“You are fortunate my wife does not wish to see me in prison,” Darcy told Howard. “Another man might easily have ended your life.”
“Your wife,” Henry said thoughtfully, “is the reason I was late.”
Henry had seen Elizabeth this morning? Darcy’s eyes shot over to his eldest cousin. “Is she well?”
“Quite,” Henry said admiringly. “She dashed into the house some hours ago to ask Georgiana whether Miss Howard had an intimate friend. Apparently, you two had an enlightening conversation with Georgiana some days back, and Elizabeth, you see, had the notion that Howard did not ask you to marry his sister on a whim.”
“A whim!” Howard bellowed. “Would I have gone to such lengths on a whim?”
“After your actions today,” Fitz replied, stepping up until he was nose to nose with an irate Howard, “I would have to say you are thick enough to do just that.”
“Your cousin deflowered my sister,” Howard hissed, “and refused to marry her. Her honor and mine demand recompense.”
“Are you mad?” Darcy cried, exasperation and rage coloring his words. “I have never even met your sister! I certainly did not bed her.”
“You will burn for it, Darcy,” Howard insisted.
“Quiet, you,” Fitz said, shoving the man away.
“Stubborn, eh?” Henry asked laconically. “I rather thought you might be.” He reached into his coat, removed a letter, and held it just beyond Howard’s reach. “Recognize the seal?” He unfolded the page. “What about the script?”
Howard’s eyes widened and then fixed on Henry’s. “That is Amelia’s hand. What have you done?”
Henry placed a hand against his chest. “And I am called melodramatic. I have done nothing to you or your sister. More to the point, neither has my cousin.” He handed Howard the letter. “Your sister lied to you. She told you that Darcy was the man who seduced her.”
Howard pointed a finger at Darcy. “He mocked me for it, but never did he deny it!”
“I did not mock you, and had you actually accused me, I most certainly would have denied it,” Darcy declared. “You did not. You only pressed me to wed her.”
Howard’s mouth hung open, and he stared at Darcy, unblinking. “Who would press a man to wed his ruined sister were he not the scoundrel who had done it?”
Darcy rolled his eyes. He was rather tired of this particular conversation, but he could not reveal the men without identifying the girls. “I had the same reaction. You were the third.”
He was met by an incredulous stare. “If it was not you,” Howard asked angrily, “then who?”
“I believe I have already identified the man,” Henry said. He glanced at Darcy, then Fitz, then Howard. “Why does no one ever believe me?”
“My sister said it was Darcy,” Howard said doggedly, but for the first time, a note of doubt sounded in his voice.
“Well,” Henry drawled, drawing it all out and clearly enjoying himself. “Miss Howard may not have told you the truth, but she did write everything that was in her heart to her dear friend, Miss Harriet Dixon.” He shook out the page and began to read aloud. “Dearest Harriet,” he announced in a girlish tone.
Darcy ran both hands through his hair and laced his fingers together behind his head, his strength at last beginning to ebb away. “Henry,” he said with a groan, “I beg you, tell us how this ends.”
Henry sighed. “You spoil my fun, Darcy, but in light of your heroic turn this morning, I will humor you.” He addressed Howard directly. “In this letter, Amelia tells Harriet that she lied to you about Darcy and now does not know how to take it back. Apparently, my cousin Miss Darcy made it known to all her friends that her brother would only marry if he selected his own wife. Miss Howard was quite sure he would never allow his hand to be forced.” He smiled sweetly at Darcy. “You are a legend, Darcy.”
Darcy glowered at his eldest cousin.
“Stop it, Henry,” Fitz warned.
Henry sighed. “Very well.” He handed the letter to Howard. “I have made a copy.
You will see that your sister . . .”
Howard’s eyes traced the lines. He glanced up and blinked. “She thought Darcy’s reputation would keep me from pursuing the matter? That I would not bother to speak to Darcy because he had declared so forcefully that he would never be coerced?” He groped behind him for a chair and finding one, sat heavily, still clutching the letter.
“Her ignorance of how men operate is shocking indeed. Sadly—and this is the greater offense—your sister thought nothing of destroying Darcy’s reputation as she awaited her lover to rescue her. She must have at least understood that you would not be able to insist that the son of a duke do the honorable thing and wed her.” Henry shook his head. “We do these girls an injustice, confusing ignorance for innocence.”
Darcy watched Howard’s arrogant righteousness and fury draining away as he read the rest of his sister’s missive. When Howard had finished and glanced up, Henry continued delivering his oration. “Miss Harriet’s father called her to his study. There, she was closely questioned by her pater and ultimately ordered to produce this letter. She admitted to us both that your sister was meeting the third son of the Duke of Denham. Several times a week, at the end. In various parks, and . . . other locations.” He pointed to the letter. “There, third line from the bottom.”
Darcy and Fitz grimaced. Lord Bartholomew was young, handsome, rich, well-connected, and a scoundrel through and through. Howard was incensed.
“Lord Bartholomew?” Howard cried. “Blast that girl! She swore it was Darcy, and I believed her.” He covered his eyes with one hand, still clutching the letter in his other. “I believed her.”
Darcy watched Howard warily. Georgiana had told him the truth. She had come so very close to ruin, but when he arrived in Ramsgate, she had acknowledged everything to him at once. There but for the grace of God, he thought.
“What about the rumors?” Howard asked uncertainly. “Darcy promised his discretion, and yet it was all over the ton! We had handled it. The babe was provided for and placed with our distant cousins. Amelia was preparing for the season. She would never have had the match she might once have had, but she could have had a good life. No one else knew!”
Henry reached down and flicked his index finger against Howard’s ear. “You really are a stupid man, Howard. I have handed you a letter. It was only the most explicit of three sent to Miss Harriet Dixon, who is not yet out. Do you know who is out? Harriet’s elder sister Penelope, who Miss Harriet says reads her post. In both deed and word, your sister is the source of her own downfall.”