Page 86 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

The clock on the mantle chimed ten. The Christmas Day was ending. But as the carriages were called and the farewells were said, there was no sadness in the departure.

There was only the solid, unshakeable knowledge that the lines had been drawn, the alliances forged, and the hearts pledged.

Chapter Twelve: The St Stephen's Day Dash

St Stephen's Day dawned over London with a sky the colour of a bruised plum and a temperature that suggested the sun had simply given up and gone to the Mediterranean.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, however, was awake, dressed, and possessed of a clarity that was almost frightening. He stood on the doorstep of Matlock House at seven o'clock in the morning, banging the brass knocker with a rhythmic violence that startled the pigeons in the square.

A bleary-eyed footman opened the door. "Mr Darcy? It is barely light, Sir."

"I require my cousin," Darcy announced, stepping inside past the servant. "Is he awake?"

"Lord Keathley is present, Sir. I believe he is currently breakfasting."

Darcy marched to the breakfast room. Robert was there, slumped in a chair, half-asleep, wearing a dressing gown of violently patterned purple silk. He lifted his head as Darcy entered, blinking slowly.

"Go away," Robert groaned. "It is St Stephen's Day. The servants have their boxes, so the only thingIam permitted to box today is my own liver."

"Robert." Darcy stopped at the end of the table. "Look at me."

Robert opened one eye. "You are wearing riding boots. And a coat that looks heavy enough to smother a bear. Why?"

"I have a question for you. And I require an honest answer. No jokes. No deflections."

Robert sat up straighter, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. "Very well. Ask away."

"Are you serious about Miss Bennet?"

Robert did not hesitate. The rakish smirk vanished. "Absolutely. I intend to marry her, Darcy. Assuming she will have me."

"Good," Darcy nodded. "Then we have work to do. We have secured the approval of our own family—miraculously—but we have neglected a crucial step. We have not spoken to her father."

"Mr Bennet is in Hertfordshire," Robert pointed out, reaching for a piece of toast. "And the ladies are here. Surely, we can speak to him when he comes to town?"

"Too late," Darcy shook his head. "Our aunt arrives tomorrow. If I am to face Lady Catherine and tell her I am attached to another, I need to know that the attachment is sanctioned by the lady's father. I need to stand on solid ground."

"So... what? You want to write him a letter?"

"A letter takes too long. And a letter is easily dismissed." Darcy pulled on his gloves. "We are going to Longbourn."

"Longbourn?" Robert choked on his toast. "Hertfordshire? Today? It is twenty-five miles, Darcy! In the snow!"

"The roads are hard-packed. We can make it in four hours if we ride hard. An hour there. Four hours back. We shall be back by dinner."

"You are insane," Robert declared. "You are deranged. It is freezing. My nose will fall off. My horse will not talk to me ever again."

"Do you love her?" Darcy asked simply.

Robert looked at the toast. Then at the frost on the window. Then at Darcy's unyielding expression.

He sighed, a long, tragic sound. "I do. God help me, I do."

"Then get dressed. We leave in twenty minutes. Wear wool. Lots of it."

"I hate you," Robert muttered, standing up and tightening his dressing gown. "I truly hate you. This better be worth it."

"It will be," Darcy promised. "Besides, Mrs Bennet is a character. You will enjoy her."