Page 65 of Honor Requires

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane.

Two eligible gentlemen, she thought, amused despite herself. How very obliging of them.

“Do you suppose he will attend the season’s events?” a third lady asked.

“He must,” came the eager reply. “It would be unpardonable if he did not.”

“And unwise,” another added. “One does not come to London and remain invisible—not if one wishes to be acknowledged.”

Elizabeth sipped her tea, listening with interest.

It was remarkable how swiftly a stranger could become the subject of universal speculation.

He has not been seen, she thought, and already he is half-engaged to every daughter in London.

She smiled faintly at the absurdity of it and found herself wondering about the mysterious count.

The following evening brought a larger gathering.

The rooms were crowded, the air warm with conversation and expectation, and once again, the name of the count moved through the assembly with surprising persistence.

Elizabeth stood beside Jane and Bramley, listening as her brother-in-law spoke with two gentlemen whose presence she did not entirely welcome.

Mr. Hargrave and Mr. Langford. She had met them before, though only briefly. The latter was a distant relation of Mr. Darcy's, if she recalled correctly from those long-ago conversations. There was something in their manner—particularly Mr. Hargrave’s—that she found difficult to like. It was not merely confidence, but something sharper, less easily defined.

“Bramley,” Hargrave was saying, his tone smooth, “I understand you have acquired a most interesting neighbor.”

“So I am told,” Bramley replied evenly.

“You have not made his acquaintance?”

“Not so far. I intend to call on the morrow. I was to call today, but matters of business detained me.”

“A wise decision to make his acquaintance,” Langford put in. “Such connections are not to be neglected.”

Hargrave smiled faintly. “Indeed. You must allow me to join you on another call, once the introduction is secured.”

Bramley inclined his head. “We shall see what may be arranged.”

There was a brief exchange of further pleasantries, after which the two gentlemen took their leave.

Bramley exhaled. “I cannot like them,” he said under his breath.

Jane glanced at him in mild surprise. “You are always polite to them.”

“I am required to be,” he returned. “Hargrave wields influence I cannot easily ignore, and Langford—” he hesitated, “—has distant ties that make outright incivility unwise.”

Elizabeth studied him. “Yet you would prefer not to associate with them.”

“Exceedingly,” Bramley said.

Before she could reply, another voice joined them.

“Bramley. My dear sister. Miss Bennet.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam approached, his expression warm, though his bearing retained its habitual composure. Beside him walked his wife, Anne, her manner subdued but observant.

“Colonel,” Jane said with a smile. “Anne, how pleasant to see you both!”