Beginning, Previous Section, Section VIII

Chapter 35

Posted on October 7. 2008

The Darcy carriage pulled up in front of the Lyceum Theater. The portico was filled with ladies in silken gowns of all hues, on the arms of the few gentlemen still remaining in London. The first to alight, Darcy turned to assist his sister and cousin down. As Victoria appeared, murmurs ran through the crowd. This was her first outing in many months, and with Mr. Darcy escorting her, this was enough to get tongues flapping and reviving long forgotten suppositions.

Victoria had dressed in blue silk with tiny pearls outlining the neckline. A five-sapphire necklace encircled her neck and her hair was pinned up with small sapphire and pearl pendants. The tightness of the gown, even with a high waistline, clearly suggested a small waist lay underneath, which was also an object of the talk among the theatergoers. The younger Georgiana looked sweet in a pink dress covered with a sheer white layer along with a neckline appropriate for her age gave the impression of an angel. Neither young lady paid any attention to the whispers from the women or the gazes of the gentlemen, both choosing to focus their smiles on Darcy.

However, Victoria did search the crowd for a fair haired gentleman, sighing when Blake was not spotted among the people milling around. Noting her sudden quietness, Darcy swiftly led them towards the door, returning nods to acquaintances as they walked, but not stopping to talk.

Two years earlier after suffering a fire, Drury Lane Theater temporarily leased the Lyceum, where Madame Tussaud first exhibited her waxworks. The Lyceum would be used for at least one more year, and Darcy looked forward to the improved boxes the subscribers had been promised and the alternate private entrance.

Once the Darcy party settled into the seats, and the girls had scrutinized the audience in search of friends, Richard surprised them when he burst into the box. "Good evening!"

"Welcome!" Darcy exclaimed at the sudden appearance of his cousin.

After extending proper civilities, Richard sent Darcy a signal that he wished for a private conversation, which was agreed to with alacrity. As the two men departed, Victoria pointed out several friends and told a few humorous stories related to their coming out. Georgiana admitted her fears about her own début and, in particular, her anticipated discomfort around the gentlemen that would flatter her.

Victoria patted her cousin's hand. "You appear at ease with Mr. Kent."

"If you would be so kind, could you share your opinion of him with me?"

"I believe he is very charming, and he does make me laugh, which I have not done in such a long time. His eyes study a person as one responds to any of his questions. He is polite, well mannered, and is educated in gentlemanly affairs. Now, it is your turn to tell me more about him."

"He is a great friend of Fitzwilliam's. They seemed to be involved in some business together, although they have not revealed what. He is very smart, and I enjoy hearing about his family. And Mr. Kent is kind, do you not think?"

Yes, he does seem that way."

Georgiana leaned closer to her cousin and whispered, "And handsome?"

Victoria turned her head and studied her closely. "Yes, quite. He has a disarming smile, which he uses often."

"He tells the most humorous stories. I know you agree since you laughed many times."

"I cannot deny I could not contain myself with his stories about his sister's pranks." Victoria sighed. "Unfortunately, we will not meet her."

"Why?"

"Georgiana, you must guard yourself from... well... persons not of our sphere."

"Humph! You sound like your brothers. Did you not find Mr. Kent worthy?"

"Perhaps. He is a friend to your brother, and we know how discerning he is; but I do not see any other type of connection with him."

"Because he is not titled? Or he has no estate? Mr. Kent is kind, handsome, and wealthier than one particular gentleman of your acquaintance. Mr. Kent has no other faults, except who his parents are. You should become better acquainted with him and you will see he is worthy of any lady."

"Be careful, my sweet young cousin. If you are not careful, you will lay yourself open to rakes of all kinds. You must listen to your elders if you wish to secure your future."

"Which one of us has to be careful? It seems we both have made mistakes." Georgiana rapidly fanned herself before snapping the fan shut and glaring at the attendees below.

Victoria lowered her head, and Georgiana felt the heat rising on her cheeks. The two ladies remained quiet while they waited for their brothers to return.

Having moved a considerable distance away from Darcy's private box, Richard stopped where the crowd had dispersed. "I am worried. We need to leave immediately, before this damn play starts."

Darcy lifted his brows. "Why are you so upset?"

"This play! Do you know anything about this story?"

"No. What is the problem?"

"The plot is about a young girls' elopement with a deceitful military officer---a man disguising his true self. Sound familiar?"

"Oh my God. I did not know. We must get Georgiana to leave before the curtain rises."

The small number of people standing outside their boxes noted the two men taking long strides, not stopping to acknowledge anyone along the way. The two men reentered the box to become aware of a conspicuous tension between the two silent young women.

Darcy lightly tapped Georgiana shoulder. "Ladies, I beg your pardon but we must leave."

"Why, brother? I wish to stay? Is someone ill?"

"No. I... am unsure of the suitability of plot for this play."

"I prefer to stay. I know about the particulars of the plot and... I must see this play, please. I assure you, brother, I am fine."

Darcy gazed into his sister's eyes as he held her hand in his. He squeezed it once and smiled when her tiny hand squeezed his in return.

"Victoria?"

"We have spoken of the story, and I wish to remain as well. I have heard it is an amusing play, and I do so long for some light-hearted wit."

Darcy relented, and as Richard sat in the chair behind his own sister, he tilted his head towards the boxes across from them and whispered, "The Falcon is here tonight. Should we go to speak with him?"

Darcy turned his head and caught sight of the elderly gentleman staring at him from the box directly across from them. Darcy nodded, acknowledging him, but then quickly returned his focus to the stage. "No. Georgiana needs me here tonight. You know how he enjoys telling stories about his prowess. I am more concerned about Georgiana than keeping up appearances and paying my respects to---"

Richard interrupted, "the damned old buzzard."

Darcy grinned. "Yes, precisely, although he is a harmless old man, I will remain here with my sister."

Lord Blake rapped on the imposing door of the Harrowby residence at 39 Grosvenor Square until a highly starched butler admitted him inside. His uncle's invitation to dinner had indicated important political leaders would also be dining with him that night. Lord Harrowby, a Tory, was a close associate of many of the men currently in power, including the most influential of the men for the alliance---Lord Liverpool, the Secretary of State for War.

Waiting for admittance to his uncle's home, Blake wondered if he would get the opportunity to approach Lord Liverpool with information on the Baker rifle. The servants removed his outer coat, gloves and hat, while Blake practiced several different tactics. Sir, why are you letting the brave soldiers use slingshots when a superior firearm is available? Or, I wager the poorest marksman in the Army can become England's best with just one shot from this rifle! Chuckling, Blake considered going back home to get his rifle and then returning to the party to shoot the main course. Lord Liverpool would not be able to ignore the gun then.

As they entered the dining room, Lord Castlereagh, a previous Secretary of State, chose the chair to his uncle's left. Rumors had been flying around White's that he was planning to return to office, and Lord Liverpool was attempting to secure him a position. Blake was surprised to see Lord Sidmouth and Castlereagh sitting at the same table. There had been much written about the dissension between them over the Catholic concern. Sidmouth had recently become deeply involved in the flurry of social unrest in Britain, and Blake supposed this was the reason Castlereagh was willing to dine with him now, as societal instability was close to his heart.

The most notable Tories sat at the table, along with their wives and one very pretty young lady. While Harrowby pointed his eyes at the empty chair next to her Blake chose instead to sit next to Lord Liverpool, whose wife graciously took the seat next to the young lady. Blake surveyed the other men sitting around the table and admitted Darcy was right; he did have the best connections to sell the rifles to the military, just as his friend had suggested.

"Blake, have you met everyone?" When he indicated that he had not, Harrowby introduced the men and their wives with a few special remarks about the only unmarried woman there. Blake nodded to her, but turned his attention to the two men across the table.

Their conversation began with Sidmouth warning his friends of the Luddism movement in Nottingham had spread to Yorkshire, Lancashire, Leicestershire and Derbyshire. Men broke into factories at night, destroying the new weaving machines. Blake made a mental note to question Darcy about how this might affect exporting their textiles.

Lady Harrowby tapped her fingers on the table. "Gentlemen, I wonder if tonight we could discuss The Rivals, currently playing at the Lyceum. Has anyone seen it?"

"Much too frivolous for me." Sidmouth responded, and returned the conversation to politics, which lasted throughout the meal.

The gentlemen's wives, accustomed to the passionate speeches heard for years, sent each other long-suffering looks. Blake consumed his meal while he listened to the words spoken, attuned to any news affecting their business, whether positive or negative. It was the first time he had been interested in affairs of the country. I must pass on to Darcy this information about a frame braking act. He is heavily involved in the cotton industry up north, and this would be important to him. I wonder if he knows of the Luddites? Blake's unexpected interest in politics was not lost on his uncle.

Finally, the time arrived for the ladies to depart to the drawing room while the men remained for the traditional after dinner brandy. Blake recognized his opportunity when Liverpool started a discussion about the war with Napoleon.

"Lord Liverpool, I am a curious fellow. How do our soldiers fare? I have been in the country, and have not had the pleasure of following our efforts."

"Out in the country? Yes, we all know where you have been, Blake. Did you perchance ride that stallion over here tonight?"

"Not tonight. I came by carriage. However, if you would like to see him, I will gladly make arrangements for you to inspect him," Blake said as he smiled and nodded his head.

"Inspect? I prefer to ride." Liverpool chuckled. "His name is Heracles, I understand."

"That is the name given to him by my friend, Mr. Bingley."

"Bingley? I know that name, but the image it brings to mind is not that of a young man," Lord Castlereagh said.

"I suspect you remember my friend's father. The Bingley family had developed an impressive new rifle for the militia." Blake glanced at the other guests. Most had attended his father's shooting parties in the past. Smiling, he added, "Bingley's family has modified the Baker rifle in such a way, even I can hit the lead bird in flight."

"You? I do not doubt your word, but this I would need to witness for myself," Lord Liverpool exclaimed.

"The rifle is amazingly accurate, and quick to reload. I would never again consider competing against anyone without it." Blake nodded and smiled at the chuckles heard throughout the room.

Liverpool swirled the brandy in his glass. "Is the offer for the rifle still standing?"

"I believe so, but Mr. Bingley has passed away. Since then, improvements have been made to the rifle. I first met his son at Cambridge. He has taken over his father's role. I could arrange a meeting if you desire."

"Yes, yes! But you must remember to ride over on the stallion. Send a message around next week."

As the other men joined in on the discussion of the stallion, Blake smiled inwardly. Darcy was correct again---deals are made over brandy and cigars.

The conversation returned to the war on the continent, taxes, parliamentary reform and the Catholic issue. The Tories were a conservative lot. Preferring life as it stood, they would never consider any other system for ruling and managing a country and her resources.

As the guests began to leave, Blake's uncle pulled him aside and asked him to remain. Knowing he would insist on a brandy together, Blake found a comfortable chair in the study as Lord Harrowby poured two glasses of his finest brandy.

Blake glanced around the familiar room. For someone so involved in the parliament, his uncle's desk was kept in pristine condition, and if not a particular acquaintance of his, they would assume the desk was unused. A lone hand drawn silhouette of his aunt as a young girl graced the desktop. Sipping his drink, Blake studied the books focused on laws, essays, histories, and war strategies lined up along the shelf. Neat and organized, he thought, and he turned his attention to his uncle. He is as fastidious as I am. I suppose I take after him in that regard. He examined the pattern on the rug, wondering what was so urgent that he could not wait.

Lord Harrowby cleared his throat several times until his nephew directed his gaze at him. "It is good to see you again. I was impressed when you pulled out the victory for the horse. Beat that tradesman's son, this Bingley fellow."

Blake nodded, but remained silent. He was curious where this was heading. One trait he had acquired from his Cambridge days was to remain quiet when others were attempting to attain his opinion.

His lordship slid into the chair opposite his nephew. "I won a small fortune on the golf game. When the papers revealed the final game was golf, it was hard for me not to conceal how well it suited you."

"Yes, had he chosen some other sport, I do not believe I could have overcome the points deficiency."

He held up his glass. "Well, a toast to you. Good show." As his nephew sipped his drink, his uncle continued, "I hope you enjoyed the dinner tonight. You appeared quite interested."

"No. I found the talk exceedingly informative. I did not follow everything, but enough in order for me to enjoy the evening."

"Perhaps you may wish to engage yourself in a political life?"

"I view politics as a spectator sport. I leave it to the better men." Blake saluted his uncle with his glass.

"Nonsense. You would do well, since politics is a competitive sport, although the stakes are higher and affect more people. However, I warn you, passions run high at times. We were fortunate the Catholic issue did not result in fisticuffs tonight. Sidmouth and Castlereagh do not see eye to eye on that matter."

Blake set his unfinished brandy aside and attempted to stand to leave.

Harrowby tapped Blake's arm as he moved to the door. "Sit for a moment more. I... " He waited until Blake returned to his seat, then aimed his steel blue eyes at the young man staring at him with a questioning look. "I asked you to stay to give you a fair warning."

Blake sat up straight as his brows lifted. "Fair warning, sir?" He held his breath.

Harrowby nodded. "You are no longer a little boy with little boy's interests. Apparently you are attempting to make a life for yourself; one separate from your father. I applaud your decision to seek a change, but you would be wise to act quickly. I give you one warning."

"Lock up my money when father comes to visit?"

"Do not be coarse. I caution you to deliberate sensibly about your connections. The news accounts revealed the backgrounds of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent. I doubt they are Tories, and I imagine they regularly espouse all manner of Whig theories. There are many groups attempting to overthrow our system of government. You must be careful with whom you socialize, boy. These are dangerous times, and only the most naïve will fail to understand."

"We never talk of politics. They are no more interested in the subject than I am."

"Just a warning, and..." Blake waited for the next unwanted advice to come. "This country miss---"

"Do not speak of such things." Blake rose abruptly and glared until his uncle looked away. "I grow tired of all this attention to my social activities. I wish not to discuss it beyond acknowledging that there is no country miss. The reports were mistaken, sir." Blake stomped towards the door. "Please do not raise the subject again."

"Very good." Harrowby said as he caught up with his nephew. He used a gentle hold on his shoulder to prevent him from leaving the room. When Blake turned to face him, his uncle presented the smile used to disarm the angriest debater in Parliament. "I, too, would like to get a glance at Heracles."

"I renamed him. He is called Netherfield now." Blake understood once he revealed the new name, his uncle would understand. At the time, he had professed his love for Lady Beatrice and declared his anger at his father's behavior only to this man. His uncle had convinced him to accept the situation. He bestowed the auburn filly upon his nephew and suggested he honor his feelings for the young lady by naming the horse after the location of their flirtation instead of her name, protecting him from his father's wrath.

Harrowby patted his nephew on his back. "Your aunt is planning a dinner party next week. Will you join us? I promise I will not pressure you into political service. Not yet, anyway. Perhaps afterwards you can tell me all about your trip and your friends."

Blake nodded and departed for home. He felt an ache throughout his body when his eyes gazed upon the crest on the carriage as he climbed inside. Images of the same symbol along with the letter E engraved on a crystal knight flashed in front of his eyes. He spit the saliva out of his mouth when he discovered he could not swallow past the sudden lump in his throat.

Elizabeth. Oh, Elizabeth, why? Why did you run away from me? What frightened you?

A single ignored tear escaped his eye and trickled down his cheek as he attempted to put the imagined broken chess piece back together.

"Shall I explain that for you again, Bingley?" Darcy nudged him with a light tap. The morning was cloudy and the air was cold. Darcy feared the warmth from the fire was causing his friend to nod off.

Bingley appeared penitent. "Excuse me; I was not attending at all. My mind is elsewhere today. Does town seem dull and boring lately?"

"You can always hold some competitions in Hyde-Park. We could fence each other, or better yet, we could partake of a few boxing matches. We did not do that at Netherfield Park," Rawlings said, and just as quickly, he muttered, "Damn."

Bingley had released a long sigh and turned to look out the window.

Making a further attempt to distract his friend, Darcy said, "Bingley, let us put the work away for now and play Twenty Points." Standing, he pointed to the billiard room.

Bingley continued to stare out at the street for a few minutes while Darcy and Rawlings shared glances of concern. Bingley only turned when Blake entered the library.

Darcy turned to the door where Blake stood. "Would you like to join us in a game of Twenty Points? Rawlings and I were just trying to tempt Bingley in a game."

"Not today, thank you, but I wish to share some news with you. Bingley, I am pleased you are here. This will interest you the most."

When Bingley looked at him with a blank expression, Blake was startled. He had never witnessed his amiable friend being anything other than happy. Not even when his father died had he looked so forlorn. Well, he looks exactly the way I feel. I wonder what is bothering him?

Bingley returned to his chair, as did Darcy. Blake moved to the table to pour some coffee, and when he turned around, he blurted out, "We have a meeting next week with the Secretary of State for War to discuss the rifles. I have no doubt it will be a big order."

"So soon? We just arrived in town," Rawlings asked.

"Remember the letter I sent to my uncle? We were at Netherfield Park and..."

Bingley sighed again.

"You delivered it when you took that short trip to town. I had asked for his assistance, and last night he arranged a dinner with all the appropriate politicians. Lord Liverpool was there."

"Excellent." Darcy noted that Bingley sat motionless, evincing no interest in the unexpected news. "Will you be able to attend to this matter next week at Liverpool's office?"

Without raising his eyes, Bingley answered in a monotone voice, "Yes. But I would like to include my Uncle Watt. Would that be a problem?"

Blake's glance darted to Darcy and Rawlings, who shrugged. "No, that is not a problem. However, he has asked me to ride the stallion, so you will need to arrive separately."

The men began to sketch out the particulars for the meeting. Bingley focused more since the subject was his rifles, and after half an hour he was almost his old self. He even joked about Blake claiming to hit the lead bird. Once the specifics were completed, Bingley stood, excused himself and left.

"I have never seen Bingley so despondent. Do you know why?" Blake asked.

Rawlings leaned further into his chair. "I believe he is missing the excitement, as he said. London does seem dull and boring."

Darcy smiled his appreciation for Rawlings response. Neither Kent nor Blake had been present when they had spoken with Bingley about Miss Bennet.

"Perhaps. I have other news." Blake stood and walked over to the fireplace. He pulled a packet from his pocket and held it up for friends to see.

"Insurance papers."

"You have been a busy person," Rawlings said. "Are they life policies on us, Blake? Should we be afraid to be alone with you?" He laughed. Blake shook his head and sighed.

"No. These are examples for drafting our liability insurance policy, although it was used for fire insurance, which is the most similar. I have taken the liberty of marking up a policy."

"Good work. You always did your assignments quickly. If you leave the papers here, I will review them tonight. Do you mind if I share these with Mr. Rogers, my secretary? He has an experienced background in this area."

"Yes, if you are sure of his secrecy. I would not want this to be shared with anyone."

"I trust him."

A knock caused all the men to turn their heads towards the door.

Before any announcement, Kent walked in, holding several hefty bound documents, fat with pages of information. "Good morning."

"What are those? Not our reading material for today, I hope. You could take a lesson from Blake. See, that is his contribution." Darcy chuckled as he pointed to the three page document on the table.

Kent laughed. "Well, apparently being succinct is not a Blake family trait. These are all the laws regarding importing and exporting. I believe his uncle was involved in drafting them."

Rawlings thumbed through the information. "Our politicians have been busy. Blake, perhaps politics is the profession for you, as you are a busy man as well. You might teach them how to economize on their words."

"Where did you get these, Kent?" Darcy asked.

"My uncle was kind enough to lend them to us. He also offered his services to me if I need them."

Darcy caught his breath. "Does he know of our alliance?"

"I revealed enough of our plans to elicit his help. He provided a little guidance for dealing with importers from America. Trade is currently sporadic, but he indicated the potential for great profit is possible once the current differences between our countries are resolved. However, he warned if the situation worsens, future trade would be crippled and we might suffer untold losses. America has the resources and the ability to manufacture any goods we do, and would need us less than we might need them."

"I believe working with John Jacob Aster will resolve that problem." Darcy picked up the contract Rawlings would take on his journey.

"Perhaps." Kent shrugged.

The men spent the remainder of the morning plowing through the mounds of papers on Darcy's library table. In the afternoon, each of the men went their separate ways, but agreed to meet for dinner.

"Miss Darcy, another beautiful table," Kent said as he led Georgiana into the dining room. "From the fragrance in the air, might I guess we are having roast beef tonight? My favorite!"

"Yes, we are." Georgiana lowered her head to hide the rising blush she assumed was appearing on her cheeks.

"I hope The Rivals proved appealing."

"The play was... interesting. The central character, Lydia, had several suitors, and one of them pretended to be something he was not. I found much to like and much to dislike."

"Perhaps one day another play will live up to your expectations. I will be on the lookout for one to recommend."

Georgiana fell quiet for the remainder of the meal. Darcy had noticed that her head remained bowed, even when Kent attempted to include her in the conversation. The play had left her cheerless. He had worried that the plot of the young girl's romantic desire for elopement with a penniless military officer would be too difficult for his sister. In hindsight, he should never have allowed her to attend, and at the very least, they should have left once Richard warned him. His sister had not smiled since the play ended.

Darcy reminded himself to contact his aunt without delay. His sister needed an older, wiser companion or governess, and this time he would rely upon any recommendation the countess would make. He and Richard had failed when they employed Mrs. Younge. He would let Richard's mother assist with locating a worthy lady. He was jarred back to the dinner conversation when Rawlings spoke up.

"My friends, tomorrow night is Atterton's ball. Do not forget, a person who never takes time off from work becomes boring, as well as bored. What do you say? Shall we attend?"

Blake and Bingley both declined. Miss Bingley had petitioned her brother to escort her to a soiree. Blake had indicated he had other plans, but was not forthcoming with any details.

Kent agreed quickly, as did Darcy, but with more reluctance. When the gentlemen parted company to prepare for their evening activities, Darcy suggested they play billiards that night in order to relieve Georgiana of any having to provide any performance.

As she left the dining room, Kent noted her slumped shoulders and subdued good night. He leaned toward Darcy, and in hushed voice asked, "Did I say anything to upset her tonight? I am truly sorry if I did."

"No. She is a little tired after the theatre last night. She will be herself again after a good night's rest." Darcy spoke calmly, but even Kent discerned his words were said without conviction.

Kent, hearing the flatness of Darcy's words, frowned. "Please convey my apology if I caused her any uneasiness." When Darcy nodded, Kent made a note to purchase a copy of 'The Rivals.' His eyes narrowed as he recalled the moment Georgiana's attitude had changed. What was in that play that left her so low-spirited?

Chapter 36

Posted on October 14, 2008

The week's activities hurried by, but much remained to accomplish. Each day, more pieces of the world-trading puzzle fell into place. Kent's Uncle Daniel was instrumental in everything except the China trade, which proved to be more difficult than they expected. The East India Company had not responded to their request, but at the meeting, the official had suggested the Chinese segment might cause a slight delay in obtaining their license. Darcy considered scrapping trading with them, but accepted it was the critical leg to complete the worldwide strategy.

All the men stayed busy throughout the week with their assigned undertakings during the day, convening at night to report any progress over drinks and dinner. Although lightened by Kent's continued gentle coaxing, Georgiana's mood remained subdued, but she was more communicative than she had been following the play. Even with troubling thoughts invading her mind, her hosting skills improved with each passing day. Having taken the time to learn all the men's favorite dishes, she discovered Bingley was the easiest to please; he savored everything, except mutton, of course. Like her brother, Kent and Blake favored the beef selections; Rawlings showed a partiality to the simple meals, as well as fancy ragouts, revealing his own contradictory personality.

Scheduled to sail the next morning for America, Rawlings sincerely appreciated Georgiana's selection for dinner---a stewed rump of beef. When the men partook of their usual brandy, they enlightened each other on their accomplishments in more detail. Once Darcy had found sufficient underwriters, Blake finalized the insurance policy. Darcy met with various shipbuilders, since the men desired the trading be conducted using his ships if possible. Bingley worked on the sale of the modified Baker Rifles, while Rawlings and Kent pursued many tradesmen in Cheapside, although at Mr. Cuffage's urging they had avoided meeting with Mr. Gardiner or visiting his warehouse.

After an hour of such in-depth business discussions, Rawlings grew tired of the subject, refilled everyone's glass, and lifted his drink in the air. He led the now familiar salute, thereby ending the serious conversation. "To the Alliance!" The men rose, repeated the toast, and then gulped the liquid down in one swallow; the last time all five of the men would ever engage in this ritual.

Having now finished their drinks, and as planned, Bingley left to escort his sister to another function, Blake returned to his home, while the remaining three men prepared to leave for Atterton's party.

They arrived late; unfortunately, so did everyone else, causing a crush of people attempting to gain entrance at the same time. Edward Atterton had spied the three young men through the large window overlooking the driveway, and with unusual promptness, led them inside. Edward did not know Kent, except, of course, by the news accounts of the competition, but he and Rawlings had been friends since Eton. With Darcy attending, Edward Atterton had snagged three of five famous competitors for his party. He smiled, knowing his other guests would speak of this evening for days.

As they climbed the stairs, Darcy experienced a sense of déjà vu. He sniffed the air. Once the men gathered at the top, they entered the ballroom together.

Those assembled suddenly hushed at the sight of the party. All three men were handsomely dressed and appeared stately in their manner. The most important piece of information floating around the room was that these gentlemen were all unattached, all rich and all had recently participated in a grand competition in the country. Every matron quickly moved to her unmarried daughters, chastising them to stand up straight, shoulders back and, of course, to display their most pleasing smiles.

Rawlings asked the men to proceed to the refreshment table. He assessed the room full of prestigious and exalted attendees, identifying in his own mind the similarities between the sophisticated ton and the little village of Meryton. Each society has its own social conduct rules and its share of matchmakers.

Kent, taking his drink, left his friends to attend to several acquaintances beckoning him to join them. Assuming they merely wanted to discuss Kent's unsuccessful bid for the stallion, Rawlings turned his attentions to Darcy. He realized the opportunity would not come again for many months.

"Remember when we entered the assembly hall in Meryton."

Darcy nodded.

"Sir William came to welcome us. Tonight, Edward Atterton rushed to greet us. I believe you did not appreciate Sir William's effort, at least not as much as you valued Atterton's actions."

"Yes, but unlike Atterton, Sir William is a. . .a---"

"Hobnail? Clod-hopper? Perhaps, but even you must admit he acted for the best of reasons; his goal was to put us at ease in a room full of strangers."

"Humph! His goal was for one of us to meet and marry his daughter."

"If you speak the truth, then why did he introduce Bingley straightaway to the Bennets? I agree, there is a little bit of the buffoon about him, but he is a gentleman underneath. Did you call Atterton a clod-hopper? No, but yet, he also possesses the same bit of foolishness in his manner."

Turning to face Rawlings, Darcy glared at him. "What are you doing? Why are you bringing up a country dance?"

"My friend, I plan to introduce you to the Meryton society here in this fashionable party in London."

Darcy attempted to leave when Rawlings held him back.

"Hear me out first, then make up your own mind. I shall not force you to socialize if you are apprehensive about talking with others; but I wish to show you the world through my eyes."

When Darcy appeared to agree by the slight nod of his head, he pointed out a well-dressed older lady standing in the corner with two young maidens. They were not as attractive as other ladies, nor did they possess as much fortune.

"Shall we call her Mrs. Long and her two nieces, Eunice and Diana?" Rawlings waited until Darcy fixed his stare on the women in question. "Do you not notice how she fusses over the girls, and how she tries to puff herself up as the social leader here? I am well acquainted with her boring and insipid manner. Her two daughters are so much like the Long nieces. I can attest they are of little understanding having had them thrown in my path before. They choose to limit all discussion to fashion."

Rawlings directed Darcy's attention to a well-built older man to their left. "Is he not our Mr. Goulding? His conversations are horses, horses, and more horses. Mr. Goulding breeds and sells the animals while this gentleman buys and stables them---no real difference between the two. When did he ever speak to you about anything else?"

When Darcy laughed aloud, many guests turned to stare.

"Take note, my friend, we cannot do as we please, even here in sophisticated London, without being scrutinized. Members of the ton are not as loud as the Meryton society, but can you not guess what they are whispering? He is Mr. Darcy, my dear, and he is worth ten thousand a year. He is standing next to Mr. Rawlings, a younger son of the Earl of Wolverly, but I understand he is building his wealth. Mr. Kent, over there, came in second for the horse. He is rich, to be sure, but he is not even a member of the gentry!"

Rawlings took a breath as one mother walked by with a younger lady in hand. Walking slowly, she spoke to her daughter.

"Dear, one of the gentleman may appreciate your practicality, and may even prefer such a quality to the shallowness of the other girls."

As they left, Rawlings turned Darcy. "Without a doubt, Lady Lucas has arrived with Miss Charlotte in hand!" He directed his attention to the group of ladies approaching them. "Ahhh. Here comes the pièce de résistance."

Rawlings bowed. "Why, Lady Aldaston, you look lovely tonight, as do all your daughters. Are you acquainted with my friend?" He glanced to his right.

"No, sir. We would be most honored with an introduction."

"Lady Aldaston, may I introduce Mr. Darcy?"

"It is a great honor to meet you. May I present my daughters: Miss Margaret, my eldest, Felicia, my second, and finally Rebecca.

As the girls curtsied, Darcy recognized that all three daughters were out at once. Sending a sly smile to Darcy, Rawlings asked if there any more lovely ladies at home.

"Oh no, Mr. Rawlings. How kind of you to ask. I have yet another girl, but she is dancing." Lady Aldaston pointed with her head to the dance floor. "She is my youngest and most lively child. Would you like to meet her, I can send one of the other girls to fetch her?"

"No, ma'am, I beg you not to interrupt her pleasure."

"Are you fine gentlemen of a mind to dance tonight? My daughters are well schooled in all dances."

After waiting a few awkward moments for a response that did not come, Lady Aldaston and her daughters left. With an ill-disguised whisper exclaimed, "Humph, they are not quite so desirable to us, my dears."

The men chuckled as Mr. Rawlings announced unnecessarily, "that was Mrs. Bennet! Well, shall we play cards tonight? I have not noticed anyone lively enough for me to dance with, and I realize none of your usual dancing partners attended tonight."

"I do not dance as a rule anywhere if I can help it."

The two men approached the card room in silence. After a few moments discussing the Netherfield competition, they found opponents for whist, and spent the remainder of the evening playing cards.

Darcy did not utter a sentence longer than three words. As the similarities between the two societies crossed his mind, his attention to the game suffered. Even though he continuously lost, his partner, Rawlings allowed only the slightest of smiles as he witnessed the emotions scurrying across his friend's face. Occasionally, Darcy would lean back in his chair, gazing into the ballroom as the dancers drifted by.

After only two games, they had lost interest in the party, and Rawlings sought the quiet of a comfortable room where he could conduct a private conversation on a subject the other man would not care for. He suggested they return to Darcy House for a few drinks. It would be the last time the two friends would be together for many months.

Unlike his two friends, Kent savored being the center of attention, entertaining people who had never shown the slightest interest in speaking to him before. He enjoyed himself so fully, that when Rawlings and Darcy indicated their desire to leave, he decided to remain at the party.

Arriving at Darcy House, the two friends headed straight to the study. Choosing not to sit, Rawlings paced while Darcy poured them both a drink.

"Sit down, please." Rawlings asked. "There is something I need to discuss with you."

"Have you not said enough tonight?" Chuckling, Darcy settled back in his chair.

Rawlings glanced at his friend with seriousness unusual for him. "That was just the first act in this drama."

"Drama? Which play does this resemble? With you, it should be a comedy; perhaps A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Sighing, Rawlings sniffed the liquid in the glass. Darcy does have a very fine taste in brandy. French, I suppose. I wonder if he has been to see Mr. Cuffage. "The similarities I showed you tonight at the ball are the first of my warnings."

"I understood completely what you did, but I do not hold the same opinion as you. The society found in Hertfordshire cannot compare to that of London. I grant you there was some truth in what you said, but I do not concede the two are equal."

"I did not say equal, Darcy, you mistake my point. But the Hertfordshire people are not so beneath you that you should overlook opportunities because of perceived imperfections in their origins."

"Are we speaking of business or pleasure?"

"Business especially, but do not dismiss the possibility for happiness in your personal life. You are in danger of marrying merely for the sake of your family fortunes.

"I have no such thought of marriage to anyone."

"Bah! Did you not focus your attention on Lady Victoria while at Cambridge. She visited often enough to raise eyebrows among your friends. I heard you escorted her to a play."

"Yes, at one time I considered her, but you know as well as I do we were too much like sister and brother with each other." However, she is an example of what I desire: a good family, impeccable manners, skilled in the arts, an excellent manager of servants, and sophisticated sufficiently to tread the London swamps. She must have the background to aid in Georgiana's debut. In addition, I wish to have a large family, so she should bring some fortune into the family. She has no equal in Meryton."

Joining your life with another should be more than the business alliance you have created. Damn it, Darcy, even in business you have aligned yourself with tradesmen's sons. Do not seek increased wealth or connections when there is someone who can provide you with a deep source of joy. Happiness in life should not be traded away."

"Humph. I know who you are referring to. Her mother is mercenary, Rawlings. The same hold true for her younger sisters."

"How can you be so positive? You rarely spoke to any of them."

"I have witnessed how venal Mrs. Bennet is."

"Oh. Would you be so kind to enlighten me?"

Darcy moved to the fireplace where he silently stoked the fire; his angry jabs with the poker sending orange sparks flying up the chimney. As though the physical effort had done little to subdue his demons, he moved over to the window, his reflection clear in the dark panes as he stared bleakly out into the night.

Rawlings noted his friend's contorted face and trembling hand. "Are you angry or pained?" Rawlings started to rise from his chair, but Darcy held his hand up to halt his progress.

"I do not know which it is. A little of both I suppose."

"Tell me. I am a willing listener. There is no friend here to interrupt us tonight."

Walking to the doorway, Darcy recalled both times when he tried to share his thoughts about Miss Elizabeth, but the sudden presence of others had delayed any discussion. After giving instructions to one of his servants, he closed the door.

Rawlings brought the brandy carafe closer to their chairs. "I will not joke or tease. I am your greatest supporter, perhaps your best friend, for I will not hold back my opinions."

"I know." Darcy turned back towards the window. The townhouses across the square gave off pinpricks of lights on this starless evening. With the study situated at the front of the house, he could easily watch the movements of his neighbors. He found it entertaining to see which carriages drove past each morning and who returned home each night. More importantly, he could view in advance anyone calling upon him.

After observing Darcy's shoulders slump, Rawlings set down his drink. "What is on your mind?"

Raising his chin, his eyes glaring at the empty square, Darcy spoke to the darkness, but loudly enough for Rawlings to hear. "You were aware of Blake's attraction to Miss Elizabeth."

"Of course. I believe we all were. He was not the one hiding his interest."

Darcy shot him a black stare. Unperturbed, Rawlings waited for him to proceed.

"Did you know he was planning to offer marriage?"

"My conversations with him left me to believe he was debating the ramifications of connecting himself to such a low family. When I heard the Bennet girls had lost their dowries, I assumed he had dropped the connection. He cannot afford to marry without regard to fortune."

"He has sufficient wealth bestowed upon him by his mother. His situation is not as dire as we had believed... he had every intention of proposing to her the day after the ball." Lowering his head, Darcy slowly shook his head. "I will admit to you that I am not sorry he never made the offer, although I regret that his reason only confirmed my beliefs."

"Which are?"

"Mrs. Bennet is of the most mercenary type. Her daughters are no match for her. They will do as she says. Do not forget, Bingley is another example. I am convinced had I shown the slightest outward interest in Miss Elizabeth, then Mrs. Bennet would have compelled her daughter to transfer her affections to me after the ball. She would have been forced to show an interest in me that she did not feel."

"Why would she lose interest in Blake?" Rawlings waited until Darcy composed his thoughts.

He turned to Rawlings, who gasped at Darcy's crimson red face, "I interrupted Blake and Miss Elizabeth on the balcony at the end of Bingley's ball."

Rawlings sat up in his chair. He began to imagine two scenes: in one, Blake was proposing to Elizabeth while the other scene had Darcy appearing unexpectedly on the balcony. "I do not understand. How does her mother figure into this? Did Miss Elizabeth say something that made you think she was after his title?"

"No, not at all. That evening I confirmed Mrs. Bennet's attempts to push her daughters on only rich men." Darcy took another deep breath. "Once I appeared, Miss Elizabeth left quickly, but I stayed to question Blake about his intentions. No, that is not true. I challenged him to think about what he was doing. I even revealed that Miss Elizabeth had lost her dowry."

Rawlings was more intrigued now. So Blake knew she had no money. "But how does this prove your belief that the Bennets were fortune hunters?"

After returning to his chair, Darcy leaned forward, both arms resting on his legs. He gazed at his fingers as he fiddled with his hands. "Blake was stood with his back to the ballroom, while I was positioned in such a way that I could see the balcony door from the corner of my eye. What happened next caused me to think less of the Bennets."

"Hardly. You never had a good opinion of them before. But go on." Rawlings settled back in his chair, sipped his drink, and chortled at Darcy's glare.

"Mrs. Bennet opened the door as we were talking. At that time, I... I was reminding Blake of his financial troubles by emphasizing the dire straights of his father's situation. Hearing this, Mrs. Bennet left abruptly, believing Blake to be penniless. Of course, after she had returned to the ballroom, I learned he was well situated financially. He could easily afford a wife and family."

"I do not see how this makes Mrs. Bennet a mercenary?"

"Blake waited for Miss Elizabeth the next day. She never appeared."

"Perhaps there was a problem. She may have been ill."

"Blake thought so too. After waiting hours, he became concerned and set off for Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet informed him that Miss Elizabeth had left for London with the expressed intention of avoiding him."

"That does not seem possible, even for her, but even if it is true, you still have not satisfactorily explained to me how this makes Mrs. Bennet mercenary?"

After throwing the poker into the stand, Darcy plopped into his chair and crossed his arms. "Do you not understand?" He glared at Rawlings's shrug. "Mrs. Bennet believed Blake to be poor, and no longer a preferable match for Miss Elizabeth. She must have insisted somehow that her daughter not marry him. You must have noticed Mrs. Bennet pushing Miss Elizabeth on Blake at every opportunity. You cannot deny that. In her eyes, he was no longer sufficient for marriage to her daughter. That is why I believe she is purely mercenary."

"But how did you learn of this?"

"Blake told me the whole story one night, when I had accused him of horrible goings-on. I am fortunate he did not call me out." Darcy's eyes lit up, his taut expression relaxed. "Of course, I would have chosen pistols if he had."

"Did he not seek her out in London? You both returned to town early."

"No, he did not. He believed Miss Elizabeth ran away from him."

Rawlings sat still. Sipping his drink, he listened to the fire flickering and crackling in the still room. There was no other sound. It was several moments before he spoke. "I doubt the truth is known about the whereabouts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I most definitely think she would have rejected Blake herself. She would not have run away. She is not a simpering lady! Furthermore, I suspect her mother was merely trying to protect her daughter from poverty." Rawlings blinked his eyes before flashing a cold stare. "I believe you thought this out as well." Rising from his chair, he raised his body to its full height. "You did not challenge Blake's understanding at all, did you?"

Darcy dropped his head, "Blake did not want any arguments. He was decisive when he stated he had broken all connections with her. I... suppose I could have insisted but I..."

"I am surprised by Blake, but I know full well why you offered no objections. By remaining quiet, you saved her from marriage to him. Well, now Blake has removed himself from consideration, are you planning to pursue her?"

Darcy rose again, this time retreating to the window. Placing one arm against the frame, he traced an imaginary figure on the glass. Not only did his shoulders slump, he sighed loudly before speaking in a calm voice. "I think of her often. Honestly, I do not live a single day without wondering where she is or what she is doing. I can smell lavender regardless of the flower in a vase. Her eyes appear before me every night before I fall asleep, and are smiling at me when I wake. I have tried hard to focus on business. Still, I cannot shake the image of her. I miss hearing the sound of her voice.

"So are you?"

"No! I do not plan to seek her out. I will not." His voice trailed off, "I cannot."

Rawlings leaned forward. "Is it the low connections or the money? You are not in want of either."

Darcy turned back towards Rawlings. "She would not be accepted by the ton, or more importantly, by my family. Georgiana's future will depend heavily upon who I connect myself to."

"Bah! Do not use your sister as the excuse. Even Bingley refused to consider Miss Bingley's desires. What exactly is it you seek in a wife that Miss Elizabeth does not offer?"

"All I want is a respected person to guide Georgiana and bring the Darcy name honor. Increasing my holdings is an important consideration, as well."

"You mean to say forty thousand pounds would be acceptable as a reason for connecting yourself to a woman for life? If so, my friend, you are a fool, and in light of your confession, perhaps I was as well." Rawlings stomped to the sideboard.

Darcy sat stone faced.

Rawlings poured another brandy. "I should have let you be saddled with Margaret. You would then have a different opinion of the beautiful, witty Miss Elizabeth. Of course, you must worship her in secret. Oh, pardon me. You worship her now. Do not be a fool. You have a chance to achieve your greatest desire."

"Saddled? Was it so horrid?"

"Yes. I remember that night and the next four years remarkably well, as if the events were seared on my brain."

"Ahem. I have always wondered how Logan discovered her plan."

"I do not know. He does not reveal his sources. I have never revealed to you that the ball to reward my graduation from Cambridge was arranged for the sole purpose of ensnaring you. Do not look so shocked. My family is one of those good connections to which you are always referring."

Darcy's eyes widened as he gripped the arms of his chair. "Your family wanted to ensnare me in a trap with Miss Stevens? I do not understand."

"Let me enlighten you. My brother, the mastermind behind the plan to entrap you, convinced my father to hold the ball. I should have known immediately he had a deceitful purpose. When has he ever given me any attention?"

Darcy was about to speak when Rawlings sent him a look of disapproval. He moved to the fireplace to pick at the fire. For an unknown reason, his standing while Darcy sat provided him with the confidence to continue. He carried his brandy with him as he paced around the room.

"Logan sent word during the later part of the evening. I had not deemed anything amiss when you were allocated a room in the family quarters. I was merely pleased to be shown such attention, that I overlooked several signs of danger." Releasing a heavy sigh, Rawlings remained quiet for a few moments before commencing with the story. "The night of the ball, Logan was very specific---you were to be the target of a compromise. I demanded he switch all your belongings into my room and some of my personal possessions into yours.

"But why?"

"I immediately grasped what my brother intended to do. His entire plan crystallized in my mind as I observed Margaret cuddling up to you as she had done all night, all the while sending sly smiles back to my brother. With Logan's warning, a wave of fear flooded my entire body."

"Thomas? With your grandfather's estate adjacent to Pemberley, I always felt he was more like a relative than a neighbor. Damn, we played together when we were young boys, although thinking back, it was always us against your brother and Wickham. I cannot believe this. What did he do?"

"Logan had barely completed the switch when my brother escorted our dear little Margaret to your room. Of course, she did not know it was now my room."

"Yes, I was surprised when you had me switch that night. I had no idea what was happening."

"I was mindful you were confused, but we had to act fast. I had little time to explain. Nevertheless, what happened that night, I shall never forget. I entered... "

Darcy held his breath while Rawlings dropped into his chair.

"I entered a room so dark, I could not see my hand in front of me. The fire had not been lit and the drapes were closed tight. As I closed the door behind me, she turned towards me, demanding I not light a candle, or she would ruin me forever by screaming loudly. I did as she said, all the while smiling at the wench. I had a plan of my own. She forced me, although I agree it did not take much effort, to remove my clothing. You understand, I allowed her to do these things because I had decided to connect myself to her, or more precisely, to her forty thousand pound dowry. Logan was prepared to stop the fiasco upon my word, but I allowed her to continue."

"But why? Why would you do such a thing?"

"I am a second son. You do not understand what life is like for one not born an heir. My choices were the army, the navy or the clergy, none of which held my interest. Perhaps I was not as spoiled as my brother, or even as you had been, but I did live a life of ease, which would dissipate the moment I graduated, or the moment my father died. Well, I had just finished Cambridge, and the old man was still breathing. My father expected me to move on with my life. I had planned to join the army, but when Logan sent word about Margaret's plan, I set into motion a way for me to continue this gentleman's lifestyle of leisure." Rawlings gulped his brandy.

Darcy remained motionless for a few minutes as his friend left his seat to stir a fire that did not need attention.

"As I entered the room, she called out demanding you not light any candles, I realized my scheme would work. Having dressed the same that night, and as we are the same height and weight, I realized I could fool her. My straight hair would be a problem, yours is curly. The blackness of the room would conceal my eye color. Otherwise, she would not know. We do look like brothers, as everyone has teased us for years."

"How far, Rawlings, how far?"

"As far as you can imagine. I took her in my bed. I wanted there to be no dispute she had been compromised. Once I had finished, I shouted for Logan, who brought another servant in the room carrying enough candles to light up Almack's. It was entertaining when Margaret saw my sparkling, devilish blue eyes, realizing instantly with whom she had bedded. She screamed, of course, and, therein exacerbated her problem. My brother brought her father with him. I only assume he had some pretense for being nearby as a part of his plan. He expected you to be mostly undressed and her with a torn gown. But I declare she was not timid about the act, nor was she inexperienced."

"I suspect there was a scene? I only wished I had known. Rawlings, I have a way to protect myself. This has been tried before, and my man is well trained to handle such things."

"Your man laid unconscious on the floor. Since he had been drugged, Logan did not even have his help in moving your things. She was determined to succeed, regardless of the risks, and would not allow anyone to stand in her way."

Darcy sighed. "I did piece together some of what happened the next morning. I understood that she schemed to entrap me. I should have never switched rooms. I have always felt guilty, and perhaps that explains why I have been absent from your life. I am truly sorry, but why did you try to protect me? It was unnecessary."

Rawlings took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His voice cracked as he continued, "I needed the money, the lifestyle, but most of all I needed to move on with my life. I believed upending this scheme of my brother's was my best chance."

He paused when he noticed the disbelieving expression on Darcy's face.

"But you could have found another bride, someone more suitable. You did not have to do this."

"Bah! You do not realize how the ladies react once they discover the gentleman is not the heir. You have never seen the way their expressions change, and believe me when I say the transformation is quick and decisive. Unless a second son is a man of means in his own right, the ladies swiftly excuse themselves, not caring if their actions are impolite. My mother did leave me with a small house and a little fortune, but not enough to build a life on. I needed more, or so I thought."

Darcy diverted his eyes. He sipped his drink, only looking back to Rawlings when his friend asked if he could continue. "What I am about to say is not meant to inflict further guilt, but to save you from a life of wretchedness."

Retuning his gaze upon his friend, Darcy nodded for him to speak his mind.

"When she screamed, she had no choice but to marry me. Can you imagine her shock? Here she believed the entire time she was in your room, engaging in inappropriate activities, which she seemed to enjoy greatly, and she assumed she would soon be the Mistress of Pemberley. Instead, she ended up married to the second son with little money and no estate. Of course, my father had to pay for the indiscretion. In addition to purchasing my townhouse at Cavendish Square, he provided a yearly stipend to ensure Miss Nobody Stevens would not suffer financially, although without our little tête-à-tête she would have not married any better than she did."

"Were you able to forge a life together?"

"Life? Well it was one atypical for men of our status. I took my marital rights during the first several month of marriage. She lay on the bed, fully dressed, and remained motionless while I did my best to create an heir. She took her joy by shouting your name at my climax. After two months, the situation changed."

Darcy lifted his brows.

"I found the door between our chambers bolted and nailed shut. I assumed I had achieved a successful coupling. I was not sorry that I no longer needed to cross the threshold into her room. Alas, it was not to be. She lost the babe soon after. She unbolted the door a month later, but I never returned. Not once in the remaining four years she lived. I lost all desire for a child if it meant having to join with her again. Instead, I spent my evenings during the next four years at taverns and pubs."

"Ahh. Now I understand your skill at skittles."

Rawlings chuckled. "Yes, but I had not played Quoits often enough to beat Bingley or Kent. If I had, the stallion would have been mine!"

"I assume your drinking habits changed then as well?"

"I suspected you noticed. Well, yes. I refused to drink alone, so I had my drinks either at the tavern or in my bedchambers. Several times, Logan drank with me, at my insistence of course. He told me of his heartbreak too. I presume he made it up just to ease my mind."

"But I heard she died in childbirth. I must have misunderstood."

"No, you did not. Margaret did die giving birth to a son. My brother mourned for months."

Chapter 37

Posted on October 21, 2008

"Gerald!" Lord Wolverly called out as he moved up the gangway, taking long strides with every step. The tall masts of the Lively rising above the other ships, and the 114 foot length, exceeding the schooner moored alongside, made it easy for the gentleman to locate the ship that would take his son across the ocean.

Rawlings turned around when he heard his name. "Father! What are you doing here? It is too chilly for you." The icy cold morning air and the slight breeze whipped through anyone standing starboard, causing the heartiest soul to shiver.

Lord Wolverly caught up to his son just as Logan has departed below deck. "I was afraid you had sailed, and I would not reach you in time. I cannot believe you are going." He leaned against the railing, panting in deep breaths

"I am leaving, sir, and nothing you say will cause me to change my mind."

"I do not understand why you insist on taking this foolhardy trip. You have sufficient wealth to live comfortably without resorting to sailing to the wilderness. This is dangerous, son. Have I not secured your future?"

"Bah! You only concerned yourself because of our family's embarrassing situation." Rawlings' eyes narrowed and bore into the pleading man with the blackest stare he could muster. "You and Thomas attempted to ensnare my friend! My God, Darcy was a guest in your house, Father. I will never forgive you for such deceit." A firm grip on Rawlings' arm impeded his effort to walk away.

"I did nothing, other than provide the financial means necessary for a union between the two of you. You behaved like a rake, son. Thomas told me Darcy had asked Margaret to join him in his room, which she did. She expected him to come to her. You and Darcy ruined that poor girl.

"What a ridiculous idea. Darcy is an honorable man, as am I!"

"Honorable? You? How is that possible when you were the one who compromised that poor, innocent child?"

"Bah! She was neither innocent nor a child. I was not her first. I acted only to save my friend from a life of despair."

"Margaret informed me many times how much she was in love with your friend, and perhaps she was no longer innocent because he had been with her before. I had no part in any deception. I only wished to help you, as I believed you desired her to be your wife."

Rawlings voice trembled as he spoke louder. "You know Thomas tells lies when he wants something he cannot have, and you know me well enough to understand all was not as it seemed. Why were you so unwilling to ignore the truth?"

"I am not as ignorant as you think! I watched Margaret entice Darcy, and he did return her attentions. He danced with her and brought her drinks. He rarely left her side all evening. I make no judgments of a gentleman's behavior; trysts happen all the time. Your friend is not immune to the wiles of a pretty face."

"Not immune? You do not comprehend his character at all. He is a true gentleman, and she used his good nature to monopolize him. Thomas and Margaret planned their trickery together, since even you declared she was not acceptable as a Countess. With Pemberley abutting his Derbyshire estate, Thomas intended to pawn her off on Darcy, and keep her nearby. Convenient for assignations, do you not agree? Moreover, with Margaret becoming a Darcy, they could spend many social evenings together. You knew her well enough to understand she would never allow herself to be hidden away in some cottage like a common courtesan."

"Your brother had no such designs on her."

"Well then, Father, why did Thomas mourn her so deeply? Can you not guess? It was his child my wife carried, and when she died in the process, he drank to an excess even unknown to him. I heard him calling out to her in the night amongst his sorrowful moans."

"I do not believe you." Lord Waverly glared at his son. "Thomas---"

"He was the father. I swear!" Rawlings bellowed.

"Stop. This conversation is not solving the problem before of us. You do not need to run off to America. You belong here."

"I am going." Rawlings crossed his arms against his chest. "I will not discuss my leaving any longer. I sail today."

Lord Waverly grabbed the railing. "I failed you," he mumbled. "I failed Thomas, too, but I most definitely let you down."

"You did no such thing, sir. I sought the marriage, regardless of how it came about, but Thomas' role should not be kept from you."

"I will piece together the truth if I must hold a flintlock to his head."

"I own a modified Baker rifle that would work wonders." Rawlings laughed quietly.

"But if what you say is true about their ruse, then I am truly sorry. I should not have forced you into marriage."

"No one is to blame. It is the plight of a second son."

"If only."

"Let us not run through the if only scenario again. Thomas was born first. He is the heir, and is entitled to everything."

Shaking his head, Lord Wolverly closed his eyes as he gripped the railing. "He behaves much in the same way as his mother did---selfishly and with an exaggerated air of self-importance. Perhaps, if I had remarried after her death, then Thomas would have had a more kindhearted attitude to you and others."

"Such as Bingley and Kent?" Rawlings forehead furrowed, and his eyes turned dark until his father lowered his head.

"True. I own that fault as well."

Father and son leaned against the railing, staring at the horizon and did not speak until a sailor interrupted their reverie.

"Mr. Rawlings, sir? The Captain invites you to dine with him tonight."

"Tell him I accept." Rawlings brushed his jacket and straightened his cravat.

Lord Waverly squeezed his son's shoulder. "Gerald, I... wish you the best."

"Thank you, sir."

"I... will worry for your safety. Is there anything you need, or something I can do?"

"No. Logan is traveling with me. We will be fine. All is well."

Lord Wolverly wiped his eye. "Damn salty air."

As Rawlings studied his father, he became aware of the addition of several new gray strands in his thinning hair and deep set wrinkles around his eyes. Large brown freckles had recently appeared on his father's hands, and he did not seem to stand as tall as he had remembered.

The two men spoke in calm, hushed tones for a few minutes, each man gathering strength from the other. As Lord Wolverly approached the gangway to depart the ship, he turned for one final look at his son. "Write as soon as you arrive."

"I promise. Take care, Father." Rawlings' throat tightened. He failed to utter the words he wanted to say and the Lord wished to hear. As his father walked down the gangway, he spied Darcy's carriage pull up.

Logan rejoined Rawlings on deck as they waited for the men to alight. Long before boarding the ship, Rawlings had decided to introduce Logan as a gentleman acquaintance, and planned to call him Mr. Logan throughout the trip. The subterfuge was for Logan's protection, against the rare chance the British navy would board and remove anyone believed to be a deserter. Many horror stories existed of even gentlemen being conscripted, so Rawlings assumed his valet would be at a greater risk. However, he did expect Logan to perform usual duties, albeit in secret. Logan had agreed to the plan without comment.

Darcy stepped out first, and located Rawlings standing on the deck near the gangway. Bingley and Kent followed close behind, with Blake joining them separately. He planned to meet with his Uncle Attwood to discuss financial issues.

Darcy and Bingley headed toward Rawlings while Kent sought out Captain Pierce. "Is everything as I requested for Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Logan? I see my friends have arrived for the trip." Kent nodded towards the group of gentlemen on the starboard side. Rawlings had preferred the captain not be informed of Logan's real position.

"Everything is in order, Mr. Kent. Although your friends have been given the best, I worry the staterooms are not what they are accustomed to having."

"Fear not. They do not expect luxury." Kent turned his gaze upon his friends. "Both gentlemen will take the voyage without complaint, being pleased they could travel on this marvelous ship that crosses the ocean in forty, and not the usual sixty-two days."

"Yes, the Lively is fast, which may cause bouts of seasickness."

"Well, it is good then, that it is such a short journey."

The captain was conscious of the rank of these men, and treated them courteously; however, he reserved his most respectful actions for Mr. Kent, the cousin of the ship's owner. In addition, his uniform pocket held a message demanding he show Rawlings the highest courtesy. He wondered why Mr. Logan had not been mentioned in the communication.

By the time Kent caught up with the travelers, Blake had arrived. The five men exchanged their final goodbyes, since many months would pass before Rawlings was due to return home.

Bingley patted Rawlings on his shoulder. "You will miss my dinner party. When on their best behavior, the invitees can be exceedingly interesting."

"Who are these interesting people?" Rawlings asked.

"James Watt is one. You could have shared your opinion of the steam engine and the locomotive, and then he would have enlightened you on the future of transportation in the world."

"I am sorry to miss an evening of pistons and governor things." Rawlings winked to Bingley.

"They are called flyball governors," Bingley grinned. "Never let him discover you do not understand his passion. Uncle Watt would educate you until you could describe the intricate workings of one. I speak the truth. I was cornered over flyballs years ago."

"I am sorry to miss the party just the same."

Bingley turned to the others. "I invite you all on Thursday night to the dinner I am hosting for my family and some of Kent's as well." He eyed Darcy and added, "Oh, and my Aunt Watt will be my hostess, so please bring Miss Darcy. I can assure you, it will be a different sort of conversation."

"I must decline," Blake answered quickly. Bingley turned to listen politely, but without even the slightest smile. "I have dinner plans with my Uncle, Lord Harrowby. Lord Liverpool will be there, and I should attend, with the sale of the rifle proceeding. It will be a much different conversation than yours, but I imagine an enlightening one."

Bingley grinned. "I understand. Perhaps next time."

Blake turned toward Rawlings. "Oh, Lord Harrowby warned me of the likelihood of another war with America soon. He is working on avoiding future hostilities, but until then be on the lookout and watch your back over there. Heed his words---these are dangerous times."

"Thank you for the caution, Blake. Let us hope your uncle is successful. I do not know if England is able to fight two wars at the same time, and to be honest, victory over Napoleon is our first priority. I suspect nothing will happen in America until we finish with the little corporal."

"Darcy, will you be able to attend?" Bingley asked.

"I, too, have plans."

Rawlings noted Bingley's grin fell into a frown when Darcy declined, and once everyone spoke their parting words, he requested Darcy remain behind to clarify something about Astor. Blake bid Rawlings God speed and disembarked with Bingley and Kent.

Rawlings turned to Darcy. "Bingley is your loyal friend, and meeting his family meant a great deal to him." Rawlings eyes narrowed into slits and Darcy sensed the heat from his glare. As he tried to respond, Rawlings held his open palm up and spoke firmly, "Do not treat him this way."

"I cannot attend, Rawlings." Darcy stood straighter and returned Rawlings' glare with one of his own.

"When will you stop being so damn haughty, and cease to look down your nose at people beneath you? You need to lower your chin, Darcy, and raise your attitude towards those not in your sphere. Would it be so difficult for you to show the tiniest particle of respect to your friend? Must he always be treated unequal? He admires you, and when you decline his invitation without attempting to provide a sincere explanation, such as Blake did, then you are not as convincing. He detected your mendaciousness, as did I. How is that for a four syllable word?"

Darcy said nothing. He glanced down on the docks to where Bingley was speaking quietly to Kent, who had shrugged in response to a comment, and stared up at the deck. "You are correct. I do not have plans, but I declined for my sister's sake. I do not wish to expose Georgiana to strangers. She... is very shy, even with acquaintances. Without a doubt, she is not yet capable of conversing with different kinds of people."

"Perhaps, but you have no excuse. I warn you as a true friend, you need to address this facet of your character before the Bingleys of the world look down and reject you. One day they will rule us all!"

Reluctantly, Darcy nodded and the two spoke about the looming voyage and the business aspects of the trip. Afterwards, Darcy returned to the dock, where the other three men were waiting.

Darcy, Bingley, and Kent waved goodbye and climbed in the carriage as Blake mounted his stallion. Rawlings, accompanied by Logan, watched from the port side of the ship until they left his sight. He experienced a stabbing sensation in his chest and a cold chill washing over his body. Logan, however, focused his attention on the stranger hidden by the crates, who seemed to be spying on them, but before he could point him out to Rawlings, the man slinked away into the shadows.

When Bingley and Kent stepped out of the carriage at the Custom House, they stared at the enormity of the building, two hundred feet in length and consisting of two floors. All the shipping agents brought their documents here for processing. Ascending the staircase, they sought the customs officers in the Long Room, the name given to all custom offices throughout Britain, even if the actual space was a short, small and cramped room. This one lived up to its name, running the whole length of the building.

After locating the appropriate custom agent, Bingley and Kent discussed how to establish their shipping activities without revealing the alliance names. They spent several hours becoming proficient in the procedures and proper documentation necessary for trading a variety of goods.

Nearby, Darcy had journeyed to Threadneedle Street, and The Royal Exchange; the centre of the country's shipping industry. Darcy ventured up the staircase to the Lloyd's Rooms. Originally, Edward Lloyd had attracted merchants and ship owners to his own premises by serving coffee and posting the latest shipping information. A group of Lloyd's customers formed their own association, establishing offices at the Royal Exchange, and opened them to underwriters and brokers. Having been involved in underwriting ships over the years, Darcy was well known by the patrons.

Darcy spent the afternoon drinking coffee with two particular underwriters and cajoling them to join in his new venture. He provided Blake's marked up policies, and by the end of the day, was satisfied a sufficient number had agreed to underwrite their shipping and liability insurance. They were most interested in the bundling of insurance, and the need to be first to do so. Having worked with these men before, Darcy was confident of their secrecy.

He left in search of Blake, who had also traveled to Threadneedle Street. However, he had bypassed the Royal Exchange for the Stock Exchange, where another one of his uncles, Lord Attwood, was involved in the buying and selling of stocks and raising the money for new enterprises.

As Darcy approached the Stock Exchange, Blake emerged from the front door.

"Were you successful?" Blake asked.

"Exceedingly. I have found six underwriters. They have asked only to be kept apprised of our plans as we go forward. And you?"

"My uncle educated me in the world of finance, and has been most helpful in explaining the best methods to raise money. He offered to help, but before I accept, I need to know how much of our plans can be shared."

"I suppose everything except the fur trade. We must keep our plans with John Jacob Ascot a secret."

"I will fill him in on some of efforts that I concealed earlier. Perhaps, he will prove to be helpful in other areas, as well."

"My thanks, Blake. I am headed back home. Do you care to join me?"

"Sorry, I cannot. My uncle invited me for dinner tonight. After his help I felt obligated to accept."

The two men parted after agreeing to meet the next day.

Blake's father had not expressly forbidden him from visiting this uncle, but as did his Uncle Harrowby, discouraged all conversations with or about him. Thomas Attwood was his mother's youngest brother, and had entered his father's banking firm in 1800. He had purchased his own estate when he was six and twenty.

Attwood's father-in-law was a leading member of the Whigs, and this accounted for Harrowby's unease, although Attwood had been and remained a Tory. Lady Attwood was the wealthy daughter of an industrialist in the burgeoning cotton industry. Over the years, Uncle Attwood and his wife's father had many arguments, especially about parliamentary reform, neither man able to persuade the other.

When Blake entered his uncle's home, he found Attwood's in-laws present. The conversation had turned into a heated, passionate one, and Blake was pleased to sit and listen. Unlike his dinner at Lord Harrowby's where every guest was of the same mind, this exchange was varied and offered many challenges to each other's principles.

"Take Your Choice is a book not worthy of anyone's notice," Uncle Attwood exclaimed. When Blake's questioned him with his puzzled look, Attwood whispered, "John Cartwright wrote the book. He argues for parliamentary reform, including such atrocities as suffrage, the secret ballot, annual elections and equal electoral districts."

Attwood's father-in-law cleared his throat. "Just attend one meeting of the Society for Constitutional Information. You will hear better arguments than I am able to articulate."

"Phew." Attwood shook his finger at Blake. "Keep away from them. Their leader, Sir Francis Burdett, will lead you straight to prison. The authorities are watching, and will take action one day."

Blake continued to listen as the two men argued over many of the current issues of the day. They spoke of the industrialization of the nation and its impact on the working class. Many gentry were losing their workers to the factories in the cities. The Enclosure Act was another source of tension between the men.

Blake thought about his own alliance, and marveled at the progressiveness of his age group. Is that how life works? One generation pushing the next or does it skip a generation. Will my children be complacent or turn out to be aggressive? Will my grandchildren be more like me?

The discussion continued throughout the evening until the after dinner brandy finally calmed the debaters. The talk turned to the familiar gossip about friends and acquaintances. The ladies entertained the men with several songs before the guests left for home.

Only Blake and his Uncle Attwood remained, and headed to the study. They spoke in quieter tones, and the talk centered less on the condition of the world, and more about the Netherfield competitions and how they had entertained all of London.

"Did everyone in town wager on the games?"

"I believe so. What is London if it is not for the gambling? Besides, it was enjoyable to be so sought after."

Blake raised his eyebrows.

"Everyone who was related or close associates of any of the five men had been accosted at every club, ball, and any other gathering. My father-in-law was unaware of your love of golf. I placed a profitable wager on you. He, of course, bet on Mr. Kent for the rowing race. The aristocracy and gentry bet on you, while all the rest of the upstart Londoners bet on Mr. Kent. Fortunately, this time the right person won. But Robert... "

"Not you too." Blake stood up abruptly.

"What?"

"You intend to warn me against further association with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent."

"No. I do not care who your friends are or what you do with your time. I am concerned that you may fall prey to any pleadings from your Uncle Harrowby or your father. They are not trustworthy! You father wants your money, and your uncle wants your soul."

"Thank you for the warning." Blake's voice was sharp. "I need no one to counsel me on friendships."

"Calm down. Let us not waste this opportunity on harsh words."

Blake retuned to his chair.

"Now, I suspect there was more to your visit to that part of the country than shooting and sport. I would venture other matters of importance happened there."

Blake sighed. "Only regarding our plans for investment, some of which we spoke of earlier. I did not become tangled up with anyone, contrary to the insinuations in the papers."

"I am not speaking of flirtations. I care not to hear about the follies of the young, but I am worried about the idealism of your friends. One day the reformists will raise their voices so loud, not a single member of the ruling class will be able to ignore them. And that day is fast approaching. Do not be idealistic yourself. Beware of the Whigs."

"God. What has caused everyone to offer unsolicited and unnecessary advice? No one bothered with my politics, friendships, or flirtations before now." Shaking his head, Blake blew a large breath through his puffed out cheeks. "Perhaps Bingley should return to Netherfield Park, so we can all go back to the one place where we felt comfortable and at ease!"

"I beg your pardon, Blake. But you seem to be moving on with your life, and I suppose all your elders wish to steer you in the proper direction."

"I can make up my own mind."

"Yes, I believe you can."

Darcy sat alone in his study after returning from the docks. He considered Rawlings' warning and recalled his behavior. Was it truly necessary to refuse Bingley's invitation so quickly? Did I do it to protect Georgiana ... or myself? Am I avoiding associating with these people?

Finally, he retrieved writing materials from his desk and penned a note.

Bingley,

PS. Will Oban be served? I seemed to have little left of my consolation prize.

Hearing his sister on the pianoforte, he joined her in the music room. He was startled to find Kent sitting alongside her, turning the pages. The two smiled constantly, shared sidelong glances and laughed repeatedly. Kent leaned closer to whisper in her ear, but stopped when he spotted Darcy standing in the doorway. His wide grin switched to a small smug smile, before moving closer to Miss Darcy.

Darcy decided to pay closer attention to his friend and sister.

Chapter 38

Posted on October 28, 2008

"Good Morning." Darcy smiled at the sight of his sister in her usual chair, buttering her toast. "You look lovely today."

"It is a lovely day. I merely dressed accordingly." Georgiana returned his smile.

Darcy brought a plate, barely touched with eggs, and only one slice of toast, from the sideboard, taking the seat to her left. He patted his sister's hand. "What are your plans for today?"

"Study and practice." Georgiana rolled her eyes. "I really wish to be proficient, so I must practice." She giggled. "Now if you had ever learnt, then you would have been proficient just by putting your fingers on the keys. All the music in the world would flow instantly from your head and heart, without missing a single note. You are Aunt Catherine's favorite, are you not?" Her smile grew wide as her brother coughed into his napkin.

"You are in excellent spirits today. May I ask why?"

"We are going to a party tonight."

"What?"

"Mr. Bingley's dinner party. I am looking forward to attending."

His neck muscles taut, Darcy fidgeted in his chair. "I do not believe this party will be to your liking. No one you know is attending."

"Mr. Bingley and Mr. Kent will be there. I know them."

"But the others are all strangers and I... am not sure you should be introduced to any person I have not met."

"Humph! You and Richard think of me as a little girl."

"Georgiana. You are still young."

"Too young to make my own decisions, I know! I know!" She threw her napkin down on the table and turned to leave, but dropped her head and spoke in a half-whisper. "Will I never be forgiven?" Her shoulders slumped as she made her way out of the room.

Darcy sighed and pushed his plate away. He sipped his coffee when his eyes fell upon a letter from his Aunt, Richard's mother. Without delay, he tore the seal and scanned the words. How fortuitous, she has found a governess for Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley? I hope she is someone who can handle my sister's outbursts and sudden changes in attitude. Why can she not be more like me? Why can she not see how childish she is at times? Humph. I do not understand her at all! Returning his attention to his breakfast, he narrowed his eyes as he spread blackberry jam on his toast. Kent! He must have told her.

The full moon overhead and the flames from a significant number of candles flickering through the windows lit up the front of Bingley's townhouse. As Darcy climbed the steps, he noticed how animated the attendees seemed. He cringed when he thought about the conversations to come. Flyball governor! What is that again?

Bingley greeted him at the door, and ushered into the drawing room. Darcy, surprised at the furiousness of the discussion by the men, felt like he was attending a verbal boxing match, and not a debate of technical theories. Since most of the words were foreign to him, and the conversations beyond his understanding, he was relieved when their talk stopped as Bingley introduced him.

"Mr. Darcy, may I present my uncle, Mr. James Watt, and his friends, Mr. Keir, Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Galton." As the men exchanged civilities, the men's wives approached. Several of their young daughters and nieces trailed behind. It was not long before the next generation of inventors joined the crowd. All had heard of Mr. Darcy from Bingley and Kent over the years.

Although Darcy was anxious as the guests surrounded him, he spoke quietly, and answered many questions, including those he would normally not answer. They were skilled at obtaining information from a reluctant source.

When Kent arrived, Darcy puzzled over how familiar he was with these men of knowledge.

Identifying his friend's bewildered expression, Bingley explained that Kent was related to the Boulton family.

A still puzzled Darcy looked around the room. "Who exactly is Boulton, and how is he connected to this group?" Darcy felt the heat rising on his cheeks when he heard gasps by several guests.

Mr. Keir joined them and offered Darcy a friendly smile. "James Watt, Bingley's uncle, and Matthew Boulton, Kent's uncle, teamed up years ago for the production of steam engines." As Mr. Keir spoke, Darcy glanced over to Bingley, who had now joined Kent, and realized they had become engaged in the technical discussions with several other men. "Mr. Darcy, your friends have been thrown together for years, and both are well indoctrinated in mechanical conversations."

"Thank you, Mr. Keir. I was not aware of the relationship between the families. I met both at Cambridge, where we shared living quarters, but they never mentioned their connection." Darcy studied the rotund, older man. He had dressed in black, which highlighted his red hair. Scottish! I am surprised many of these men are from Scotland.

"They speak with immense fondness of their university days. Well, Bingley does. Kent is more private, but do not mistake his quietness. His mind is always turning, and one day we all expect the heir to do great things."

"The heir?"

"Yes. His late father accumulated a great fortune and became the... king, so to speak, of the tradesman world. No one was more forward thinking than his father. There was not a single aspect of business that he was not involved in, and he was successful in them all. He sponsored many of our endeavors. Kent is the prince, or as we affectionately call him, the heir! Now if you excuse me, sir, my wife is waving for me. I suspect she is trying to defend my opinion of the density and viscosity of gases."

Darcy stood alone, lost in his thoughts. How did I never learn about Kent's background? Heir? He never mentioned his father's success. Darcy had just released a long held breath when Bingley's cousin, James Watt, Jr., collared him about the exigency for a steamship to cross the ocean. Darcy had previously considered the value of such a ship, and desired to invest in one. They spoke at length on the need for such an enterprise until several of the others joined the group to state their opinions. Those expressing arguments against the endeavor were as unwavering as the ones for it. Men of science are certainly an opinioned lot.

When dinner was announced, all the guests made their way into the dining room, continuing various heated discussions as they found their seats. Darcy sat next to Bingley's uncle Watt and his son, Watt, Jr., and their wives. The other men, Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Galton, and Mr. Keir were seated directly across from him. Bingley, Kent, and the young Mr. Boulton sat together. The wives and daughters scattered in vacant chairs around the table. No one seemed concerned by the lack of a planned seating arrangement or the mixing of the sexes.

"Mr. Darcy. I understand from my son you have an interest in steam engines?" the elder Watt asked.

"Yes, I do. I use them in my mines in Derbyshire. I also look forward to seeing how they will improve over time. I cannot imagine a mine operating without a steam engine to pump the water from it."

"We all expect grand things from these engines, which will be used to power many activities in the future. If it pleases you, I will be honored to show you the latest versions."

Darcy nodded, pleased at the offer made by this congenial man, and they spent the next several minutes discussing a wide variety of issues. When Darcy learned that patents were an act of parliament, he offered to help attain any new ones through his, as well as Bingley and Kent's, connection with Lord Blake.

"I understand another friend of yours is traveling to America. I hope he has the opportunity to ride on the Claremont," Watt, Jr. said.

"Yes. Mr. Gerald Rawlings just set sail, and I can assure you he has been so ordered to take that trip by Bingley." Darcy glanced towards his friend.

"I only suggested it." Bingley looked down at his plate of food.

"And provide a report!" Darcy laughed as he watched Bingley blush, but not before he released his recognizable grin. Catching sight of the elder Watt, he understood from where that grin originated. Ah! Bingley gets his amiable manner from him---smile and all. Darcy resumed eating, content to listen to the conversations around him, and did not speak again until he heard someone mention the Society.

"Bingley has mentioned a society of gentlemen before. Is this the Royal Society?" Darcy had discovered that in 1660 the crown and parliament had sanctioned the Royal Society of London for the Improvement of Natural Knowledge, which was now better known as The Royal Society. All great men of science belonged to it and shared their current successful pursuits, and on occasion, their failures as well.

"You speak of the formal one, Mr. Darcy." Mr. Watt looked around the table. "We... have been privileged to belong to a smaller group."

"Lunatics they are!" Kent exclaimed.

Darcy's eyes grew wide.

"Do not worry, Mr. Darcy. That is merely our nickname, but lunatics we all are as well." Mr. Keir laughed along with the other members. "The last of us are here tonight. In addition to myself, there are only three others." Mr. Watt nodded to each of the men as he spoke their name. "Mr. Edgeworth, Mr. Watt, and Mr. Galton."

Mr. Edgeworth set down his glass. "At one time, the society had a total of fourteen members, as well as a few correspondents, such as Mr. Benjamin Franklin from America. We meet once a month, when the moon is full, so the way home at night would be brighter and therefore safer. Thus, the name of Lunar Society and eventually our friends and colleagues called us lunatics. So, you see, it is really a compliment to be so labeled."

"We just let you think that is the reason," Mrs. Keir teased, and then laughed along with the other ladies at the table. The men nodded without argument.

Darcy turned his attention to Mr. Keir. "I understand your work was with glass and chemicals."

"To be honest, I made my money in soap. Cheap soap to cleanse the body."

"Clean up society, you mean. You tried to do that too." Kent winked to Mr. Keir.

"Well, soap did not achieve that. It would take parliamentary reform before that happens."

"Out of order!" Mr. Watt exclaimed.

Watt, Jr. leaned in to Darcy and whispered, "No talk of politics is allowed at a Lunar Society meeting."

"This is a meeting?" Darcy brows rose.

"Did Bingley not explain this to you? Each man is allowed one guest, of whom you are one tonight. Ever since Bingley first petitioned to include you several weeks ago, we have been looking forward to tonight."

Darcy felt a chill run through his body when he realized how close he had come to disappointing his friend.

"Is there something other than steam that interests you, Mr. Darcy?" the elder Mr. Watt asked.

"Everything new interests me. Lately, I have become fascinated with gas and with something called electricity."

"Ah, that is my field, and one day electricity will be the main source of power---not steam!" Mr. Edgeworth announced, followed by loud objections of several men at the table. "Now, I also have experimented with telegraphy. Imagine sending messages across the country in seconds."

"I cannot imagine communications so quickly. Do you believe it will also cross the seas and oceans?" Darcy thought of the value of being able to communicate with Rawlings while he traveled around in America.

"No, I do not, since the sound is transmitted through wires. There is not enough wire in the world to stretch across the oceans."

Darcy sat back in his chair as he listened to Edgeworth speak in terms that only the others could understand. But when the inventor spoke of his improvements in agricultural machinery, he sat up straight and asked, "Do you need a place to test the equipment?"

Everyone teased Darcy about gaining the advantage over his neighbors. They explained many wanted to test their experiments without purchasing or investing in the machine.

"I understood you have tested a firearm recently," Mr. Galton said to Darcy.

"I am sure it was not one of yours, Samuel," Mr. Keir smirked.

Mr. Watt laughed. "No, it cannot be Galton's, since this rifle is accurate and does not misfire!"

Samuel Galton's company was the largest supplier of cheap, and sometimes unsafe muzzle loading muskets for use in the slave trade. Although the use of the firearms disturbed the members of the Lunar Society, Galton's interest in science overcame their objections and, in the end, they had not blocked him from joining.

When the conversation and laughter ended, Kent's aunt, Mrs. Boulton, caught Darcy's attention. "If you ever travel to Birmingham, please stop by the Soho Manufactory."

Darcy listened as she and her son explained about the factory. He had taken over the business when his father had died. They made gilded decorative objects like clocks and candelabra as well as silverware, and the cheaper Sheffield plate wares, which offered an affordable alternative to silver for the growing middle-class. Mrs. Boulton pointed out that manufactory may be well known for it products, but the humane treatment of the workers was the true worth of the enterprise.

"I will be honored, and shall make a special trip for that purpose alone. Perhaps, Kent can join me?" Darcy looked over to Kent, who was staring at him with a watchful expression.

Kent nodded. "At your service, Darcy, and I promise you will have much to see and much to learn."

The butler entered the room. "Mr. Murdoch."

James Watt stood and greeted his friend, then turned back to the dinner guests and announced, "Tonight we shall not need the moon, for Mr. Murdoch has brought us all bladders and pipes."

As everyone laughed, the younger Watt took pity on Darcy and explained the joke to him. "A few years ago, on a dark winter's night, Mr. Murdoch questioned how he would be able to reach his house over such bad roads. But as you will learn, he is a very creative person. He went to the gasworks where he filled a bladder, which, for some reason only known to him, he had with him, and placed it under his arm like a bagpipe. He discharged a lit stream of gas through the stem of an old tobacco pipe enabling him to walk in safety to Medlock Bank. That is how the Gas Light Company began."

"Gas Light Company?" Darcy's face lit up.

"Yes." Watt, Jr. spotted the spark of interest in Darcy's eye. He continued, but in a lower voice. "I understand there has been a slight delay in proceeding, but it looks like everything is back on track now to light the world. Mr. Murdoch's sponsor has provided significant funding; thirty thousand pounds, I believe."

"Ahh. Then I will look forward to the day I can read a book easily in the darkest night. Does he need additional monies? I may be interested in an investment of my own."

"His sponsor would never allow anyone else to participate. He is a powerful man, and I would caution you to not attempt to get in his way."

"Do I know him?"

"He is well known, but Mr. Murdoch is not at liberty to identify him. He had found a generous investor and had begun work, but was forced to seek help elsewhere when the funds did not materialize. He does not care for his current sponsor at all, but, unfortunately, he is the one with the funds."

Although unhappy with the warning against investing in what he viewed as a profitable venture, Darcy hid his discontentment, and spent the evening enjoying the conversation. He may not have understood all of the discussion, but he was at least able to follow along. Laughter was scattered among the heated opinions as joking and teasing relieved the tension between the guests. To his surprise, the wives and daughters participated in the complex discussion; the opposite of the normal course of events at dinner parties he routinely attended.

Expecting the traditional after dinner music or poetry readings, Darcy was shocked when he discovered the evening entertainment would comprise of experiments. Each man had brought with him his latest efforts or the materials to test a theory.

Mr. Murdoch began with a rudimentary experiment. When he pressed a button, a loud sound was made. They all looked at him quizzically until Murdoch announced, "It is a doorbell."

As one man examined the doorbell, Mrs. Boulton asked, "Whatever for? We have men standing at the door to announce any visitors!"

"Nonsense, this will be welcomed by the lower classes. Just imagine. Someone comes calling, rings the bell and you will be able to hear it anywhere in the house."

"A nuisance I think." Mrs. Boulton said as all the ladies clapped in unison. "A doorbell will not keep anyone away. They would just keep pushing that button until someone answers the door."

"The lower classes cannot afford doormen. A doorbell will fit their need perfectly," Murdoch responded brusquely. Scientists did not handle criticism well when the claim was based on feelings and not on a methodical line of reasoning.

Standing away from the others, Darcy pondered how a doorbell could be of any value to any person, and agreed with the ladies---it would be more a nuisance than help. Astounded that the women would voice their opinion so easily, and the men accepted their comments in a matter-of-factly, left him mute. Fashion and gossip were the only conversations women he knew engaged in, but he did not object to hearing their ideas. Perhaps, I should add to the list that the accomplished woman must include the ability to articulate scientific opinions.

Darcy's thoughts drifted to a pair of fine eyes, twinkling at the exuberance of this dinner. He imagined her joining in the conversation, although he doubted she had been exposed to inventions and their inventors. He had no doubt she would have felt at ease with the teasing manner of the conversation, and would have found a way to lob a few volleys of her own. As he studied the faces of the ladies, he noticed they all appeared to posses a twinkle similar to Miss Elizabeth; but without the adjoining raised brow and slight smile that was hers alone.

Feeling a sense of isolation, Darcy glanced around the room and decided that the young, attractive ladies seemed more interested in the experiments than in him. His eyes fell upon one particularly attractive young girl whispering in Kent's ear. Their eyes glanced his way, and immediately flicked away while the color on their faces darkened.

I wonder who she is. With her dark hair, she could be related to Kent. Or perhaps, she is more intimately connected? Her figure is light and pleasing. Darcy felt a stab in his heart as he imagined another light and pleasing figure. He sniffed the air and sighed when the only fragrance he could detect was roses. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the memory of lavender to fill his mind. Miss Elizabeth, where are you tonight? What are you doing for entertainment? You should be here with... me.

Mr. Keir was next to present his experiment. All the guests, including Darcy, stood around as he placed a circle of salt on the table.

"Tonight, I plan to test the theory that a spider will not walk across salt." Mr. Keir pulled a leather bag from his pocket. He opened it up and held up a raft spider in front of the ladies.

The dark brown creature was the largest spider Darcy had ever seen, and was amazed the ladies did not faint, call for smelling salts, or run from the room in tears. In fact, they passed it around from one another and assessed the worthiness of the creature. Finally, Mr. Keir retrieved his eight-legged arachnid from the young lady that had whispered to Kent earlier, and placed it in the middle of the table. It was not a full minute before it left the circle and disproved the old myth. Salt did not intimidate this particular spider. Mr. Keir pulled out another type of spider, this time a house spider. It, too, fled across the salt.

Everyone clapped. Darcy noticed as a few of the men handed a coin to some of the others. Ahhh. Wagers find their way in this society as well. I wonder if they hold their own type of Olympics. They are Bingley's relations!

"Mr. Darcy, this is routine for us. We experiment and test many theories. Nothing is beyond our consideration. I remember when Benjamin Franklin wrote that he was going to fly a kite in a lightning storm just to prove to the world electricity could be harnessed. He did it too. Proved me wrong," Mr. Edgeworth said. "I have been obsessed with electricity ever since. I miss my old friend, Mr. Franklin. We corresponded until he died."

When Mr. Edgeworth moved to the table to present his experiment, the elder Watt joined Darcy. As the two men stood slightly apart from the rest, Watt cleared his throat and spoke in quieter tone. "Charles does not seem to be himself these days. You were with him recently, Mr. Darcy, is there something amiss? Is there something you can do to cheer him?"

"Well, I am planning to play golf with him next week. Perhaps that might return him to his grinning ways."

"I suggest you skip the putting. Demand, good sir, that the hole is finished when the ball reaches the putting area!" Watt laughed aloud.

Smiling widely, Darcy bowed. "And do you play too? Perhaps you have the time to join us?"

"Not my game, sir. Not my game at all. I doubt I would even manage to hit the ball!"

The guests spent the rest of the evening trying different experiments as they argued and teased each other over their theories. Sitting with Bingley and Kent, Darcy, for the first time, found himself envious of the two tradesmen's sons. The gathering had proven far more interesting than he had ever anticipated, and one he would have regretted missing. I must write to Rawlings about this evening. He would have found something witty to share about these people.

While most of Bingley's guests departed for their homes, Mr. Samuel Galton directed his man to head toward Grosvenor Square. He had important news to give to the Falcon, having overheard Darcy speaking quietly to Mr. Murdoch about investment opportunities in the Gas Lighting Company.

Darcy and Kent remained to share a few glasses of scotch with their host, who was busy pouring the Oban in his study. The room, decorated in dark wood, seemed to match

Bingley's mood lately.

"Where was Miss Bingley tonight?" Darcy asked. "I was surprised she was not in attendance."

"She had other commitments. And truthfully, I suspect she would have created one if necessary, for she truly hates these meetings. She would rather not be included. My Aunt Watt serves as hostess whenever a meeting is held here. I wish it were more often. They usually meet in Birmingham."

"Still, I was surprised." Darcy stared sheepishly into his glass.

"Your attendance was a secret." Bingley grinned.

Darcy nodded. "Ahh. Well, it was a most interesting evening. I thank you for inviting me."

"I was honored you came; however, I am sorry your other engagement was delayed."

"Do not worry yourself. I should have immediately canceled that engagement upon your kind invitation."

Kent peered over his glass as he sipped his scotch. "It was a shame Miss Darcy was otherwise engaged tonight. I had hoped she would have been able to come. It would have been beneficial for her to see another kind of dinner party." He did not remove his gaze from Darcy.

Remaining silent, Darcy deliberated with his response. "Georgiana is still young. I would not want to put her in a situation that would cause her undue stress." Kent opened his mouth to speak when Darcy held up his hand. "And no one should be concerned with her social schedule except myself."

"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to suggest I know better what she should do. Perhaps, a much smaller introduction into the world of science would be wise. This was a most boisterous evening, and if one is not used to the enthusiastic discussions, one can be easily intimidated."

"Now that we have finished explaining our sisters' absences---"

Kent interrupted. "Not true, Darcy. We have not discussed my sister."

"And where was she this night? Off to some ball or party?"

"She was here. She seemed intrigued by the experiments," Bingley answered quickly for Kent. "She dangled the spider over Kent's head.

"I am sorry. I do not recall meeting another person by the name of Kent." Darcy said.

"I must ask your forgiveness, Darcy. I should have introduced her. I forgot you had not met her before." Bingley tilted his head to the right and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, perhaps we will have another opportunity. I suggest we discuss our current activities." Darcy handed his glass to Bingley. "You recently returned to the Custom House, and I have a few questions."

Bingley and Kent satisfied Darcy's questions on their trip to the Custom House. They talked excitedly about all they learned from the custom officials. They made recommendations, all of which were quickly agreed to by Darcy. He, in turn, gave details of his trip to Lloyds. He indicated he had found the underwriters for some of their planned activities, and even a few showed an interest in the liability type of insurance they were pursuing. Before long, all conversation came to a close.

Bingley refilled everyone's drinks, sat down and stared at the fire. He had lost his earlier enthusiasm. His glum look was evident. His shoulders were slumped, and he barely participated in the newest conversation about the play Darcy had seen at Lyceum Theater.

With a loss of any other subject to discuss, the three men sat in silence. Darcy glanced at Bingley, and then towards Kent, who shrugged. Bingley released several loud sighs.

Darcy refilled Bingley's glass. "What are your plans for the winter?"

Bingley sighed again. "I believe Caroline and I will be here until late February, when we will leave for the north to spend time with family. Uncle Watt has invited us to visit. I will, of course, pursue other avenues of revenue for the alliance." Bingley turned his attention to the popping sound in the fireplace and stared at the shimmering flames. "I... do not expect to return until summer. Perhaps as late as July."

"You will not return for the season?" Darcy was surprised by Bingley's plans. He had never known Bingley to miss the society of the ladies during that time. Every year a new group of young females appeared, and every year Bingley attended the balls and parties with pleasure.

"No. I have no interest this year. I would rather spend time focused on business." Bingley continued to stare at the fire. "London seems dull and boring to me."

"I will remain in town this year." And I had hoped we could leave Meryton's lovely ladies behind and find others to fill our thoughts.

"I expected you to go to Derbyshire."

"No, the alliance business will keep me in town. I will not be heading to Pemberley until July. You and your family are welcome to join us then." Darcy turned to Kent. "You are invited as well. In fact, it may be a good opportunity for all of us to reconvene. Rawlings will have returned by then.

Both agreed---Kent enthusiastically, and Bingley indifferently.

Interrupting the continuing stillness, Darcy ended the evening with a question.

"Do you suppose Rawlings had such an enjoyable evening?"

Chapter 39

Posted on November 4, 2008

"Hold your head over the side, Logan. Do not be sick on me." Rawlings pulled Logan's upper body above the railing, and supported his valet as he released his meal, until there was nothing left.

"Do not return to the stateroom. You will just become seasick again. Stay here. I will get some blankets."

Logan slumped against the railing as Rawlings walked away. Another gentleman suffering from the same ailment joined him on the deck. The moans were muted, but loud enough that each man could hear the other. Afterwards, the two men stared at one another with rueful smiles.

The well-dressed stranger chuckled. "Thank God this is only a forty day journey."

Logan nodded. "Yes, but we still have more than four weeks to go. The end of this nightmare cannot come soon enough. I have decided I prefer a slower moving, and less choppy, ship."

Returning with an armful of folded up covers, Rawlings noticed the other gentleman sitting alongside his valet and handed him several blankets as well. "Good evening, sir. Please accept these. It is much too cold today."

"Thank you. I am exceedingly grateful." He draped the blanket around his shoulders, and placed the folded one on the deck for him to sit on. "Oh, excuse me, let me introduce myself. I am Francis Cabot Lowell from Boston, Massachusetts. I have desired to speak to you since we boarded, but I did not expect it to be under these circumstances.

Rawlings introduced himself and Logan, then asked the two seasick men if they needed water. When both men waved away the request, he found an almost clean spot on which to sit. He was worried about Logan, who had not kept any food down in two days.

Mr. Lowell had fared better, but today the ship swayed more than on any day since they encountered the storm. Those not able to control the churnings in their stomach found their way to the railings.

The men had exchanged only a word or two before the seas calmed and a sunbeam broke through the gray sky. After four days of agitation, the ship sailed smoothly, and the two seasick men breathed evenly.

"What brings you to America?" Lowell asked.

Rawlings clutched his woolen blanket tight. "Business. We are seeking new ventures. What brought you to England? Are any of your family still there?"

"None that I know personally, but, yes, a distant remnant still resides somewhere." Lowell paused to breathe deeply several times before continuing. "You are involved in business? My family is engaged in import and export trading."

"Ah. You are a good man to know. We, too, are in the same endeavor. Perhaps fate serves us well."

"I will be pleased to provide you with a letter to give to my father. I, however, am seeking a different occupation. I spent considerable time in Manchester, studying weaving methods."

"We have a friend in Derbyshire who is involved in textiles. Perchance we can return the favor. Are you planning on setting up mills in America?"

"Yes. In fact, I seek to establish a cotton factory in Waltham." Perhaps it was the kindness Rawlings had shown, or his approachable manner that made Lowell decide it was safe to reveal his future plans. "I have the design of a loom in my mind. I plan to build a working model as soon as I arrive. I hoped to convince a machinist friend to aide in the endeavor. He is an expert in building mechanical devices."

"Is his name by chance, Mr. Bingley?"

"I beg your pardon, but no. Should I know this Mr. Bingley?"

"He is a friend whose family is mechanical as well. But are there not other mills in America; or does the mercantile system of just exporting the raw materials to England for manufacture rule?"

"Yes, there are some mills now, but mine will handle the entire operation under one roof. I want to convert raw fiber into cloth without having to rely on other parties for any aspect."

"Is that not done now?"

"No one has set up an operation of this size. Not even in England."

"I wish you good fortune, Mr. Lowell. I hope you find the profits you seek."

"Mr. Rawlings, the profit to be made by handling the entire operation will be great. And if England does not relent in the trading prohibitions with America, a war will come, increasing the need for finished products. My finished products, I hope. During a war, the seas will become too dangerous, and all trade between our countries will stop, which would increase my sales immensely."

"Do you think there will be hostilities?"

"Yes, I do. The Whigs are in power now and will not allow this trade prohibition to stand for long. And, I warn you, that they will never stand for the way England boards our ships and takes our men. But then, as I said, war would help me reach my goal."

"Whigs? I suppose you have your reformist party too! Do you need the war for your business?"

"Not so much since a trade embargo exists. If it remains for some time in the future, then my mill will not face competition from England. It is your finished products that I would find difficult to compete against."

Rawlings sat quietly and vowed to remain vigilant in learning all about business in this new land. He silently thanked Darcy for giving him purpose in his life. In addition to traveling to a new country, he felt an excitement that did not come from the gentleman's way of life. He had come to enjoy talking of business. It was as if he had joined a secret club, and he knew the secret handshake. He belonged, and they accepted him simply because he dared to dirty his hands with trade. This man did not weigh his worthiness based on his family status. In fact, he had not even questioned him on his social standing.

With the continuing calming waters, Lowell and Logan regained their equilibrium and agreed to return to warmer quarters. The three men made their way to the dining room, where Lowell pointed his head towards two eye-catching young ladies. "My sister and cousin are here. Come, let me introduce you."

"You are looking better, Francis," the prettier of the two girls said as she kept her eyes on Logan. Lowell's sister preferred to look over Rawlings, and sent him a slight smile.

"Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Logan, I present my sister, Miss Marie Lowell, and my cousin, Miss Sarah Long," Lowell said.

"It is my honor," Mr. Rawlings said quickly. He nudged Logan with his elbow. Logan, who had been staring at Miss Long, neglected to respond. Any ability to employ civil manners had been lost as he was overcome by the most seductive smile ever sent his way.

Catching his breath, Logan bowed. "It is an honor, Miss Long, Miss Lowell. I hope you have fared better than Mr. Lowell with the storm."

"Yes, unlike Francis, we do not grow ill over a little tossing and... rolling. Please join us." Miss Lowell pointed to empty seats at their table. "We were just enjoying some tea and biscuits. I daresay they are helpful in weathering the storm, as my brother must have learned by now."

The men took the seats and heartily agreed to tea. Rawlings was the only one, however, who accepted the biscuits. Logan and Lowell stated the only reason for declining them was their wish to avoid another trip up to the deck.

"In what part of England is your home?" Miss Lowell asked Rawlings. When she saw Rawlings raised eyebrows, she added, "Your accent. It is very British. Although," Miss Lowell turned to her brother and said, "After a year in England, you sound exactly like them."

"I live in London, but my family home is in Staffordshire. Have you traveled in that area?"

She shook her head. "No. We did not go beyond London." Miss Lowell glanced at her cousin. "We attended a friend's wedding."

While the group discussed London society, Logan remained quiet, but stole peeks at Miss Sarah Long's brilliant eyes. Having seen blue, green, and brown eyes many times in a pretty face, he now found them all ordinary. Miss Long's eyes were violet. She constantly turned to him, casting him a small smile when she did. His tongue felt glued to the top of his mouth, and his palms had begun to sweat. He did not feel comfortable in this setting, and did not have the confidence to engage in small talk. Miss Long did not seem to mind, nor did she seem surprised by his reaction.

"Tell me about American society. Do they have one?" Rawlings smiled when Miss Lowell feigned a hurt expression.

"Sir, New York City will be to your liking. It is full of old aristocrats."

Rawlings reacted with surprise at this pronouncement. Lowell laughed. "We still call it Colonial America. They still think themselves as either British or Dutch, depending upon their background."

"Even now that a quarter century has passed since the revolution?"

"Yes, and they still believe they are superior!" Miss Long exclaimed, blushing quickly when she realized her comment was rude. "I am sorry, I spoke without thinking."

"Do not worry. But it is understandable, since the British are superior!" Rawlings winked to Lowell. Logan's eyes widened in disbelief. This was the first time he had ever witnessed Rawlings' humor in company. He had always assumed his master had shared this trait with him alone.

Lowell patted his cousin's hand. "Our new friend is jesting. He knows who won the war!" Everyone laughed aloud and returned to their tea and biscuits.

Rawlings leaned forward, and in a lower voice said, "I understand you to imply then, that Boston is different from New York."

"Most decidedly not! They are the same," Miss Long exclaimed, but her opinion was disputed by the Lowell siblings. Smiling, she added, "And we Americans are the superior ones."

Miss Lowell tilted her head and gazed at Rawlings. "The old aristocracy may hold sway in most of the New England states, but that is only with the old generation."

Amused by their brashness, Rawlings' attention darted from Miss Long to Mr. Lowell and back again to Miss Lowell. "And the new generation, what holds sway with them?"

"All that is truly needed to be in the upper echelon is money; lots and lots of money!" Miss Long said.

Rawlings laughed with the others, and smiled at the Bostonians. They fit his image of Americans. Brash, energetic, excitable, interesting, honest and above all else, accepting of others, especially second sons.

The group talked about America for the rest of the evening. As time wore on, Rawlings found the cousin, Miss Long, to be a bit flirty, as well as outspoken. She was not afraid to speak her mind or bat her eyes to win an argument. Rawlings watched Logan's reaction to the group, and decided to tease him later. He would call him Darcy, Jr. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was short and abrupt in tone. As Rawlings thought about the similarities between Logan and Darcy, he suddenly comprehended that Darcy's manner was due to shyness, not haughtiness, and that was what caused him to act in such an aloof manner. He was astonished he had not discerned this before.

Miss Long grew tired of attempting to gain Logan's favor, and turned her charms on Rawlings. She spoke in sweeter tones and cast long simmering glances his way. Rawlings was concerned over her overt actions, and Logan's reaction to her change of interest. He did all he could to direct his attention to Lowell and his sister, although he could not completely stop from sneaking peeks at those violet colored eyes.

The time arrived for the ladies to bid them all goodnight. Lowell offered to escort his sister and cousin to their cabin, but asked the men to stay for further talks. They both understood he meant they would enjoy something stronger to drink upon his return. Logan gave his regrets, announcing his desire to rest after such an ordeal, and left for his cabin. Rawlings offered to escort Miss Lowell, and smiled inwardly when Miss Long pouted.

"Mr. Rawlings," Marie Lowell whispered. Rawlings leaned down nearer to her face and recognized the lavender scent. He looked closer at her eyes, and discovered they sparkled when the flicker of candlelight fell upon them.

"I must apologize for my cousin. She is overly friendly, but she is a fine lady."

"There is no need. I took no offense at anything she said." Rawlings presented her with one of his smiles. "Nor you, Miss Lowell." He patted her hand wrapped around his arm. "I rather enjoy hearing of the devotion a person has to his or her home, however long they lived there."

She smiled up at him as she squeezed his arm. "It would be my pleasure to introduce you to Boston, should you find your way there. My brother would like that very much as well. My cousin will, I am confident, have other activities to fill her time."

For the first time in his life, Rawlings seemed to be the hunted, and he was intrigued. He decided he would make time for a trip to Boston. Perhaps he would visit there once his business with Astor is finished.

When attending Uncle Harrowby's dinner, Blake had hoped for a quiet evening of honest discussion about politics without so many guests; but the life of Lord Harrowby was not completely taken up with politics. Tonight, many fine families and their unmarried, young daughters graced his home for dinner and an evening of entertainment. And tonight, Harrowby had decided not to discuss politics, but to repair his nephew's disappointment with the young country miss from Hertfordshire County.

With a deliberate intention to help his nephew, he had invited the Godwin family, including their beautiful, unmarried daughter, Evelina. He had known them for years. Forty years earlier, his and Mr. Godwin's fathers had worked together on Lord North's India Bill. Although the Act had not been perfect, the bill gave greater parliamentary control over the affairs of the East India Company, and for the first time, made a distinction between commerce and ruling the territory. Today, Mr. Godwin had taken his father's place, and followed his lead by remaining involved in the East India Company, albeit as an advisor to the current Lord Harrowby. Mr. Godwin cared about the commercial aspect, while Lord Harrowby concerned himself with the governing side.

Blake bowed and spoke politely with each lady presented to him. Some were tall, others short, all were thin; but it was not until he was introduced to a redheaded vision in a shimmering gold gown, that he paid the slightest notice to any of them. Her beauty first caught his interest, as did her green eyes, but her ability to hold a conversation was what drew him to her. In addition, she did not smile as much as the other ladies did. In fact, she barely smiled at all. As he led her into the dining room, he remembered Darcy's comment about Miss Jane Bingley. She smiled too much. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps all the smiling that the ladies did was just another trick. Even I prefer women that do not flirt and smile at me. Lady Beatrice was the first, Miss Elizabeth the next and now I meet this serious Miss Evelina Godwin.

Lord Harrowby watched carefully from the other side of the room, pleased his nephew was engrossed with the daughter of his friend. She was a better orator than her father, who was also intrigued with the two young people. The men felt their hopes for a future alliance rise when Blake and Miss Godwin chose to sit together at dinner, spending the time in close discussion.

"Do you have political leanings, my lord?" Miss Godwin smiled before taking a bite of her roast beef.

"I have recently become interested in politics. I find the Tories want the aristocracy to hold onto power, while the Whigs wish to give others opportunities."

"My lord, surely you cannot believe anything a Whig says." In a deliberate motion, she placed her fork down as sparks flew from her eyes to his.

Intrigued by the fierceness of her words, Blake was thankful he was of the same political party. He supposed, if allowed, she would have purchased a modified Baker rifle and shot any reformist that stood in her way.

"You have been misled by your friends."

"If any of them are Whigs, they have not informed me," Blake answered. He slowly brought the fork of rice to his mouth as he glanced sideways at her. He stifled a chuckle when she gulped her wine.

"Mr. Kent's family is full of Whigs. You know him."

"We never discuss politics."

"Just games, competitions, and horses," she said without concealing her smile.

"Mostly. There are a few other topics gentlemen discuss when left on their own too long."

Miss Godwin placed her hand upon her chest. "Such as the ladies, I presume."

Blake raised his glass. "Drink. We argued once over the best wine to serve and brandy to drink." Blake tried to conceal a slight smile as he brought the glass to his lips.

"I am assuming the wine was not French!" Miss Godwin spit the words out.

"No. My friends did drink a lot of Scottish whiskey." Blake chuckled when she gulped her wine. "I do not care for that drink, and was content to have won the stallion instead of the Oban."

"Mr. Kent's family is involved in all matters of industry." She leaned closer and spoke in a whisper. "If you are not careful, your friend will push for control, and turn you into a... tradesman."

"The industrialists and entrepreneurs are the ones creating the wealth. Perhaps they should be in charge." Blake's eyes twinkled at her wide eyes and raised brows.

"In charge?" Her surprised look switched into glaring at him so hard that Blake leaned away from her.

The two continued to banter back and forth for the rest of dinner. He would make a comment, and she would react with more passion than Blake knew existed. Neither paid much attention to the other guests. By the end of the evening, Blake had smiled more than he had thought possible when he arrived. His uncle and her father repeatedly glanced at each other, nodding their heads.

Blake was pleased when the ladies removed to the music room to prepare for the evening entertainment. He wondered if Miss Godwin would be displaying her talents; he could only assume her passion spilled into other activities. As he sipped his brandy, he attempted to guess which musical piece suited her. Perhaps either Hayden's No. 44 or a piece from Mozart's Idomeneo. They certainly are full of sudden and sometimes violent dynamic effects, much like her.

Kent spent the morning working at Darcy House. He had rechecked all the cabinets for two important documents, not seen since Netherfield Park. One document laid out their plan for how they would circle the world in trade, and the second one covered the strategy to obtain agreement with John Jacob Aster for the fur trade. Kent made a mental note to discuss the missing documents with Darcy.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kent."

Kent whipped around to see a young lady dressed in the softest blue gown and smiling at him with her hands gracefully folding in front. "Miss Darcy! Good afternoon to you." He bowed deeply as she approached him to curtsey.

"Will you be staying for dinner? We are having your favorite."

"Veal?" Kent asked and broke out into a grin when she nodded. "Will anyone else be attending?"

Georgiana moved even closer and whispered so quietly, he had to lean down to hear. They shared a few more words huddled together, but before Kent could step away, Darcy entered the room.

"Kent! I did not know you were working here today." Darcy's brow tightened until deep vertical lines appeared, a warning Kent could not miss.

"I have been busy all morning." Kent snapped upright. "Thank you, Miss Darcy. I will attend."

Georgiana nodded, squared her shoulders and then slipped out the door without saying a word to her brother. Watching her leave the room, Darcy sighed, and shook his head. I suppose she is still mad at not attending Bingley's dinner party.

Kent returned to lock the cabinet.

"Attend what?" Darcy asked. His voice was steady, but cold.

Kent turned around. "I would rather not say."

"I would rather you did."

"I gave my word."

"To my sister?"

"Yes."

Darcy approached Kent until they were standing eye to eye. Both men stared until Kent lowered his head.

"Do not be such a bloody idiot, Darcy. Your sister is planning a surprise dinner party for you tomorrow. It is your birthday, is it not? She wanted to have a nice dinner and torment you about your growing old."

"Oh! I..."

"I know. You beg my pardon." Kent walked toward the window. "You seemed to be doing that a lot lately. Now, I have broken my word to your sister."

"I will be surprised, I promise, and frankly, I am. I... am only trying to protect my sister. But, I will say no more except..." Darcy waited until Kent turned to look at him. "I would like for you to attend."

Ignoring the question, Kent returned to staring out the window. "What do you do when you stand here? I have been trying to figure it out for months now."

"I think."

"Does the motion outside the window distract you?"

No. I do not see anything.

"So that is all you do? Think?"

"And deliberate as to what I will say. Sometimes I decide not to speak at all. I have a temper."

"I noticed. I believe you once admitted having such a trait to Miss Elizabeth Bennet." As Kent turned to face him, he caught his breath when he noticed Darcy had startled at the mention of her name. Kent flashed a slight smile of understanding, and in a calm voice, responded to Darcy's earlier question. "Yes, I will attend, and I warn you, I will assist your sister in tormenting you."

"Perhaps I should have moved to the window before I spoke to you. I..."

Kent held up his hand. "Please, no more. Do not beg my pardon. We are friends, are we not? I do not need an apology for every little mishap."

Darcy nodded and then departed, leaving Kent alone in the library, where the image of Georgiana's dinner party replaced all thoughts of business. His thoughts about the evening caused his lips to turn upwards but quickly stretched across his face as he imagined the opportunity before him.

Although Georgiana had sent cards to the Fitzwilliams, the Bingleys and Hursts, Lord Blake, and Mr. Kent, only six people entered the dining room that evening. Lord and Lady Matlock had left town for their country home and Richard was busy with his military responsibilities. The Hursts also sent their apologies. Victoria could attend, but only on the understanding that Lord Blake did not.

Fortunately, the marquis had already considered this eventuality and made his excuses, choosing to spend the evening at his chess club instead.

Georgiana was grateful for his foresight, as she needed Victoria to round out the party with three men and only two other women in attendance.

Darcy and Georgiana led their guests into the dining room. Darcy reacted with surprise at the table decorations and the presents lined up around his place.

"Happy Birthday, brother," Georgiana whispered.

"Hear, hear!" The others exclaimed.

Kent escorted Lady Victoria, while Bingley and Caroline followed. Darcy sat the head of the table with Lady Victoria, Kent and Caroline along the left side, Bingley on the right side next to Georgiana.

"Thank you, all. As I look around the table, I have never been so pleased to be one year older and to celebrate with such good friends. Thank you, again."

Studying the wrapped gifts, Darcy concluded they were all books except one. He opened the first one, The Lives of the Most Eminent English Poets with Critical Observations on their Works, in three volumes, by Samuel Johnson.

Lady Victoria laughed. "Volume one is full of long abstract words which I suspect you know every one; volume two is sufficiently haughty, but comprehensible to anyone that uses only three syllable words, and volume three is an essay on Swift."

"Thank you, Victoria. I have searched for these books."

"My father found them months ago. All the Fitzwilliam's have been looking every since the last Twelfth Night celebration when you mentioned wanting them."

Darcy selected Kent's book next.

Kent nodded to Georgiana. "I was asked to choose a book dealing with science and I believe this provides sufficient guidance to experiment on your own.

Darcy read the title to everyone. "Experiments and Observations on Fermentation and the Distillation of Ardent Spirit by Joseph Colier. "Why thank you, Kent, but now you will have to test each batch regardless of its success!"

Caroline smiled when Darcy picked up the book from her, although it was mostly handwritten pages tied together with ribbon. A titled page on top read, A Collection of Poems by Major Henry Beekman Livingston, Jr. "Livingston? Is he a new poet?"

"No, but he is not well known in England. Our families have been friends for generations. They now reside in New York, but we have maintained contact through correspondence. I am positive that one day he will be recognized as a great poet."

Darcy untied the ribbon and gently handled the documents. A mixture of poems made up the collection including such titles as The Dance, The Progression and The Vine & Oak, and one he assumed was written for children entitled, Account of a Visit From St. Nicholas. He began to read it aloud.

"Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there... "

Everyone clapped when he had finished reading the entire poem. "Miss Bingley, this is wonderful gift. Is this in his hand?"

"Yes. He sent them to my grandmother and some of them arrived years ago. I think there are a few other poems you might find entertaining. He wrote the one you read when his children were young, and it became a tradition for our father to read it to us every Christmas. I had forgotten about them until Georgiana requested we all bring a book as a present. I know you collect first editions, and while it was not bound, it is the originals. Perhaps one day you could continue my family tradition and read the poem to your children."

"I will." As Darcy thumbed through the poems, his brows lifted when he spied the title on the last poem, Epithalamium: A Marriage Poem. Feeling his cheeks burning, he nodded to Bingley's sister and carefully retied the pages together and set aside. "I will treasure them always, Miss Bingley. I am exceedingly grateful for your thoughtfulness."

"Mine next." Georgiana handed him her book.

The paper was torn and Darcy read the title aloud. "Rules for Angling, Parts I through V by Richard Bloom."

"Perhaps now you can catch that old thirty pound diligo." His sister giggled.

Kent questioned her with his eyes until she answered, "Latin for prize. My brother has been chasing this one old carp ever since I can remember. What did you name him?"

"Busillis." When everyone turned their eyes on him and waited, Darcy continued, "Latin for baffling puzzle. He has been one ever since I caught him and he slipped through my fingers. I was sixteen. I have not come that close since then."

Bingley laughed. "Perhaps I should use that nickname for you, my friend. You have baffled me often. Now you have one gift left, and I will admit that it is not a book."

Darcy picked up the box and removed the ribbon and as he opened the top, Bingley cautioned him to be gentle with the contents. Darcy removed a few strange objects and shook his head. "I am at a loss for words."

"You usually are, Darcy." Grinning, Bingley moved towards his friend. "Let me show you how this works. Mr. Keir sent this to you. It is called an arc light and a man named Humphrey Davey invented it. These two wires attach to something called a battery, and this charcoal strip hooks across the two wires. Now watch."

Bingley asked the servant to blow out some of the candles at that end of the table. He connected the wires to the battery and quickly the attached carbon strip formed an arc and burned a brilliant white glow. The light shown brighter than any candle, but just as Darcy leaned in to get a closer look, the light disappeared. Bingley laughed and handed Darcy several more charcoal strips.

"This is amazing, Bingley. I cannot thank you enough."

"Mr. Keir enjoyed discussing electricity with you the other night. When I informed him of your approaching birthday, he had this sent to me right away. He said you longed to have a bright light for reading at night."

"But it goes out quickly."

"Unfortunately, all progress takes small steps to begin with. You will learn it takes much effort just to achieve the smallest change. And not everything runs smoothly either. Sometimes everything you have been taught is for naught and you must learn to accept what you thought was not possible."

Darcy lifted his glass. "A most delightful party, everyone. I cannot begin to express how happy I am..." He gazed around the table at the group assembled and continued, "And to be surrounded by my friends has made this the best of celebrations held in Darcy House."

Darcy signaled for the meal to begin and as expected, Caroline monopolized the conversation by her usual method of sharing the latest talk about the town. She also complimented Georgiana many times on her exquisite taste in table decorations and choice of food. She repeatedly admitted to everyone how she adored veal. Soon, the others drifted off into conversations with one another, leaving Caroline to eat in silence. On occasion, Kent and Bingley brought her into the conversation, but she was rarely able to add to their discussion. Most of the talk had centered on Bingley's dinner party, and the various characters that had attended.

During a lull in the conversations, Lady Victoria turned to Kent. "Pray tell us, good sir. Are there any wonderful tales you can share about Darcy from his Cambridge days?"

"Are you wishing to hear of his boisterous laughter, his wild storytelling, or even his yodeling in the middle of the night? I know it all!"

"Yes, please tell all."

All the conversations ceased as everyone's eye turned to Kent. Darcy revealed a slight smile and nodded to Kent to continue.

"I am sorry that is not possible. He was just as he is today. Quiet. Not even an entire barrel of ale could affect him. As a sober and thoughtful man, he was a friend to me and to all the newest students. I must admit, I would not have stayed had Darcy not taken charge and kept me from making foolish mistakes."

"You forgot about his birthday celebration, the one at the Boar's Head Tavern." Bingley smirked.

"My God, I did!"

"What happened? You must not leave this room without revealing the whole story." Georgiana exclaimed. "Something did happen. My brother is as red as Victoria's necklace." Everyone compared Darcy to the ruby pendant, and began to argue over which one was brighter.

"Do not divert us. What did my brother do?"

Bingley laughed. "After being forced to celebrate at a local inn, he rode back to our lodgings on his horse, facing backwards."

Kent wiped his eye with his napkin. "It was the funniest sight. He held on to a few strands of the horse's tail, and he would not stop saying giddy up. We called him giddy up man all the next day."

"How is it possible? Would he have fallen off? Would the horse go forward?"

Kent patted Lady Victoria's hand. "I rode alongside and led his horse, although it was not easy. I do not know how he fit on the saddle. And then Darcy kept smacking the horse's rear as if it was his neck."

"And one time he did fall into its tail," Bingley added.

Darcy shrunk down in his chair, shaking his head. "I hope you have learned to like mutton, Bingley."

Georgiana sighed. "I wish I could have witnessed it."

"Do not forget, Kent, he hummed and sang all the way. Something from the Marriage of Figaro. I could not keep him quiet. When everyone came out of their homes yelling at him to be quiet, he started singing, ‘I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon.' He would bow and sing. He must have lost his beaver five times."

"And when we handed it back to him, all he could say was ‘Thank you, my good man,' as if we were his servants." Kent rose and bowed to Darcy, who was sighing deeply.

"When he tried to dismount, he became confused. It seems he has a habit of placing his hand on the horse's neck when he dismounts, but he could not find it."

"How did he get off?"

"Fell right into the dirt. Slid right off the back end. He kept singing ‘I beg your pardon, sir' in some strange womanish voice as he stared up at the underbelly of the horse."."

The laughter died down after a few moments, and the room grew still as they sheepishly peeked at Darcy. His face was hidden his hands while making sobbing sounds. Georgiana's eyes grew wide, but the second her hand touched his arm, his head shot up and the loudest laugh she ever heard escaped his mouth.

Darcy smiled as he reached for his glass. "I wish I could have witnessed it too! And now I will accept bribes from my friends and family to maintain my silence, because I also have a large stock of stories, and I can tell much better narratives than that sorry little tale."

They spent the rest of the evening sharing embarrassing moments, including ones Bingley knew about Caroline, and when the dinner neared its end, Darcy rose and held up his glass.

"I offer a toast to my wonderful family and friends for providing me with the most enjoyable dinner to celebrate my birthday." Darcy bowed. "Thank you, my good men and thank you, my good ladies."

His smile grew even wider as the woman with fine eyes suddenly appeared to be sitting at the other end of the table, holding her glass up in a birthday toast to him. Her brow was raised and her eyes twinkled as her mouth curved slightly upwards before she nodded her head. However, just as suddenly, she vanished, leaving him feeling unaccompanied in a room full of people.