“Brummell, if you wish to conduct a lesson, I will gladly put a room at your disposal, but Mr. Darcy —”

The Beau turned and surprised Darcy with a wink only he could see, saying, “Heavens no, Your Ladyship! If I spilled all I knew, who would pay me the least attention thereafter?” He bowed to them both, intoned “Your servant, Darcy,” and sauntered away, only to stop suddenly before a gentleman and in a few moments declaim, “My dear fellow, you call that a waistcoat?”

Lady Melbourne laughed lightly and drew Darcy’s arm to her once again. “I had not thought you a rival of Brummell’s, Darcy. How is it that I have not heard of this before? And who is Fletcher?”

“Rival I most certainly am not, Your Ladyship,” he answered forcefully. The appreciative look that she returned him on this declaration caused a flush to begin creeping up his collar.

She looked away, as if determining a route through the crowded room. “And Fletcher?” The smile she turned back upon him was one of polite interest only.

“My valet, ma’am.”

“Yes, of course.” She indicated a direction, and Darcy could not but escort her. Out of nowhere, Dy fell in beside them.

“Lady Melbourne, please allow me to say what a shocking crush you have accomplished tonight! It but lacks the regent’s presence to be the biggest ‘do’ since the fete at Carlton House.”

“Brougham, you exaggerate obscenely, but I forgive you for it. I hope you will not be disappointed when I tell you that dear Prinny will not be coming tonight, and further that I have resisted furnishing my guests with a fish-stocked stream down the length of my table.”

Brougham’s face fell dramatically. “Ma’am, I had not heard! But this news is most distressing. Darcy, did you hear? The prince is not to come —”

“Darcy,” the lady interrupted, turning her attention back to him, “were you at the fete at Carlton House? I do not recall you there, but in such a confusion one can easily miss even one’s greatest friends.”

“No, ma’am, I was not in London at the time.”

“Not in London! I distinctly remember you accompanying me to the Grand Review only days before,” Dy said, looking at him curiously over the top of Lady Melbourne’s headdress.

“I was in Ramsgate…visiting my sister, my lord.” Darcy returned him a hard stare, hoping to discourage further discussion.

“Visiting your sister, Darcy, instead of attending the prince’s fete!” Lady Melbourne looked up at him closely. “What an uncommonly attentive brother you are! But that is your reputation, sir. You are attentive to all your concerns, as was your dear father before you.”

Darcy bowed his head in acknowledgment of her compliment. “That is high praise indeed, my lady.”

“I wonder, sir, are you attentive as well to the broader concerns?”

Chill fingers of warning played down Darcy’s back and were only heightened by the slight narrowing of Dy’s eyes above the lady’s head. “Broader concerns, ma’am?”

“Concerns that lay beyond the charming borders of Pemberley, beyond even Derbyshire.”

“I hope I am a good and loyal subject of the king, my lady,” Darcy hedged. He looked again to his friend, but Dy only shrugged and appeared exceedingly bored.

“As are we all, Darcy,” Lady Melbourne replied smoothly. “But the tiller is not in His Majesty’s hands alone, and at times, the course of the ship of state must be amended, different stars followed, to bring it safely to port.” She stopped their progress through the guest-thronged hall and indicated a door that opened from it. “Let me introduce you to some of those whose broad concerns encompass all our smaller ones.”

The door cracked open upon Lady Melbourne’s soft knock, and while she conducted a whispered exchange with the servant who stood within, Darcy cocked a brow at Dy in indication that now would be an excellent time to bring his vaunted social acumen to bear and forestall their proceeding any further into Her Ladyship’s toils. But as his friend was unaccountably absorbed in a study of the lace at his cuff and returned him no answer, there appeared to be nothing for it. So, frowning in irritation, Darcy reluctantly crossed the threshold into the room when it opened for them.

The handsome salon into which they were admitted was not overly crowded, but it was decidedly masculine in its occupation; not a single female was present save their hostess. Lady Melbourne smiled at Darcy reassuringly as she held out her hand to a gentleman who was nodding to the servant she had sent. The man’s eyes narrowed as he observed them at the door, but he moved quickly enough to Her Ladyship’s side. “Lady Melbourne,” he greeted her tersely with a tight smile and short bow.

“Lamb,” the lady addressed her son, her smile wide but somewhat brittle, “are you acquainted with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Derbyshire?”

The Honorable William Lamb allowed himself another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am, although not so well as I should like. Your servant, sir.” He bowed to Darcy. Darcy returned the courtesy, shocked that he had not recognized the man. The years since he had attended Lamb’s marriage ceremony had not, evidently, been kind ones, leaving a man Darcy knew to be his senior by only four years looking much worn.

“I am certain you know Lord Brougham,” Lady Melbourne continued, “as he is always here, there, and about.”

“Yes, of course, Your Ladyship. It was that shooting party of Grenville’s the last time, wasn’t it, Lamb?”

“I believe you are right, Brougham. Caught nothing but a cold that day, but marvelous geography, as I remember.” Lamb’s features relaxed somewhat at the memory but cooled again before he turned pointedly to his parent, saying, “Madam, you must not neglect the rest of your guests. I shall take these two in hand.”

The flash of fire in her eyes was unmistakable. “Then I shall leave you to it!” Lady Melbourne curtsied, and in a swirl of skirts left them.

“A formidable lady,” Dy murmured as they watched her leave.

“Indeed!” Lamb returned with feeling. “But now, gentlemen, I must ask you a question: Did you seek us out” — his hand swept the room — “or were you press-ganged by Her Ladyship?” Dy chuckled at the allusion but made no answer, leaving Darcy to smooth their way.

“Lady Melbourne is not a woman I should wish to gainsay.” Darcy hesitated, then added wryly, “Even were I given the opportunity.”

A genuine smile then spread across Lamb’s features. He offered his hand to Darcy. “Well said, sir, and quite politic of you! Perhaps you are in the right place after all! But, in truth, you have come tonight to hear the diva my mother has promised, not to argue politics; is that not so?”

Darcy took his hand in a firm grasp. “You have it, sir, although I am not uninterested in the ‘broader concerns’ as Her Ladyship described them. Rather, I believe we should find ourselves on opposite sides of the room on many issues.”

“The Darcys were ever a Tory lot,” Lamb groused in jest. I suppose there is no hope of you throwing for Canning against Castlereagh? I thought not!” he concluded at Darcy’s polite grimace. “And I know far better than to solicit Brougham here, who has as much interest in politics as does a fence post.” Dy’s answering bow elegantly acknowledged Lamb’s perspicacity in the matter. “Ah well, it is all one with the events of the day. You have heard that our illustrious regent will not appear tonight?”

“Lady Melbourne said as much,” Darcy replied. “The duties of state have commanded his attention, no doubt.”

“No, actually it was the demands of His Highness’s tailors that commanded his attention! After he summoned his ministers upon a matter of ‘vital concern’ and kept them waiting upon his arrival for the entire day, a note was sent round to the effect that his tailors had delayed him and that now his mama was in want of him; and they should all go home! So tonight he takes his aches and pains and imagined maladies to be soothed at Windsor.” Lamb looked at Darcy keenly. “I suppose you can guess that I am not in charity with His Highness at the moment, I nor anyone else in this room.” Lamb paused as Darcy cast his gaze over the occupants of the salon. The mood was decidedly rancorous. Angry words often broke through the hum of strident voices as Britain’s Whig aristocracy and politicians gnashed their teeth over the regent’s latest ill treatment of his avowed friends and supporters.

“It was not well done of His Highness, certainly,” Darcy agreed. “Although I cannot be unhappy with the result of his negligence. What shall you do now?”

“We have not totally consigned ourselves to returning to the wilderness as yet! We have had our forty years and more of wandering under His Highness’s father and rather thought that, with the son, we had finally arrived at the Promised Land. But the blasted Jericho walls refuse to fall down! Canning is determined to continue storming them, though, and deny Castlereagh and Perceval. I shall, of course, support him.”

A discreet cough reminded both men that Lord Brougham was a party to their conversation. “Oh, pardon me, Lamb! Didn’t mean to interrupt! Just a thought, though. Trumpets!”

“Trumpets?” Lamb looked uncomprehendingly at him and then to Darcy.

“Trumpets,” repeated Brougham firmly.

“Brougham,” Lamb growled impatiently, “what are you playing at?”

“Didn’t storm Jericho to bring the walls down, now did they? Blew trumpets and shouted, as I recall.” Brougham looked down modestly, examining his perfectly pared fingernails. “P’rhaps you fellows ought to look into it.”

“A theologian is among us!” Lamb shook his head derisively. “I never would have guessed you for a parson, Brougham, any more than a politician.” He looked then at a group whose disappointment in the day’s events was threatening to spill over acceptable bounds. “Although your point is taken, and I shall endeavor to be more accurate with my metaphors. Gentlemen” — he gestured toward his discordant guests — “I must leave you to your own devices and take charge of the room before Bloody Revolution is declared. Then the Tories would have our carcasses! Darcy…Brougham.”