“Country gossip,” Elizabeth said lightly, trying to regain her composure. “You would not think it such a hardship to wait for the assembly before spreading rumours.”
Mr. Darcy stared at her again. “I will return tomorrow for your lessons, Miss Elizabeth,” he said brusquely. He offered them all a slight bow and departed without another word.
Mr. Fitzwilliam made his apologies and followed his cousin.
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed with embarrassment. For Papa’s sake, she would attempt to help Mr. Darcy. If for no other reason, she must do what she could to spare the feet of Meryton’s gentlewomen.
Jane’s gaze was on the door. “Perhaps we should attempt a smaller gathering first.”
“Really, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said, stepping into Darcy’s chambers and closing the door behind him. “That was rude, even for you.”
“What do you mean?” Darcy reviewed his interactions. Miss Elizabeth had offered a suggestion, and he had accepted it. The women had begun to speak about country gossip in which he had no interest, so he had taken his leave. He ought perhaps to have thanked Miss Elizabeth, but should he not do that on the morrow when she presented him with the result of her work? He had been annoyed, it was true, but with his own clumsiness, not with her. She had been lovely.
He grunted and sat. “I am not formed for mincing steps and polite conversation, Fitzwilliam.” He removed his dancing shoes and held them briefly in the air as evidence before setting them down and reaching for his boots. “I am Gulliver among the Lilliputians.”
Fitzwilliam laughed. “The Bennet girls are not Lilliputians.”
“No, thank heavens. Dancing is easier when I am not required to first fold myself in half.”
“Do you recall Señora Mattos?”
Darcy closed his eyes. “Of course I do. My back was in spasms for a week.”
Fitzwilliam dropped into a chair. “I do not think she was even five feet tall. Determined little thing.”
“Determined little spy, you mean.”
“That as well,” Fitzwilliam replied smugly.
He knew that tone. “Do not say it . . .”
“How else was I to pass on false information?” Fitzwilliam shrugged. “Neither she nor her husband were best pleased when the intelligence proved itself false. Allies can be rather fickle.”
Darcy grimaced and changed his clothes.
"Do you intend to ride?” Fitzwilliam asked. “It is nearly time for dinner.”
He glanced at his watch and exhaled. By the time he finished dressing and retrieved his horse from the stable, there would be no time to go anywhere. He put his riding coat back in the wardrobe. “No, I suppose not.”
“We shall ride out again in the morning, take our time. Reconnoitre the area outside the estate. Leave your equipment behind, though.”
“Why?”
Fitzwilliam chuckled. “Because it appears odd to have bulging saddlebags wherever you go, and I do not think your horse approves.”
Darcy sniffed. “I spent a good deal of time making those tools exactly the way I want them. They are of no use sitting in my trunks when there is an emergency elsewhere.”
“Will you need your tools to move stones or hew wooden stakes between here and Meryton?”
“How can you know that I will not?”
“Very well,” Fitzwilliam surrendered, holding up his hands. He sighed. “Look, Darcy,” Fitzwilliam said, leaning forward, “this is a difficult adjustment, I know.”
“You donotknow,” Darcy exclaimed. “You may not have wished to leave Spain, but you were brought up in the home of an earl. Despite your profession, none of this is new to you. My father was a barrister. He made a good living, it is true, but we lived a very different sort of life even before I left for the academy. And now . . . all these rules and the empty gallantry . . .”
His cousin frowned. “The rules are merely different from the ones in your former circles. Dismiss them at your own peril.” Darcy met Fitzwilliam’s serious gaze. “The gallantry, even, I daresay, the pageantry, is not empty. Behind it, deals are being struck, legislation created, alliances forged. You have inherited a vast fortune. If you wish to keep it, you must learn to play the game.”
“A game for which I am singularly unprepared.”