Page 2 of Such Low Connections

“Is there something wrong, Mr Darcy?” asked the old official, setting the tray of writing materials beside the book. “Is there an error? Or a guest under the wrong name? I shall have it corrected immediately if so.”

“What is it, Darcy?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked at the same time, his attention drawn by Darcy’s sharp inhalation of breath.

The officer followed his cousin’s finger to the offending line at the top of the page. Directly following the listing of “Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, Derbyshire”, someone had added “?”.

“Who did this?” Darcy demanded, his expression incensed.

“Dear me, I don’t know how that got there,” said the club official apologetically, taken aback both by the appearance of the mark and by Darcy’s strong reaction to it. “Sometimes when I’m away from the desk, one of the younger men looks after the books. It must have been a mistake. Or perhaps it was a member, a young gentleman playing a joke in high spirits.”

“I cannot say that I find it very funny,” Darcy snapped.

“Mr Baines, can I suggest that you sand away this mark immediately?” Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped in and suggested tactfully. “It will not be there next time Mr Darcy looks at the book, will it?”

“No, Colonel. It certainly will not,” Cyril Baines assured him gratefully, reaching for the sanding block. “I’ll see to that right now. Mr Darcy can sign you in after luncheon, if that pleases him.”

“Come along, Darcy,” Richard urged, taking his arm before Darcy could comment further on what did or did not please him. “It is a trifling error and will be dealt with directly. You are only more sensitive because of what happened this morning.”

Disgruntled, but knowing that his cousin was right, Darcy pulled himself together and led the way to the dining room.

∞∞∞

“I cannot say when I will be able to write, still less when any letter might reach England,” Richard Fitzwilliam reflected a little pensively as their glasses were refilled. “My regiment will move to wherever it is needed, and the chances are high that we will see some real action this time.”

The colonel’s face showed no fear or trepidation at this prospect, but his eyes were serious.

“I am assuming we will not see or hear from you for six months,” Darcy remarked seriously. “I will not expect anything from you in that time, and have warned Georgiana of the same. May she write to you?”

“Maybe even twelve months,” his cousin warned him soberly. “Georgiana may always write, so long as she understands I may not reply to her letters. Indeed, I may not receive them at all.”

“Well, you will be missed,” Darcy assured him. “Both by Georgiana and by me. Your wise counsel and good humour are important to our family.”

“You will keep her safe, I know,” the colonel said meaningfully before returning his attention to the roast meat. “Very good beef, Darcy. Well chosen. Yes, you will both manage perfectly adequately, and Ludlow will take over my part in her guardianship with you until I return. I don’t expect he will need to do much beyond signing occasional bank letters if you are indisposed. My brother can manage that well enough.”

“Is Ludlow very busy with your father’s estate these days? I imagine that, as heir to the Earl of Matlock, and with what you have said of my uncle’s health, he must be.”

His cousin shrugged, his good-natured face turning pensive.

“I suppose so, although I scarcely know what Ludlow does with himself up in Matlock these days. Since I joined the army, we have moved in very different circles. While I consider myself Ludlow’s superior in good humour and military discipline, I am sure my older brother can step into my shoes in most other matters. Do not hesitate to call upon him if needed.”

“Thank you, Richard. As you say, all will be well here in England. I only wish you luck in France and beyond.”

“Enough about me and my luck,” said the colonel with a casual wave of his hand, consigning his future to fate with the ease of the professional soldier. “What do you plan to do with yourself in the coming months, Darcy? Will you have Christmas at Pemberley or in London?”

“Certainly Christmas at Pemberley,” Darcy replied without hesitation. “Before then, I am considering a sojourn in Hertfordshire with a good friend of mine who is seeking a country estate – Mr Charles Bingley. I would be within reach of Georgiana there, but away from London.”

“Will your friend Bingley rent or buy?”

“I cannot say. I believe he will consider either option in the short term. In the longer term, Bingley wishes to create a permanent establishment in line with his fortune and social connections. There is no property in his family, despite their wealth.”

“Ah,” the colonel nodded knowingly, understanding the Bingley family to have risen up from the prosperous middle class.

“Bingley is a very good sort of man, with the best kind of manners and principles,” Darcy continued, obscurely feeling he ought to qualify the connection further.

“You need make no case to me, Darcy,” his cousin laughed. “As a second son, I have never been able to afford the social fastidiousness and prejudices of many of our own class. When I marry, I would consider myself lucky to find a rich bride whose grandfather was a grocer or haberdasher. Has this Bingley sisters?”

Darcy could not help laughing himself at his cousin’s frankness.

“Two sisters, in fact, and one unmarried. I do not find Miss Caroline Bingley sympathetic personally, but see no reason why another man should not be pleased enough.”