Section I, Next Section
"Gone? What do you mean, gone?"
Denby Park's slight-statured steward had been part of its history since the previous earl had been alive, and it had fallen to him to tell that great man's son the terrible news. He grimaced and said, "I am afraid that is all I know, Lord Denby. The man has vanished, and all hopes of recovering your money have gone with him."
Lord Robert Hamilton, Earl of Denby, put his head in his hands and prayed he was not hearing what he knew he was hearing. It should not have surprised him, really it should not have. It was just one more bad thing to happen to him in a string of bad things over the past four years.
If he were to be honest with himself, he would say that his bad luck had started with his mother's passing. A few days after the funeral, his fiancée Elizabeth Bennet had formed an engagement with another man, Fitzwilliam Darcy.
Six months after his mother died, his shipping business suffered a series of mishaps highlighted by the sinking of three consecutive ships. It left his business in tatters and a bevy of furious investors sniping at his heels. Robin had felt himself duty-bound to pay them back, and then felt it prudent to disappear for a while. He had left his man-of-affairs, a friend of his by the name of Walter Blackstone, in charge of his investments.
Robin had gone to Italy, a place he had visited during his Grand Tour and enjoyed a great deal.
While he had been there, he had fallen in love with a beautiful young Italian girl named Lucia. He had thought Lucia to be in love with him as well. She had loved him enough to agree to marry him, provided that he gain her father's permission first.
Robin remembered bitterly the scene at her father's villa the day he had come to ask her father if he could marry her. He had been extremely confident, for they were in love and what force could stop that?
Apparently, an Italian prince could. Lucia's father said that an English earl was nothing to him, that his daughter was to be a principessa to a great man. And Lucia could not meet his eyes. She could not protest that she loved him, that she wanted to be with him.
Because she did not love him. When Robin went to meet her in the place they always had met, to tell her that he wanted to elope with her, he had found a note instead. And Lucia, deceptive, witchy Lucia, had happily married her prince five months later.
Robin had spent a great deal more time in France, trying to forget everything about Italy. While in France, he thought a great deal more about his life in England, and the disastrous engagement party which had ended for him when a frantic young woman entered the ballroom and begged the host to find the man who had impregnated her.
Well, honestly, the engagement party had long ended for him before the actual event took place. But the best part of the evening for him had taken place in the garden, where he had met a beautiful young woman disguised as a boy.
Ophelia.
That was the only name Robin had for her, though he knew for certain that it could not be her own. At the very least, it was not her first name, though perhaps her second one. When he thought of Ophelia, he thought of the small gold cross on a chain that had accidentally torn free from her neck in her panicked flight from him that night. COF were the initials etched on the back of it.
Robin thought of their verbal skirmish as she tried to avoid revealing her name and he tried not to let her get away before he discovered it. He thought of the way she had looked in the moonlight, a picture which would never fade for him. He thought of thick, lustrous reddish hair and those eyes which he thought were either blue or green. He never had been able to make up his mind which colour they were. He thought of her stubborn little chin and her full lips...
Especially those, pressed to his.
Robin had decided to find out who she was once and for all, which had brought him back to England. Unfortunately, he had returned just in time to find out that yet another of his ventures had failed and that his man-of-affairs, his longtime friend Walter, had betrayed him. He had fleeced him of almost everything he could and disappeared.
"Send someone to hire a Bow Street Runner as soon as possible," Robin said. "Try to keep this quiet as long as you can. Have him find Walter Blackstone. When he does, I am going to cut his black heart out."
The steward nodded, planning to go to Bow Street himself. He felt guilty for not having realized what Blackstone was doing and stopping him. Now the poor earl had nothing, and soon all of London would know. But not from him. He would take Robin Hamilton's secret to the grave, if necessary.
Robin watched as the man briskly walked away, thinking about what he was going to do now. When the solution hit him, he knew he had no other choice. He could not stay in London, because people would find him. He could not go to Denby Park, although he understood from his new solicitor that he still owned it outright and it was still turning a profit. He could not go anywhere...
...but to Pemberley.
Please, Lord, let the family be in residence. Robin repeated this one-line prayer to himself as he waited for someone to answer the door. After what seemed like an eternity, the door slowly opened and the ancient but still dignified butler said, "May I help you?"
"Is the family in residence?" Robin asked, holding his breath.
"They are indeed, sir. May I ask who is calling?"
"Lord Robert Hamilton--"
"Ah, yes! I thought I recognized you. You were Mrs. Darcy's intended before...er, well..." The butler blushed and Robin smiled.
"It is all right, sir. I am well aware of my relationship to Mrs. Darcy was before her marriage."
"Please, step inside and I shall announce that you are here."
"Thank you."
The butler walked down a long corridor and turned a corner. A minute later, the slim, elegant form of Mrs. Darcy came hurtling in his direction. He braced his feet and waited for her to throw herself into his arms. She did not disappoint him, nearly knocking him over.
"Hello, Mrs. Darcy," he said.
"Enough with that formal nonsense, else I shall have to call you Lord Denby and I should not like that at all," Elizabeth replied warmly.
She stepped out of his arms and Robin looked at her. Married life agreed with her, he thought with a smile. It had taken away the sadness he remembered from the end of their engagement and transformed her into beauty. He had heard, even from the continent, of Mrs. Darcy's remarkable wit, generosity, beauty, and grace.
He knew his mother would be extremely proud if she could see her.
"Come...you must come to the library. Fitzwilliam and I were just sitting down to a game of chess, but you can play him and I can...well, you shall see."
Robin was curious to know what Elizabeth was keeping from him, so he followed her to the library.
"Fitzwilliam! Look who has come!" Elizabeth beamed.
Mr. Darcy set his book aside, rose from his chair to shake Robin's hand. If either man felt slightly awkward on this occasion, he hid it well.
"Darling, I hope you do not mind that I am substituting Robin for myself in the chess game, but as you are well aware, I am hardly a worthy opponent."
Darcy smiled. "I welcome the challenge."
"Yes--it makes for a great change, for his cousin is not much better at the game than I. You would think that a former military man would be good at a strategic game, but poor Richard is still struggling along with me."
"How is your sister, Darcy?" Robin asked.
Darcy smiled. "She is wonderful. She is in London at the moment with my uncle's family. She is about to make her debut and as soon as Elizabeth is ready, we shall be joining her."
"And how is your cousin and Miss Tysen--forgive me, I mean, Mrs. Fitzwilliam?"
"Quite well," Darcy replied.
"Sabrina is still in confinement," Elizabeth said. "Ugh! She started pampering herself the moment she found out she was...in a delicate way. I somehow fear she is going to be the weaker for it."
"Whereas I could barely keep you in the house, much less in your room," Darcy muttered.
Robin realized suddenly what it was Elizabeth had wanted him to see. Next to the fire sat a small cradle. Robin walked over to it.
"Oh, Elizabeth," he murmured, looking down at the beautiful baby in the pink gown. She looked so tiny and delicate, with soft, curly brown hair, and her chubby pink cheeks. The baby opened her eyes and looked at him, and for a moment Robin was taken aback. Her eyes were identical to her mother's, so fine and dark brown.
"What is her name?" he asked.
"We named her Grace," Elizabeth said proudly. "Grace Elizabeth Anne Darcy."
Robin felt tears forming in his eyes. "Mama would have been honoured," he murmured quietly.
"I owe everything to her. Without her, I would never have fallen in love with Fitzwilliam and then there would be no Gracie." Elizabeth reached into the cradle and lifted the baby. She handed Grace to Robin.
"Oh, I do not know if I should. I could drop her," he said.
"Nonsense. You are holding her quite naturally."
And Robin looked down at his arms to see that he was, indeed, holding the child correctly. Her big brown eyes were fixed on him with a curious expression. Gracie knew he was a stranger, but oddly enough, she was not crying as he might expect with a child so young.
"Gracie loves strangers, which I fear is going to cause me no end of grief," Elizabeth said.
"Not to mention a lot of headaches," Darcy added.
"She is going to be an angel," Robin said. "After all, she has her namesake, my mother, in heaven to look out for her. Yes, you do, Gracie."
The baby gurgled and smiled.
"I should probably put her down," Robin said finally. "With my luck, I would probably bring her some harm and I would not wish that for the world." Reluctantly, he handed the child back to her mother. Elizabeth gently laid Grace back in the cradle.
"We had heard you were having some troubles," she said quietly.
"That is putting it mildly." He tried to make it a joke but could not. Robin took the chair across the chess board from Darcy. "After the disaster of the shipping company, no one is willing to go into business with me."
"They are all fools," Elizabeth said in high fury. "After all the success you have had in the past, to abandon you at the first sight of trouble--"
"Had it been one incident, I am certain I would still have plenty of backers for my new venture. But all the mishaps over such a period of time..." Robin sighed. "I have become bad luck."
"Yes. I have heard you called 'The Bad Luck Earl.' And I told that person if I ever heard the name again, they would never be welcome at another one of my parties." Elizabeth smiled. "I wish I could do more, Robin, but social ostracism is all I can offer."
"What is it you are proposing now?" Darcy asked.
Robin looked at him. "To stay solvent. This last scheme, which was set to defraud me, has nearly brought me to my knees. I have Denby Park, and the money it produces, and that is all. Most of the money from it, however, I put back into the estate."
"Have you no money of your own?" Elizabeth gasped.
He shook his head. "A little, but not nearly enough. Before long, the name 'Bad Luck Earl' will become 'Impoverished Earl.'"
Elizabeth gently rocked her daughter. "I wish you had let me give the money Lady Grace left me back to you. At least then you would have something."
Robin recalled wistfully her noble offer. He would rather die than admit it, but he rather wished he had let her talk him into keeping the money.
"Have you attempted to find the man who stole your money?" Darcy asked.
Robin nodded. "I have Bow Street Runners actively looking for the man."
"Who was it?" Elizabeth asked.
"My man of affairs. Serves me right for letting him take over my interests while I left the country."
"Robin, one could hardly blame you for placing your trust in someone you thought was your friend."
"Yes, but he has managed to land me in a most unfortunate position. I could probably manage to scrape up enough money for this new venture, but I would still need backers and none are to be found."
"What is it you are planning to do?" Darcy asked.
Robin briefly outlined his plans. Darcy recognized the brilliance of them, far better than any of the other ventures he had been offered to buy into in the last several months.
"Why did you not come to me before this?" he asked. "I would have been more than willing to hear your proposal and back you."
Robin was stunned. He had not come here in order to convince Darcy to invest in his plan. The thought had never even occurred to him, though why it had not puzzled him.
"I would not presume to impose on our friendship...if that is what you could call it," Robin said.
"Even if we were not friends, I would be most interested in your venture. I have been looking to diversify some of the Darcy holdings and this would be a perfect opportunity for me to do so. Your plan is well-thought, includes only minor risks, and stands to make a healthy profit."
"Darcy, I do not want you to do this out of some sort of obligation you feel."
"Obligation for what?"
"Because of me. Honestly, men can be thick sometimes," Elizabeth muttered from the direction of the fireplace, where she had curled up in a chair with a heavy book.
Robin tried not to let his amusement show as Darcy gave his wife a black look. Elizabeth smiled complacently from her chair, a woman secure in the knowledge that she was loved--and that her husband had been trying to pretend as though their past had not happened.
Elizabeth was of the opinion that although you could not change the past, it was not wise to ignore it, either. She felt it would be better if everything was out in the open before they agreed to any venture together.
"Elizabeth, dear, I cannot and would not attempt to put any price on you. You are a treasure beyond worth. Now, how much do you think you would be needing?"
"Darcy, I did not come here--"
"I know that. You came because you had not seen us since..." Darcy felt the colour rise in his cheeks, remembering that the last time they had seen each other, Lord Robin had attempted to throw him out of his house and Darcy had made a complete fool of himself in the hallway, shouting for Elizabeth and...
Well, perhaps that had been for the best. If he had not been so open about how he felt, she might not have married him.
"...Well, you had not seen us for quite a while. I have no doubt that the gossips in London were flaying you alive about this latest problem. You needed a change of scenery, so here you are."
Robin nodded.
"Then it is settled. Tell me how much you need. I may not be able to give you the full amount myself, but I know of at least one other person who would be interested in investing in a sound plan such as yours."
"Who would that be?"
"My cousin. Richard has a good head for business, even if he cannot play chess, and he cares as little for gossip and other nonsense as I do."
"I can think of someone else who would be interested," Elizabeth added.
Both men turned to her.
"I would be more than willing to invest in your venture." Elizabeth smiled. "Unless you think it would bring you further bad luck to have a woman as an investor."
Robin was grateful he was sitting in a chair, because the remarkable change in his luck that evening would have been enough to cause his legs to turn wobbly. "I--I--"
"You shall accept, because people already think part of your bad luck is due to me. If I invest in your plan, then people shall think your luck is changing. And perhaps that is all you shall need to get your life back in order." Elizabeth set her book aside and stood up. She walked over to them. "We shall have them all shaking their heads in wonder when you make a fortune, Robin. They shall rue the day they ever called you the Bad Luck Earl."
"I feel a slight chill in the air. I never knew you could be quite so vindictive," Robin said with a smile. "And if your husband would not object, I shall be more than happy to accept your offer."
"It is her money to do with as she pleases," Darcy said, moving a chess piece.
Robin took Elizabeth's hand and kissed it. "Thank you. Thank you--both of you. I hardly have words to express how I feel."
"'Thank you' will suffice," Elizabeth said, returning to the fire and her book. "You know, Robin, I have been thinking that there may be a solution to your present financial situation."
"What is that?"
"You should get married."
Robin turned so fast to glare at her that his hand brushed against the two chess pieces he had been debating between. "Are you mad?" he asked. "Why ever would I wish to do that?"
"Well, for one thing, you are nearly thirty-five."
"Thirty-three on my last birthday, Mrs. Darcy, and you well know it."
"Nearly thirty-five. You are in need of an heir, and I seem to recall that your entire family has trouble producing sons."
"There shall be plenty of time later to set up a nursery. Right now, I am trying to replenish my fortunes."
"Which is why I think you should marry. Do you not recall that Lady Grace left you fifty thousand pounds in her will upon your marriage?"
Robin stared at her, thunderstruck.
"I knew you had forgotten," Elizabeth said smugly. "So you see, you should get married as soon as possible to collect your inheritance. It was most unfair of your mother to leave that condition upon the money."
"I am glad she did, or else it would be gone as well," Robin replied.
"And if you should marry a woman who is an heiress in her own right, then your fortunes shall be even better. Really, Robin, it is the most natural solution."
"Right now, Elizabeth, I do not think I should marry. Word is beginning to go around about my situation and people who would have been more than thrilled to have me marry their daughters are now crossing the street to avoid me."
"What nonsense! You might be a Bad Luck Earl, but you are still an earl. Your social position is far greater than most."
"I do not wish to marry simply for money. It was why I waited so long before getting engaged and why I have not found anyone else since then."
"You have not? What about the lovely Italian girl Mrs. Jennings saw you with in Rome? She said you told her you two were nearly engaged."
Robin sighed. "More bad luck, I am afraid. Lucia's father did not think and English earl was the best his daughter could get, so he married her off to an Italian prince."
"The foolish things pride makes people do," Darcy said. "Eliza, darling, if I ever think refuse a suitor for Gracie's hand because I think she could do better socially, remind me of the follies of pride."
"I certainly shall." Elizabeth looked at the cradle, where her daughter had fallen asleep. "We shall find someone right for you, Robin. And if all else fails, Fitzwilliam has a cousin or two you could marry."
"Yes," Darcy replied. "Perhaps Anne or Cordelia would do quite well."
"Anne!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Do be serious. He could not possibly marry Anne. They would kill each other within a week."
"Anne? Miss Anne de Bourgh?" Robin asked.
"Yes."
"No, thank you. Although I only remember her as a complete wallflower, I have heard tales even on the continent of her ill temper. It seems as though she takes after her mother."
"She really is not that bad," Elizabeth said hastily. "Something about the London ton irritates her to no end, which is where she gets her reputation. Anne can be strong-willed and obstinate, just like her mother. I do not think you would suit at all." She thought for a moment. "But Lady Cordelia is another matter. She is Richard's younger sister and a very lovely girl. Quite smart, although her mother discourages her because she does not wish her to be known as a bluestocking."
"How old is she?"
"Nearly nineteen."
"Good Lord, Elizabeth, I am old enough to be her father! At least Anne de Bourgh, for all her faults, is nearer my age. Find me someone who is not just out of the schoolroom. A nice widow, perhaps."
"You do not know Cordelia yet," Elizabeth said, for the young girl was quite a favourite with her. "She is quite charming. She spent last summer with Richard and Sabrina, but I swear she spent more time here than there. We quite adored her. She was so wonderful, and is very beautiful. She loves horses and dogs and children. She would make any man a perfect wife."
"Elizabeth, I think before you encourage Robin to court my cousin you should inform him that there is a problem."
Elizabeth groaned. "Oh, yes. I had quite forgotten about that."
"What problem?" Robin had started to warm to the idea of Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam, for if Elizabeth liked her she was sure to be a prize.
"Cordelia's father is the problem," Darcy said.
"More like Anne de Bourgh is the problem," Elizabeth muttered.
"When Lady Catherine died shortly after Elizabeth and I married, she left guardianship of her daughter to my uncle, the Earl of Matlock. My uncle was certain Anne would have little trouble finding a husband, as she was a great heiress, so once she was out of mourning he gave her a Season without fully realizing how unprepared Anne was for Society."
"Oh, Lord," Robin said, remembering how he and his mother had feared for Elizabeth during her first Season.
"You can guess how badly she did. Anne realized that all of London was laughing at her, and before her second Season she learned everything she needed to know. Unfortunately, she was only seeking revenge against those who had injured her. Because she succeeded...well, she was stuck with as dreadful a nickname as yours."
"Yes, even on the continent they were calling her that. 'The Bad-Tempered Heiress.' What has this to do with Lady Cordelia?"
"I was getting to that. Cordelia made her debut last year, and everyone fell in love with her. But my uncle has refused to entertain any offers for her hand until Anne is wed."
"Good Lord, it is like something out of Shakespeare!" Robin exclaimed.
"That is where he got the idea, I think," Elizabeth said. "So you see the dilemma. No man wants to marry Anne, every man wants to marry Cordelia, and all of London is dying to see if either of them shall ever marry."
Robin sighed. "Well, I think perhaps I shall wait until I get to London to decide whether or not to get married. Are the two of you planning to returning for the Season?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Yes. Remember, Georgiana is about to have her debut."
"Of course...excellent. I look forward to seeing you there to help me out." Robin looked at the chess board, moved one piece, and said quietly, "Checkmate."
Darcy stared at the board, amazed at how well the man played.
Robin smiled. Perhaps his luck finally was coming around. He certainly hoped so.
Anne de Bourgh stood in front of the looking glass, gazing at her reflection and that of her cousin.
"I sometimes think that God was improving upon my imperfections with you, cousin," Anne said.
Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam laughed. "Oh, Anne, the things you think at times! Why on earth would you think that?"
"Look in the mirror," Anne said with a sigh.
Cordelia could only see two lovely young women standing before it. True, they did look remarkably alike for cousins. There were people who, upon first seeing them together, thought them to be sisters. Anne, the elder, had lovely chestnut red hair and jewel-like blue-green eyes. Anne had healthy, vibrant good looks, which surprised those who knew her to be a rather plain girl in her youth.
"I have always thought myself to be a somewhat faded version of you," Cordelia said honestly, looking at her reddish-blond hair and plain blue eyes. She never thought of herself as deserving of all the praise she had received in her first Season, though he was clearly one of the most beautiful girls in London.
Anne snorted. Cordelia was trying to make her feel better, but that was just her way. Anne knew the truth. Cordelia was the bright and beautiful sun around which the ton had revolved the previous year, and they would likely do so again.
Anne turned away from the mirror and walked to the window.
If only...
Ah. Two little words that only fools said, because there was no way to change the past. One simply had to learn from it and move on with life. Still, at times it was hard not to envy Cordelia for the ease with which she moved through Society. The entire world had eagerly anticipated the arrival of the Earl of Matlock's eldest daughter, and had not been disappointed. Then again, Lady Cordelia had known exactly what to do when she arrived.
Unlike yourself.
Anne thought of her first disastrous Season. Her uncle would not listen to her when she had told him she knew nothing of society. She did not know how to dance. She did not have the first clue about fashion. She did not know much about proper conversation, her mother's idea of conversation being long monologues, delivered by herself, of course, about what everyone should do. And in the last months of her life, little conversation at all except about how she detested her nephew and the "upstart nobody" he had married, Elizabeth Bennet.
"You are your mother's daughter, Anne. Your mother, believe it or not, was the Belle of the Season when she debuted, and this despite saying the entire time that she was not ready to face it," he had said, taking her pleas for time as mere nerves.
But it had not been nerves. Anne had been a disaster, and had very quickly been dismissed by society as a simpleton, a country bumpkin, and despite her vast inheritance, an Undesirable. Anne remembered coming home at night and sobbing in Cordelia's arms, telling her of the mishaps that befell her, the mistakes she made, the laughter she heard in her wake whenever she walked by people. It had been Cordelia who had finally convinced her father that Anne needed to get away from Society in order to learn all the proper etiquette, for which Anne would always be grateful.
Anne had had one goal throughout the long summer they had spent at Matlock, Cordelia in final preparations for her debut and Anne learning all she would need to know in order to thrive in Society. Anne planned to return to London and become a success, and then gain revenge on everyone who had laughed at her.
Anne's frown turned into a smug smile as she recalled the success of her plan. The ball may have been held in Cordelia's honour, but Anne had been the talk of the town the following morning. People had been stunned at the ravishing beauty who had emerged from the country bumpkin of the previous Season. Within a week, Anne de Bourgh had her choice of suitors--and marriage proposals.
And then she turned the sharp edge of her tongue to the people in town. Every man who had ridiculed her in her first Season then turned around and proposed to her in her second was given her lecture on hypocrisy. Every woman who had laughed behind her fan and then hovered near her because all of the men were near was ignored. Very quickly, people understood that Anne de Bourgh was making fools of them all, and it was then that she was given her nickname: The Bad-Tempered Heiress.
People still had to be nice to her, for she was an heiress and she did know her way around society. To her surprise, there were fools who refused to give up courting her. And there were a few women whom Anne considered to be her friends, and they were a fiercely loyal lot who insured that Anne still had some place in society, not that she cared for it.
Anne had felt more free than she ever had in her life by acting as she wished in Society. She was no longer governed by her mother and could care less for what Society thought of her. At least they no longer thought her a country cousin, which was all she wanted. All she cared about was February 21, for on that day she would be twenty-five and would come into her inheritance. Then she could leave Society forever and return to Rosings.
And then poor Cordelia can marry. Anne looked back at her cousin, who had abandoned the mirror and was searching her closet for an outfit to wear to dinner. The earl had informed them earlier that Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would be arriving that evening and bringing a guest with them.
It had been a dirty trick the earl had pulled, at least in Anne's opinion. After her revenge had been carried out, Cordelia again became the focus of much attention. Anne had been happy for her cousin, for although she could not stand Society she knew that Cordelia had been born for it. Halfway through the Season, Cordelia had had at least ten marriage proposals, excellent matches. There was one which would have made Cordelia a duchess, and another from a Spanish prince which Anne knew Matlock would have loved to make for his daughter.
But Anne's "childish antics," as he called them, had gotten out of hand. He had ordered her to stop them, and when she did not, he made his decree. He had informed each of Cordelia's suitors, who told all of Society, that no offers for Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam would be considered until her cousin Anne was married.
It was a decision which stunned Society and made the Earl of Matlock subject to a great deal of speculation, but he weathered the storm as only he could--by refusing to talk about it. He had thought that this would be the only way to get Anne to mend her ways, because he knew how much she cared about Cordelia. It was a fact which he stressed to Anne on the many occasions they spoke about it--if she wished to make her cousin happy, she would find a suitor and get married.
But the decree did not have the desired effect. Anne continued acting how she felt like acting, within the bounds of decent society. Cordelia had supported and respected her decision, for to be completely honest she benefited from it. She wanted to be absolutely certain of the man she married, and all of London knowing she was not to marry until Anne did insured that she would know him.
Anne looked down to see a carriage slowing in front of the house. For a brief second, she thought it might be Cousin Darcy and his wife, whom Anne had been looking forward to seeing again, but seconds later she recognized the coat of arms on the door. With a silent groan, she realized that it was Evan Brixton, Lord Cassel.
Lord Cassel was a minor nobleman, a complete wastrel, and an outright fortune hunter. There were far easier fortunes to gain access to than Anne de Bourgh's, but Cassel was set on having the difficult Bad-Tempered Heiress for his wife. He had several bets on his success spread around London, though everyone said he was foolish to continue pursuing it.
Anne knew nothing of the bets, or of the swaggering jests Evan Brixton made about "taming the hellcat" as only a man could. All she knew was that of all the men she knew in London, he was the most annoying and he would not leave her alone. Toward the end of last Season, she could not attend even the theatre without him turning up. She knew what he was about, but despite her blatant refusals he would not give up his suit.
Anne spied a vase of flowers on a table close to the window. Lord Cassel was climbing out of his carriage, and she knew that if he reached the house, her uncle would insist on her seeing him. She turned to look and see where Cordelia was and saw that Cordelia was in her wardrobe, still hunting for something. She picked up the vase from the table and looked at the roses.
Anne opened the window and waited until Lord Cassel was standing directly beneath her, the window of Cordelia's room being above the doorway. He tapped on the door and waited for it to be answered. Before the butler could get to the door, Anne turned the vase upside down. The contents rained down upon Lord Cassel, and the butler opened the door to see him wiping water from his eyes and looking up at the window, which was now shut.
Wilberforce, the butler, wished he could chuckle, but it would be undignified. Still, the sight of Lord Cassel looking bedraggled and furious was a memory he would treasure a long time, for he felt much the same way Anne did about the man.
"May I help you, sir?"
"Yes," Lord Cassel said through gritted teeth. "You may take me to see Matlock."
"Would you not like to...make yourself more presentable, sir?"
Lord Cassel glared at the man until Wilberforce said, "One moment, sir," and shut the door on him.
From her perch by the window, Anne chuckled as Lord Cassel looked ready to do murder. He surely knew she had done it. Perhaps now he would finally leave her alone.
"What is so amusing?" Cordelia asked, having found the dress she had been looking for.
"Nothing in particular."
"Do you think this would do for the evening?"
Anne glanced at the dress. It was a simple but lovely gown the same shade of blue as Cordelia's eyes. She looked like an angel in it.
"For heaven's sake, Del, it is just a family dinner," Anne said as the door opened again and Lord Cassel walked into the house.
"I realize that. This dress is for the St. Cecilia's Ball."
"Were we discussing that?"
"I was. I think you were staring off into space." Anne heard the teasing note in her cousin's voice and knew that Cordelia was not upset.
"Forgive me," she said absently. "And I think that dress would be perfect for the St. Cecilia's Ball."
"What do you intend to wear?"
"A sackcloth with a matching bag over my head."
"Annie, do be serious!"
"I was."
Cordelia set the dress in a place where she would be able to find it. Anne watched as Lord Cassel stormed out of the house, giving the upstairs window one last deadly glance, before climbing into his carriage and ordering his driver to leave. Breathing a sigh of relief, Anne walked away from the window and flopping onto Cordelia's bed.
"I wonder who Cousin Darcy is bringing to dinner," Anne said.
Before Cordelia could answer, there was a roar from the library.
"Anne de Bourgh!"
The fury in the Earl of Matlock's voice could be heard throughout the house, causing servants all over to rush to the nearest hiding place. When the earl's voice rose above conversation level--and it rarely had prior to becoming guardian to his niece--it meant his temper was raging fiercely. He was to be avoided at all costs on these occasions.
Cordelia froze with fear upon hearing the bellow, but the object of his fury remained lying calmly on the bed.
"Oh, Annie, what have you done now?" she asked.
Anne shrugged, tossing her unbound hair over her shoulder and acting nonchalant. It was not much of an act, for Anne knew what her uncle was upset about and could not care less. She did not answer Cordelia.
There was a timid knock on the door a minute later. A pale-faced maid walked in. "B-beggin' yer pardon, miss, b-but his lordship asked to see your i-in 'is library," she said.
Anne and Cordelia exchanged a look. "What did you do?" Cordelia asked again.
Anne shrugged. "I suppose it might have something to do with dumping a vase of roses over Lord Cassel's head when he was standing at the front door."
Cordelia choked back a bite of laughter. "I wish I had seen it, though it was most unladylike, Anne."
"A point which your father shall surely point out to me. Pray that I might have courage, Del." With that, Anne rose from the bed and followed the maid downstairs, not bothering to slip on the uncomfortable shoes she so detested.
Cordelia noticed the slippers under the table with the empty vase, having been kicked there when Anne had walked into the room. With a shake of her head, Cordelia murmured, "Courage is something you never lack."
Anne dismissed the quaking maid once they reached the foot of the stairs. Grateful, the young girl scurried away. Anne hesitated at the massive double doors to the library. She hunted in vain for something to bind her unruly hair.
Oh well.
She threw open the doors, raised her chin, and said, "You summoned me, I believe."
The Earl of Matlock stood about two inches above six feet, towering over Anne with a look in his normally warm grey eyes that would freeze someone with less spirit. From her untamed hair to her bare toes peeping out from underneath her skirt, she was a hellion.
He turned away from her before asking, "Anne, what possessed you to hurl a vase of flowers at Lord Cassel?"
Anne tried to look innocent, in case he turned to look at her. "I did not hurl a vase at him. I was setting the vase on the window sill and I did not realize the window was open. The vase almost slipped from my fingers when I stumbled on the table nearby. While I could not keep the contents in the vase, I would like to add that I managed to hold on to the vase. It was rather expensive."
"Anne!"
"Uncle, I have asked you repeatedly not to invite him here to court me. I have begged you to tell him I do not wish to see him again. I cannot understand why he persists and why you let him."
"As to the first, I have asked that myself. Lord knows you have done everything in your power to dissuade his suit. But he is the only suitor you have! And if you are determined to act in the hoydenish manner you did last Season--"
"Never fear, Uncle. When the family returns to London after Christmas, I do not intend to be with you. All I ask is that you forget this nonsense about refusing to let Cordelia marry before I do."
"I shall do no such thing."
"Can you honestly say that it did you any good?"
"Can you not see that you hurt Cordelia by your foolishness? All you need to do is what you did at the beginning of last Season--be the charming, lovely, vivacious young woman I know you to be. Find another suitor, because to be completely honest, Anne, I am loathe to permit Lord Cassel to court you. I have no other alternative."
"I do not need a suitor. I am quite content--"
"Rosings needs a master. You acknowledge this."
"My mother ran Rosings quite well after my father died. I believe I can do the same."
Matlock sighed. Anne would not see reason in the matter. It was a hopeless cause.
"Despite this incident with the flowers, Lord Cassel has asked if he may call upon you. I have not given him an answer because I had hoped you would give up this foolish--"
"I asked you for a year," Anne said evenly. "One year in which to prepare myself to come out in Society. And you would not grant it."
"I have apologized profusely for it. I realize my mistake, but I did not think that Lady Matlock could handle two girls debuting at the same time. It seemed easier--"
"I know." Anne turned away from her uncle. "I merely wanted to point out that I would have gotten on much better with the help of a year."
"I know." Matlock took a seat at his desk and looked at his niece again. She seemed less like a hellion now and more like the bewildered girl she had been after her mother's death.
Matlock cursed himself often for his callous actions regarding Anne following Lady Catherine's death. He had loved his sister dearly but he recognized her for what she had been. He had seen the way she treated Anne, because Anne had been an only child and the heiress to Rosings. Anne had never been a sickly child but had been treated as an invalid would have been. He should have known that she was in no way prepared for Society.
And his foolishness had brought them to this.
"May I go?" Anne asked.
"Yes, you may go."
Anne bobbed her head and left the library, returning immediately to Cordelia's room.
"How did it go?" Cordelia asked.
"About as it always does, Del. He asked me to behave. I asked him not to let Lord Cassel come calling. I told him I was not coming back to London after the holiday."
"What did he think of that?"
"He did not seem keen on the idea. Why is it that men think women are completely helpless? My mother, God rest her soul, learned to run Rosings and did so successfully for nearly fourteen years. I learned everything she knew, and yet because I am unmarried, your father thinks..."
"Annie, he is only thinking of your future. It is the way things work in our society. Men control and women obey. Or at least, they are supposed to obey. I suppose that if Mrs. Darcy had obeyed her parents, she would not be Mrs. Darcy." Cordelia winced after saying that.
"I never loved him. I wish someone would believe me--other than Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth." Anne sat back on Cordelia's bed. "Del?"
"Yes?"
"Do you resent me because your father will not let you marry unless I do?"
"Not at all. I did not receive a single offer that I would have considered last year. My father would have married me off to that duke had it not been for you, and I would have rather died. He could not dance, his breath always reeked of liver and onions, and he was always staring at me."
"What if that changes? What if you fall in love with someone this Season?"
"I shall merely wait until after the holidays. Remember, the edict is lifted when you gain your inheritance in full."
Anne nodded.
"But Anne, you could be a little nicer to people."
"Even Lord Cassel?"
"No, you do not have to be nice to him. He reminds me of the duke. But there are plenty of nice people in the ton."
"I know there are. I am friends with them, including and especially you."
There was another tap at the door. Without bothering to wait for permission, the door opened and a third redhead appeared. Her hair was a rich copper, her eyes a lovely grass green if a little sleepy. She had been napping, recovering from a mild summer cold.
"I heard Uncle yelling. What did you do this time, Annie?" Georgiana Darcy asked.
"It is a long story," Anne replied.
"With you, it always is."
Anne smiled. "I must live up to my reputation somehow."
"Georgie, has your brother written you to tell you who is bringing with him this evening?" Cordelia asked.
"As a matter of fact, yes."
Anne and Cordelia looked at their cousin. "Why did you not tell us?" Anne demanded.
Georgiana smiled impishly. "You did not ask."
Anne hurled a pillow at her. "Who is it?"
"Robin Hamilton."
Cordelia and Anne fell silent. Georgiana had expected some reaction to her news, but both of her cousins had gotten pale at the name.
"You remember Robin, do you not, Anne?" Georgiana asked.
"Yes, I do, though rather vaguely. We did not speak much."
"Is something the matter?" she asked.
"No. Not at all. It is just that he remembers me as a wallflower, which is not the impression I prefer making on a handsome man."
Georgiana was a bit surprised at Anne's reaction, but it gave her hope. She then looked at Cordelia. She was even paler than Anne had been.
"Del, is something wrong with you as well?"
"Not at all," Cordelia echoed Anne's answer. "Nothing at all."
Georgiana looked at both of them, then shrugged. She remembered Robin Hamilton quite well from four years ago, much as she might wish to forget him. He probably wished he could forget her as well, as he had had to track Elizabeth down at Ramsgate to inform her of his mother's death. And Elizabeth had been at Ramsgate because...because...
She could not think on her folly now. She was about to make her debut in Society, and while the lesson she had learned from her near-catastrophic mistake was still uppermost in her mind, she could not think about what she had done then.
Georgiana left the room without saying another word. Neither young woman took notice.
The carriage bearing the party from Pemberley arrived in the afternoon. While Elizabeth and the rest of the family settled into their new surroundings, Robin had decided to take a trip to Butler's, his gentleman's club. He knew he risked being talked about, but he hoped to find one or two true friends to speak with.
Lord Robin stepped from the late afternoon sunlight into the relative darkness of his gentleman's club with trepidation. As he made his way through the main room he heard the dreaded whispers about his bad luck, and occasionally the nickname. Here, unfortunately, was a place where Elizabeth Darcy's influence could not be felt.
Just as Robin was about to turn coward and leave, he heard a voice he had not heard since his university days.
"Denby, you dog!" the man boomed. "The scourge of Cambridge, the focal point of Mr. Corby's nightmares, outright rebel--"
Robin laughed and felt much better. "Those were your attributes, Rupe, not mine. Yours and Lysander's."
Lord Rupert Halliday, Viscount Axelby, extended his hand to Robin. "I would say we were all lucky not to be sent down."
Robin shook Rupert's hand. "Where have you been these past years? I do not believe I have seen you since our Cambridge adventures."
"I? Was it not you who disappeared, Rob, after your mother's passing and your disappointment?"
"I suppose it was."
"Before that, my father was severely I'll for several months, though I still believe he was attempting to mend my wicked ways by forcing responsibility upon me. `It is not fitting for the future Earl of Hemmings to act in such a devilish manner.'" Rupert's voice deepened to mimic his father's rumbling tones. Robin had to smile, as he recalled quite vividly what Rupert's father was like when lecturing his son.
"Did it work?" Robin asked.
"What do you think?" There was a wicked gleam in Rupert's eyes, which quickly vanished as his usual cheerfulness returned.
Viscount Axelby was well-loved by all of London, with his easy, obliging manner and endless good humour. No man who ever lost a card game to the brilliant viscount ever felt bad about the loss of money, no matter how much, for it always seemed like blind luck when he won rather than consummate skill. A skill which had to be hidden away, for gambling was yet another vice his father discouraged.
As well-liked by the men as he was, Lord Rupert was equally well-liked by the women, though very few would think of him as a potential lover. He had not the dark aura of mystery of Robin Hamilton, nor the blond sunshine appeal of his friend Lysander, but he thought he managed quite well with his thick brown hair with hints of red, and brown eyes. Rupert always felt his looks to be of little matter, as he was not in the market for a wife.
Robin had met Rupert when they had been students at Cambridge together. They, along with Sir Lysander Overton, the son of a wealthy baronet, had become fast friends and known throughout the university as the Terrible Trio.
"How have you been, Rupe?" Robin asked as Rupert led him to a chair next to the fire.
"Quite well, all in all. Been enjoying myself here in London, for the most part."
"Have you heard from Lysander recently?"
"As a matter of fact, he was supposed to be joining me fifteen minutes ago. Cannot think of what might be making him late." Rupert motioned to a man walking by with a tray of drinks. "I say, good man, bring us two of those."
"I should not," Robin said. "I am expected at dinner this evening, and it would not do for me to drink too much beforehand."
"Oh? And where is your engagement this evening?"
"I am dining with Fitzwilliam Darcy and his family."
Rupert's eyebrows shot up. "I would have thought you would wish to avoid that particular family, all things considered."
The glasses of port arrived. Each man took one. "I wish I could place an ad in the newspaper, stating once and for all that I was not upset in the least by the way things turned out between Mrs. Darcy and me. I am excessively happy for Fitzwilliam. I know that if Elizabeth had married me, she would be miserable and thus I would be miserable. These things work out for the best."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps not."
Robin looked at his friend's guileless brown eyes, knowing the double meaning of his words. "My financial troubles, I do not think, are directly related to my personal ones." He thought of what his purpose in dining with Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth that evening and reconsidered. "Then again, my personal life may soon impact my financial one quite soon."
"How so?"
"My mother was clearly a woman of vision. She left me fifty thousand pounds on the condition that I be married to receive it. The remainder of her estate, after bequests to servants and her legacy to Mrs. Darcy, was to be left to my children."
"Ah. Now I understand what you are doing in London."
"Quite. It is not a pleasant task I have before me, Rupe. I am hoping, however, to have it made easier this evening."
"How so?"
"I am not dining merely with the Darcys, but also with relatives of his. The Earl of Matlock and his family."
At the mention of the name, Rupert nearly rose from his seat. "You are not, by chance, thinking of courting Miss Anne de Bourgh?"
"Good Lord, no! Even on the continent, I have heard of her."
"Then it is the Lady Cordelia you are planning to court."
"I do not know. I have yet to meet Lady Cordelia, but Mrs. Darcy has spoken favorably about her and I had hoped the solution could be easily found."
"You shall fall in love with her instantly. Every man who sees her does."
Robin looked at his old friend, sensing a deeper meaning in his words than he might have meant. "Do you have a personal interest in Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam?"
Rupert immediately righted himself. "No more than any other gentleman in this room, I dare say. Thanks to her obstinate cousin, Lady Cordelia has become a fascination for many. I have heard that the Duke of Dorchester is included in that number."
"That old goat? Good Lord! When Eliza--I mean, Mrs. Darcy suggested Lady Cordelia for a wife, I thought myself to be a bit too old for her. That man is old enough to be her grandfather."
"I quite agree, but Matlock was said to have been considering his offer for her hand prior to his unorthodox announcement."
"Yes, I have heard of his Shakespearean decree. Miss de Bourgh must marry before her cousin." Robin glanced down at his untouched drink. "Is there a potential suitor for Miss de Bourgh?"
"There is one, and you shall not like the name. `Tis Evan Brixton."
Robin's dark eyes narrowed. "Evan Brixton? There is a name I had hoped never to hear again."
"Lysander and I quite agree, but things being as they are...well, there is simply no way of avoiding him."
"Good Lord, it is almost enough to make me want to court Miss de Bourgh if for no other reason than to keep her out of his clutches. Does she not know what the man's character is like?"
"Many would not, but I believe Miss de Bourgh does. She is quite perceptive. If she were not, she would have accepted him by now." Rupert sighed, then looked at his friend, an idea beginning to form in his mind. "Brixton, however, is undaunted. Indeed, he has made wagers in several of the books throughout London's finest clubs about when he shall succeed with the Bad-Tempered Heiress."
"Wagers?"
"Yes, and a few of them are less than respectful to the lady, or so I have heard."
Robin's hand clutched his glass tightly. "What does her uncle have to say about this?"
"Nothing. He does not know, at least not about the more risqué wagers. Matlock would not let Brixton within ten paces of Miss de Bourgh had she not spurned every other man in London."
Robin looked pensive, thinking of Cambridge, and the Terrible Trio's dealings with Evan Brixton there.
Lord Rupert Halliday had never been able to tell a convincing lie, or hatch a devious plot. This time was no exception.
"Rob...I have been thinking."
Robin was drawn away from his thoughts back to the present. "You have?"
"I know how you dislike Brixton--how we all dislike him. I fear that at some point, he may try to compromise Miss de Bourgh in order to gain her fortune, which you may not have heard is astounding. Her mother was a genius in money matters, though no man admits how brilliant she was."
"Heaven forbid we men concede that women are our equals," Robin said.
"Yes. That would drag them down to our level, for they are much our superiors."
"So what were you thinking?"
"Right. Back to that. It is like this. You asked me a few moments ago what my interest was in Lady Cordelia."
"As I recall, you said no more than any other gentleman's."
"Yes, well, I lied. From the moment I saw the girl I was madly in love with her. For the first time in my life, I cursed the fact that I had not your looks or Lysander's charm. Lady Cordelia barely noticed me amid all the others. Then came that awful decree and the swarm of suitors surrounding her increased tenfold." Rupert looked dejected, which rather startled his friend. Robin had never seen his friend look miserable.
Robin realized what it was Rupert wanted him to do.
"You wish for me to court Miss de Bourgh," he said quietly.
Rupert nodded. "You have heard of her unfortunate history with London society?"
"I have."
"Then you realize that the only men she saw last Season were people who had rejected her during her first year or schoolboys who were completely out of the question for a woman of her mature years."
"You think that my having been away for so long might give me an advantage?"
"You two have never met. You can pretend not to know of her reputation. I think that you could possibly win her."
"What if I do not like her, Rupe? The only way to get past the decree is if I marry her."
"If you do not like her, then I would not ask you to court her for the world. I am merely asking you to give her a chance. Do not fall in love with Lady Cordelia the moment you meet. Look closely at Miss de Bourgh."
"You sound as though you are an admirer of hers. Why do you not court her?"
"Because Miss Anne does not wish to be courted."
"Miss Anne?"
Rupert smiled. "I do not deny that I am privileged to be one of the few she calls a friend. She originally thought I was being nice to her to get close to Lady Cordelia, and she was correct."
Robin knew his friend's honest nature and guessed the rest. "You told her that?"
"I did. She laughed and said, `At least you are honest, Lord Axelby. None of the others are.' And we have been friends ever since."
"Only you, Rupe."
"Anne de Bourgh is quite lovely, you know. She has lovely reddish hair, and most striking eyes."
"Why did you not court her yourself?"
"I saw Lady Cordelia first."
"Ah." Robin sighed. He had been looking forward to seeing whether or not Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam might suit his purposes, but he could not in good conscience break his dearest friend's heart. "Well, Rupert, I suppose I could at least see the girl and meet her. From what I have heard, however, I do not think I can be of much help to you."
"Denby!"
Robin and Rupert looked up to see Sir Lysander approaching them. Both gentlemen rose to greet their friend.
"Rupert, you sly goat, you told me a surprise but you did not mention it would be this grand!" Lysander shook Robin's hand enthusiastically.
"I did not know Rob was in London myself," Rupert replied. He motioned for another chair to be brought, along with another glass of port.
"Where are you staying, Rob?" Lysander asked as they seated themselves.
"Currently with friends of mine--Fitzwilliam Darcy and his charming wife."
"Good show," Lysander replied. "Don't let them think you still pine for the lady."
"I carry no tendre for Mrs. Darcy," Robin said tightly.
Lysander sensed he had hit a raw nerve and quickly changed the subject. "What brings you to London? Looking for investors for a new plan? I know I speak for myself and Axelby when I say we would be interested."
Robin looked at his old friend. Was it possible that he had not heard...but of course he had. Lysander Overton was a creature of Society, knew all the latest gossip--even at Cambridge, he had known all the London follies occurring.
"I have three backers already, but I could always use more," Robin said slowly.
"Excellent! This 'bad luck' nonsense is driving me mad, and if I can help you win back your reputation while making money at the same time, all the better. Nearly called out old Fergusson last month when he called you that."
"You should not be so foolish," Robin said. "There is a bit of truth to the name."
"Have you found Blackstone yet?" Rupert asked, his eyes narrowing. He had never liked Walter Blackstone, because he knew how jealous the man had been of Robin's friendship with them. He could not imagine what had caused the man to betray Robin in such a way.
"No, not yet." Robin said nothing more about that.
Lysander decided that yet another change in subject was needed. "Are you planning to attend the St. Cecilia's Ball, then?"
Rupert grinned, and Robin groaned.
"Unfortunately, yes," Robin said, and explained the requirements of his mother's will.
"If you are looking for a wife, I know of several young women who would be perfect for you," Lysander said once Robin had finished. "Miss Clarissa Beckinsale is lovely, though this shall be her third Season. Miss Lavinia Weatherby is a sweet girl, though her dowry is small so that might not be such a good idea. Then there is Miss Caroline Bingley." This last was said with a barely contained chuckle of laughter.
"Very amusing, Overton," Robin said.
"Just making sure you knew all of your options. Of course, there is always Miss Anne de Bourgh." This time Lysander made no effort to hide his laughter until he realized that neither of his friends had joined in. He looked at both of them. "Rupe, you would not be so cruel to your oldest friend, would you?"
"I would indeed, if he is agreeable to it. So far, he seems to be."
Lysander shook his head. "She is a beautiful girl, I grant you, but she seems to be just like her mother."
"I cannot believe you would not be kind enough to step in so she would not have to be courted by Evan Brixton," Robin said to his friend with an accusing note in his voice.
Lysander's mouth turned sullen at the name. "I did consider it, but Rupert here assured me that the girl would no more marry him as she would sprout wings and fly. Rupert has only suckered you into considering her because he wishes to court her cousin."
"You do not?"
Lysander shrugged. "A nice girl, but too ordinary for me."
"Ordinary? There is nothing ordinary about Lady Cordelia, you lout!" Rupert's voice was beginning to rise.
"Rupert, calm yourself. You are beginning to attract an audience," Robin said, placing a hand on his friend's elbow to drag him back into his seat.
"I meant no offense," Lysander said contritely. "You should be grateful, Rupe. I wish you all the happiness in the world with her, if you are the lucky man she marries, but I see nothing in her that would make me trick my friend into courting a scold."
"I am not saying for certain that I am going to court the lady," Robin said. "I merely said I would consider it. And if I do court her, that does not necessarily mean I shall marry her."
Once again, the image of his feisty Ophelia came to mind, and in a moment of insanity he asked, "By chance, has a young woman named Ophelia made her debut since I have been gone?"
Robin knew both of his friends thought his question odd, but they gave it some thought.
"No," Lysander answered first. "Not that I recall."
"No," Rupert added, "but I know a young lady whose middle name is Ophelia. Why do you ask?"
Robin shook his head. "No matter. I met a young lady once who was...quite striking. An Original in every sense of the word. Beautiful eyes." He glanced at his watch and realized that it was nearly time for him to be at the earl's townhouse. "And now, you must excuse me, but I am very nearly late for dinner. Shall we meet tomorrow morning to discuss how my first meeting with the Bad-Tempered Heiress went, Rupe?"
"By all means. Come by my house around ten?"
"You are still in Grosvenor Square?"
"Right across from the Darcys, Rob. You should have no trouble finding me."
Robin took his leave of his friends and ordered the carriage to be brought.
"Lord Robin! It is good to see you again!" Lady Matlock exclaimed as he walked in the door. "How have you been?"
"As well as could be expected, under the circumstances," Robin said truthfully.
"Of course. Wilberforce, would you send one of the maids to bring Lady Cordelia, Miss Anne, and Miss Georgiana? I do apologize for my daughter and nieces not being here at present, but you know how young ladies are."
Robin smiled. "I do indeed, Lady Matlock. I remember one time when my mother and I were waiting on Mrs. Darcy to join us. It was nearly an hour before she arrived downstairs."
"Only because the foolish maid had snarled a comb in my hair," Elizabeth said. "It took that long for her to get it out. I envy you men, being able to wear your hair so short. You never have this sort of problem."
"Indeed, we often have quite the opposite--we do not have enough hair to necessitate a comb!" Matlock roared with laughter. He looked up to see Georgiana walking down the stairs. "Ah, here is Miss Darcy now."
"Good evening," Georgiana said politely before making her curtsy.
"Georgiana, you remember Lord Robin, do you not?"
"Of course I do," Georgiana said, blushing at the memory of their last meeting.
"I must say that time has only fulfilled the great promise you showed the last time we met," Robin said gallantly. He looked at her, slightly stunned. Georgiana looked so much like he remembered Ophelia to be, and yet he knew it could not be her because she had been eloping the night of his engagement ball.
Georgiana blushed again.
"I cannot think of what is keeping Cordelia," Lady Matlock said.
"Perhaps Anne is with her," Matlock muttered. "You will forgive me, Lord Robin, but Miss de Bourgh has been somewhat out of sorts this evening. It is questionable whether or not she will see fit to join us."
Robin certainly hoped she did, for his curiosity was beginning to grow as to what the shy wallflower he remembered looked like today.
"Good evening, Papa," a melodious voice called from the top of the stairs. Everyone looked up to see the young woman posed at the rail.
Robin's heart began to pound fiercely. She looked exactly like Ophelia. Her hair seemed a bit lighter, but his memories of that night were slightly vague and four years old, so perhaps it had been a trick of the moon to make it seem darker than that. But her eyes--such a beautiful blue! He had known they were blue! Green must have been his imagination again. Everything else was as he remembered--soft, lush mouth, lovely chin looking far less determined than she had that night, beautiful, flawless skin.
"Ah, Cordelia, there you are," Matlock said with a smile as his daughter walked down the stairs. He had not missed the startled look in Denby's eyes, and while Denby's fortune was not as great as he would have hoped, his nephew had reassured him that very soon it would take a turn for the better.
"I would not have been so long had I known I was keeping you from supper," Cordelia said, cringing at the simpering note that she heard in her voice. She sounded like a silly girl fresh from the schoolroom, hardly a sophisticated yet innocent young woman.
"We are still awaiting your cousin Anne," Lady Matlock informed her daughter.
"Cordelia, I would like to introduce you to Lord Robert Hamilton, the Earl of Denby," Darcy said. "Lord Robin, this is Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam."
Cordelia. Why did I not think of it before? Cordelia, Ophelia...Shakespearean names. If she would not give me her real first name, she would have given me something along the same lines. And the cross! C.O.F.! Cordelia O. Fitzwilliam! It must be her!
"We have actually been introduced before," Cordelia said, curtsying to him. "I doubt that Lord Denby recalls the meeting, however."
"On the contrary, Lady Cordelia, I recall our first meeting quite well," he replied. Her voice was slightly different, but then, she had aged four years since they had last met.
Cordelia's eyes widened in shock. Had he truly remembered her? It seemed almost impossible, given everything that had happened to him during that time.
"Y-you do?" she stammered.
"Indeed."
Cordelia smiled. "I think you humor me, Lord Denby, but I thank you for it."
Robin realized now what Rupert had been talking about with Lady Ophelia--Cordelia, that is. A man could fall in love with her instantly. Her gentle spirit and almost coquettish manner could win a man's heart as quickly as she could smile. Yet at the same time, Robin knew there was more to Lady Cordelia Fitzwilliam than just her sweetness. He was wondering how he was ever going to explain this to poor Rupert when--
Tromp. Tromp. Tromp. Tromp.
The people assembled looked to see where the noise was coming from. Holding on to the rail as though for dear life, making no pretense of the sort of gracious entrance she had been taught, was Anne. She wore the same gown she had been wearing all day, though she had put shoes on and pulled her hair back into a most unbecoming style.
"And here is Miss Anne de Bourgh," Matlock said with an exasperated sigh.
"I do hope you have not been waiting long," she said, looking at everyone but Robin. "I could not decide on which dress to wear, then I decided that what I had on was perfectly all right for an evening with the family. Only I forgot we were to have a guest. Then I thought, 'Well, he might as well see me looking my worst.' So here I am."
Robin, distracted by his thoughts about his future with Cordelia, had not looked up to see the new arrival and thus only heard her voice.
But what he heard impacted him far greater than the ripples he had felt at the sight of Georgiana, or the shock he had felt when first seeing Lady Cordelia. The sound of her voice made him go hot and cold all at once, and when he looked up to see her face he realized his mistake at once.
And Robin realized that his memory had not failed him.
"Lord Denby, may I present Miss Anne de Bourgh. Have you met her as well?"
"Have we?" Robin asked, looking at her again. Rich red hair with touches of brown, piercing blue-green eyes, beautiful mouth, jaw set just as he remembered...and her voice. That beautiful, low-pitched voice that had briefly fooled him into thinking her a boy.
"While you may wish to forget the occasion, Lord Denby, we were properly introduced when you came to stay with my cousin Fitzwilliam four years ago."
"Ah, yes. I recall now. You were quite different then. Almost a completely different person than you are now."
Anne turned pale, but Robin managed to keep his face emotionless.
"People change over time," he added. "When we last met, you were rather shy. I gather that has changed."
"Very much so," Anne replied. "I would be willing to wager that you have heard of my reputation--even as you were doing whatever it is gentlemen do when they deem in necessary to waste their time in Europe."
"Anne!" Matlock hissed.
"You do not think that seeing Europe is an experience every gentleman should have?" Robin asked curiously.
"If it were a cultural experience, I could see the benefit. However, I have heard stories of how a great many young men waste not only their time but also their money--or should I say, their fathers' money--in gaming halls and...other places."
"Culture of a different kind, perhaps," Robin said blandly.
"Is that what you were doing in Europe for so long? Wasting money and time?"
Robin looked at her cool blue-green eyes. A veiled reference to his financial straits should have made him defensive or furious. Instead, he felt a challenge in Miss Anne de Bourgh's words--and he hoped to best her at it.
"It was unfortunate, Miss de Bourgh, that while I was merely wasting time someone chose to cost me money. I can assure you that the matter shall soon be rectified."
"I believe dinner is ready," Matlock said abruptly, cutting off all conversation.
At precisely ten o'clock the following morning, Robin extended his card to Viscount Axelby's butler. The butler did not bother reading the card before showing him into the dining room, where Rupert was sitting over a breakfast of eggs and ham. Lysander was sitting beside him, perusing the newspaper.
"I suppose it should surprise me that you are here, Lysander, but I am not. Good morning, gentlemen."
"Good morning, Rob!" Rupert exclaimed. "If you have not broken your fast, please join us."
"I have eaten, thank you. Rupert, last night you told me you knew of a young lady whose middle name was Ophelia."
"I do."
"Who is she?"
Rupert smiled. "Oddly enough, you met her last night. Miss Anne de Bourgh's middle name is Ophelia. We were discussing Hamlet one day when she mentioned that to me. Indeed, if you would notice, all of the Fitzwilliam children have, in one way or another, a Shakespearean character's name. Anne, of course, for The Merry Wives of Windsor and Hamlet. Her mother's middle name was Olivia."
That gave Robin the last piece of the puzzle. The cross, which he had initially thought was Cordelia's, had in fact been Anne's mother's. Catherine Olivia Fitzwilliam--Lady Catherine's name prior to marrying Lewis de Bourgh.
"Why do you ask?"
Robin blinked twice. "I have not told you of the young woman I met the night of my engagement ball to Elizabeth Darcy." He told Rupert and Lysander about the circumstances under which he met Anne, leaving out only the kiss they had shared before she disappeared.
" So you were wondering if perhaps the lady whose middle name was Ophelia was your Ophelia?" Lysander offered.
"Yes."
"Miss Anne de Bourgh is the only one I know of." Rupert sighed. "It is okay, Rob. I understand if you do not wish to court Miss Anne. I shall find another way to win Lady Cordelia."
Robin smiled. "Actually, my friend, you already have it. You see, Anne de Bourgh is the young woman I met four years ago."
"You must be joking."
Robin shook his head. "Dressed up as a boy, and if she had not walked away I would never have known. I still do not know why she did it. She would not tell me that night, and from the way she acted last evening, it appears as though she is going to pretend it never happened."
Rupert looked at his friend hopefully. "So, does this mean you are going to help me?"
Robin grinned. "I do believe it does."
Lysander put his paper down. "A fool's business, and I wager that it shall be unsuccessful, Rob."
Rupert glared at his friend. "A wager? How much, Overton?"
"Gentlemen, I do not think we should be doing this. We are talking about a rather delicate matter--" Robin tried to intervene.
"A hundred pounds that Robin is unsuccessful."
"Make it two hundred pounds." Rupert's brown eyes were almost chilly.
"Five hundred."
"Gentlemen--" Robin attempted to stop the nonsense again.
"A thousand," Rupert said. "Robin has never failed to acquire anything he has set him mind to getting before."
"Done," Lysander said with a smile. "Shall we set a time limit on his progress?"
"The end of the Season."
"The two of you are truly acting as badly as Brixton." Robin threw down the best insult he could think of to stop it.
Rupert and Lysander looked at Robin, realizing that he was correct. Shamefaced, they smiled at each other.
"Sorry, Rob. I was trying to give you confidence."
"And I was not?" Lysander objected.
"You just wagered a thousand pounds that I would not win the hand of Miss Anne de Bourgh before the end of the Season," Robin pointed out.
"So I did. Very sorry about that. I have all confidence in you in business and other things, but as far as Anne de Bourgh is concerned, I happen to know that there is a...codicil, if you will, to the condition set upon her cousin's matrimonial future."
"What would that be?" Rupert asked.
"Anne de Bourgh shall turn twenty-five next February. She comes into her full inheritance then and out of the guardianship of her uncle. If she is unmarried, Matlock cannot make her marry. Indeed, I have heard that she shall not return from the countryside when the family retires for the Christmas holiday. Should that be the case, Lady Cordelia could marry whenever she chooses."
"How do you know this?" Robin asked.
"My coachman is keen on one of Matlock's parlor maids."
"And here I thought the ton paid no attention to the gossip of servants," Rupert said.
"Nonsense. How else would we know everything about our neighbors?"
All three gentlemen laughed, the wager was easily forgotten, and Robin outlined his plan to win the heart of Anne de Bourgh, which took the better part of the morning.