough to lure Darcy. That his friend could not be impartial to her beauty was obvious, but he would not mention it now. Sometimes it was better to leave things to the power of surprise.

When the gentlemen finished their meal, Brougham opened a bottle of brandy and poured them each one.

“I have some good news to drink to.”

“You do?”

“Do you remember when I told you I offered Miss Tournier help with that Mr. Tidwell?”

“I do.” Darcy’s interest was piqued.

“The matter is solved, or soon will be. I met Mr. Vian on my way back this afternoon. He was alone this time, and we had a short but frank talk. It seems he is not that insensible after all and he will take care of his family, thus negating any further need for my services. I offered to help, of course, but he told me he would deal with the cad himself and only desired any information I had. It seems Miss Tournier apprised him of previous events and of my witnessing Tidwell’s behaviour during the ball at the Steeles. I was most obliging in revealing everything I knew, and he assured me the intelligence was all he needed to accomplish his task. Anyway, I am sufficiently off the hook, so to speak.”

“And exactly how much had you done to aid in the cause these last several weeks anyway?” Darcy’s good humour was lost again.

“I gathered information.” Brougham seemed most pleased with himself.

“That is to say you simply walked to the other side of the house and talked to Mr. McLaughlin then?”

“Why, if you wish to put it that way, then yes. There was little I could do with the information once I got it anyway.”

“Yes, so it is indeed good news that someone else has an actual plan.”

“Come now, Darcy. It is not like I am attached in any way to the lady, or obligated. Besides, there seemed to be no reason after the ball to worry. He may have been rude there, but the man seemed to keep his distance after, or if he did not I was not informed of it. What was I supposed to do? Go out and look for trouble for her by stirring the pot?”

“No, of course not, but perhaps then it would have been better not to build up her hopes that you would protect her to begin with.”

“I only said I would see if I could help and she condescended.”

“Indeed. That you did.” Darcy rose and put his glass aside. “You will excuse me. I find myself rather tired.”

* A lady playing on the harp was considered an erotic image in Regency times.

This story is written by Laura and Sylwia, and they own full © copyrights to it.

We do appreciate your feedback. Comment on this story here!

Background by