Page 32 of A Most Favourable Match

“Why not marry me instead, Lord Keeble, if you are really determined to keep up with Lord Grantchester?” asked the third lady, a pale and raven-haired woman with striking emerald eyes. “I am always in London, so you need not deprive wider society of your company. I require little except a man with bright eyes and elegant form to walk me into balls.”

“That does not sound too taxing, does it, John?” Lord Keeble asked Lord Grantchester. “After all, I am known both for my fine eyes and my elegance, as well as my dancing.”

“You are making him vain, Lady Sophia,” warned Lord Grantchester. “Anyway, didn’t you once tell me that you thought men were like dogs and ought not to be let alone in the house? Have you changed your mind, or would your husband have a basket in the servants’ quarters like your pets?”

“I have not changed my mind at all, Lord Grantchester, but there is a very comfortable Persian rug that Lord Keeble might lie on in the library,” Lady Sophia Kettering responded with smiling gravity. “He must share it with my German sheepdog, Rex, but I believe your friend is house-trained, far more than many men.”

As she spoke of “many men”, Lady Sophia’s eyes glanced over Mr Hurst with dark amusement, and Darcy winced slightly for Louisa Hurst. Mr Hurst might be the youngest son of Viscount Irving and his mothera renowned society beauty of the previous generation, but he was a bad bargain as a husband. Darcy knew that Louisa Hurst had been warned against him and married him nonetheless.

It was a shame, but could not be undone now. In another world, Bingley’s older sister would have made a far more appropriate wife for Lord Grantchester than Jane Bennet, and been happier in such a marriage too.

“Surely, you cannot tar all men with the same brush, Lady Sophia?” Caroline Bingley now objected in almost coquettish tones, entering into the fray of the jesting around the table in a way that did not bode well for Darcy’s temper. “Mr Darcy, for instance, you must concede, is vastly superior to the average in theton.”

“Ah, one should never joke about Mr Darcy, Miss Bingley,” Lady Sophia demurred, shooting an apologetic look to Darcy, whom she knew would not welcome such personal remarks. “It is best always to think of him in a class of his own.”

“On that we can agree,” replied Miss Bingley with a flirtatious smile towards Darcy. “I too consider Mr Darcy in a class of his own.”

“Lady Jefferson, have your musical salons been well attended over the summer?” Darcy asked her, deciding it was best to ignore Miss Bingley’s overtures rather than attempt to address them.

“The last one was marvellous, Mr Darcy. We had Miss Maria Bernoulli, the renowned soprano from Rome, with a voice of real strength and sweetness. She is presently touring England and then the opera housesof Europe. You must try to see her if you can.”

“Isn’t she in Mozart’sMagic Fluteat Covent Garden?” asked Lord Grantchester, who loved light opera.

Mozart, opera, and music in general being a subject beloved by most of the supper guests, this opening carried them all through the main course and pudding without difficulty.

“I do not think the gentlemen shall sit over port tonight,” Darcy announced once the final plates were cleared.

“Good idea, Darcy,” agreed Grantchester. “We’ve drunk enough tonight. Mrs Hurst is going to play for us on the pianoforte, and Lady Jefferson is going to sing. That should be more pleasing than any amount of port. Well, more pleasing to most of us…”

Everyone rose from the table except Mr Hurst, who had by now drunk himself into a stupor and would need to be discreetly removed. It was a predictable development, but tiresome, a thought that Darcy could also see written on Bingley’s face.

“Grantchester, Keeble, do escort all the ladies to the drawing room,” Darcy requested in neutral tones. “Bingley and I will follow shortly.”

No one dallied, and Darcy and Bingley were soon alone with the drunken Hurst, who had now laid his head on the table and begun to snore softly.

“I say we put him in the carriage and send him home,” volunteered Bingley with some disgust for his brother-in-law. “If you put him in the library or abedroom here, he will only make a mess for your servants and embarrassment for my sister. Louisa can leave with Caroline and me later.”

Darcy nodded his assent to this plan, and Hurst barely stirred as they each took one of his arms and pulled him to his feet, giving orders to a footman to fetch Hurst’s coat and ready his carriage.

“I’m sorry, Bingley,” Darcy told his friend as they manoeuvred the unresisting Hurst down the steps. “I don’t think you’ve enjoyed tonight at all.”

It had not been Bingley’s kind of evening, or his kind of people, but Darcy had wanted Bingley’s sisters there and could hardly have excluded his friend. Bingley gave a very long sigh and adjusted the weight of his brother-in-law as he considered Darcy’s statement.

“Where are we going?” demanded their burden, suddenly half awake and confused.

“Home to bed,” Darcy told Hurst firmly as they continued to haul him into the carriage and arranged him on the seat.

Hurst’s moment of lucidity passed as soon as it had arrived, and he curled up on the coach seat before Bingley had slammed the door. Likely he would fall on the floor as soon as the coach set off, and it would serve him right.

“Berkeley Square,” Darcy ordered the driver and passed the man some coins for his undoubted trouble in getting his master out of the vehicle at the other end.

It wasn’t until the carriage was turning thecorner that Bingley finally addressed Darcy’s remark.

“It is no good, Darcy,” his friend said resignedly. “What you tried to do tonight was pointless.”

“Yes. It probably was,” Darcy conceded, the heaviness of failure sitting equally upon his shoulders.

If even Bingley could see the futility of tonight’s efforts, then he ought not to have wasted his energy.