Page 73 of A November to Remember

The occupants of the room froze in a tableau of guilt. Robert was lounging on his unmade bed; Richard was standing by a small table; Bingley was perched nervously on a stool, ready to bolt; the two valets stood at attention next to the wardrobe.

Darcy glared at his cousins. “You are meddling like fishwives! Gathering in a bedchamber to plot marriages and interfere with young women’s lives! Have you no shame?”

Robert did not look even mildly repentant. He leaned back against the headboard and casually crossed his ankles. “We are not fishwives, Darcy. We are... tacticians. There is a vast difference in the pedigree.”

Darcy walked further into the room and planted himself before his cousins. “You are arranging my life behind my back. I do not need you and your... Alliance.”

“You need a miracle, Cousin,” Richard countered. “You are smitten. That is a fact. Yet you refuse to act. We are just trying to help.”

Darcy opened his mouth to issue a blistering lecture on privacy, decorum, and the sanctity of a gentleman’s heart. He intended to be furious and had the vocabulary lined up perfectly in his mind.

But then he looked at Robert’s smug grin, at Richard’s exasperated affection, and at Bingley’s wide eyes.

He sighed, rubbing his temples as the righteous anger evaporated, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion and an uncharacteristic vulnerability. He dropped his hands, staring at the floor, the fight draining out of him.

“Fine,” he muttered. “You are correct.”

Bingley gasped, nearly tumbling backward off his stool.

Darcy lifted his head, meeting Robert’s eyes with unvarnished honesty. “I love her. I have been captivated by her for quite some time. She scorched me, Robert, you said it yourself, and I realised at that moment she is the only woman in England I could ever endure.”

Robert threw one hand up in triumph. “Huzzah! Finally!”

Bingley clapped his hands together, his face shining. “I knew it! Oh, this is capital, Darcy!”

“Do not tell a soul!” Darcy ordered, pointing a stern finger at his friend. “This must be handled delicately. These are my terms: The Alliance has to dissolve. You all have to state your intentions concerning the Bennet sisters. And last, you need to stop steering Collins towards Miss Lucas. You need to fix this.”

Richard nodded. “We shall.”

“I suspect your allies are Mrs Bennet and Mrs Philips, am I correct?”

Robert nodded in the affirmative. Richard grunted. Bingley held his hands high. “I only heard about this a quarter of an hour ago.”

Darcy began pacing back and forth, his mind engaging with the problem at hand. “I repeat: I cannot allow him to marry Miss Lucas. Miss Lucas is a decent, intelligent woman with dignity. She does not deserve to die of boredom listening to Mr Collins pontificate on the dimensions of a shrubbery.”

Dawson nodded gravely. “Or worse, sir. She does not deserve to be crushed under the heel of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Exactly.” Darcy halted, nodding at his valet. “Lady Catherine would kill her spirit within a fortnight. Mrs Bennet and Mrs Philips must be stopped from pushing Miss Lucas into this disastrous match.”

Robert sat up, running a hand through his hair. “A second Alliance! Oh, this is marvellous! A hazardous undertaking, certainly, but how do we stop a runaway carriage? If Collins is determined to marry before he returns to Kent, and Mrs Bennet is determined to shove Miss Lucas in his path, we need a diversion.”

Boodles cleared his throat. “We need to sacrifice someone else, my lord. A lady of independent means who might appreciate a sycophant.”

“There are no independent ladies in Meryton. Only widow Prichard, and she is seventy-two,” Richard pointed out.

Darcy stared out of the window. His mind rapidly calculated variables, character flaws, and outcomes. A plan assembled itself in his brain—one that was subtle, underhanded, and entirely out of character for the straightforward master of Pemberley.

He loved it.

A wicked smile crept onto his face. “We do not need an independent lady. We simply need to redirect his ambition.”

Robert swung his legs off the bed, leaning forward with rapt attention. “You have a scheme, Fitzwilliam. I can see it. You look pleased. Or is it the bacon from breakfast?”

Darcy turned back to his cousins.

“I have a scheme, yes, but the Alliance must come to an end. All you have to do now, all of you,” he pointed a finger at each of them in turn, “is to rectify the mess you have caused. I shall direct you, but I shall not be part of it.”

“You are denying yourself all the fun, Darcy,” Robert said, but closed his mouth at Darcy’s glare.