Fitzwilliam laughed while he turned the chair across from Darcy around and straddled it, happily accepting the coffee handed him by the butler. “Thank you very much, Winters. You are a prince among men. It is bloody freezing out there.” He turned his attention back to his cousin as he sipped the hot drink. “Well, I don’t mind lending my support for her escape as long as the peach tarts hold out.” He tilted his chair forward to clutch an uneaten sandwich from Darcy’s plate. “Perhaps you can provide us with some type of hoist.”

Darcy abruptly looked up from his paperwork. “You are excessively tardy, as if that surprises me. Never tell me you’ve been at Wellington’s all day? I thought it was only to be a breakfast meeting.”

“Yes, well, it started out that way, but as usual, the breakfast meeting stretched into a chatty luncheon visit. We wasted an awful lot of time as he shaved this morning. I think the man is part ape; in fact, I’d swear to it. I could see his beard growing while I ate my Jerusalem artichokes. Put me off my feed for a while, I can tell you.”

Darcy’s snort served as his opinion regarding that possibility when he belatedly pulled his now empty plate back from within his cousin’s reach.

“And how is his good wife?”

“An idiot. Say, Darcy…”

“I hate to admit that was my impression, also, poor dear. Still, she has some basis for her arrogance, you know, comes from very good stock, wonderful bloodlines. If she was a horse, I’d admire her fetlocks and the astoundingly broad fullness between her eyes. By the way, has he finished remodeling his new townhouse? I’d say he bit off a bit too much with that one. Good location, though, excellent for resale.”

“Who cares? I say, Darcy…”

“Bingley heard that he’s resigning his commission. Is that true? Smart move if he is. Mark my word, he’ll be prime minister one day.

“Gad! Can we forget about Wellington for one moment, please? Good Lord, he puts his little breeches on one leg at a time, just like you and I. Now, try to pay attention. I wanted to ask you about that woman who lives across St. James square. You know who I mean—the old beastie with the hairy mole on her chin—lives in that house across from Aunt Catherine.”

Darcy shivered in recollection. A ruder, more snobbish, social-climbing harridan did not exist in all of London. “Yes, she’s lived there for years—name is Pennwalt or Pensky or Petterson. She’s an absolute horror. What on earth would you want with that old woman?”

“Didn’t she have a son that died a few years back? On the Hamilton yacht wasn’t he… when it sank… or some such accident?” He settled his chin on his folded arms, surreptitiously eying leftover biscuits.

“Yes, I believe she did have a son who drowned, but not on the Hamilton boat.” Darcy didn’t bother to look up from his writing. “Sit up straight—you’re going to break the legs on that chair, lurching back and forth like that! It’s like having an elephant bouncing on a twig.” He slapped at his cousin’s hands. “And stop grabbing at my food, you thieving bastard.”

Fitzwilliam grunted. “You’re sounding more and more like Aunt Catherine, the older you get, did you know that? Even beginning to look a bit like her. What else do you know about the matter? I mean the hag’s son.”

Darcy returned to his figures. “I believe he was a baronet. He was on his way to confront a wayward wife who had left him and run off to America. His ship went down during a storm or at a blockade. I can’t remember which.”

“Well, I wonder who I saw, then. The woman I have seen coming and going in the square was certainly not a baronet’s wife. Dresses rather plainly, and now she accompanies a young girl. Mayhap she is a governess or teacher,” Fitzwilliam was muttering.

“What are you going on about?”

“The old tabby wouldn’t have perhaps produced a beautiful daughter somehow of which you are unaware.”

“She couldn’t produce a beautiful anything, if I’m thinking of the same person.” This interruption was causing Darcy to lose focus. Rubbing his forehead, he stared intently at his cousin. “I don’t suppose you would be interested in helping me with these accounts, seeing as you are just sitting there doing nothing but annoying me?”

“Help you with accounts?” Fitzwilliam let out a hoot of laughter. “That is rich, Darcy! Really, you have the most wonderful sense of humor!” Fitzwilliam chuckled casually as he shook his head.

After a moment, Fitzwilliam pressed on, once again disturbing the silence. “Do you know if she has any visitors at the present? The beast, I mean.”

With a resigned sigh, Darcy removed his spectacles, pinching his nose at the bridge. “Richard, I have no idea what goes on in this neighborhood. I can’t even direct my own household.” After replacing his glasses, he picked his pen back up and set to work again. “Ask Aunt Catherine if you require the latest on-dit.”

Fitzwilliam shivered and sipped his coffee. He was very quiet, unnaturally so for him. After a few moments, an anxious Darcy looked up. “What has you asking these questions, please?” Fitzwilliam was on an extended city stay as plans were implemented for the allied armies to begin leaving Paris the following year. The prior two weeks with his brother had done little to relax him. He was ripe for trouble.

“Well, since you bring it up, I just saw that beast in her carriage, and a young woman walked over and got into it with her.” Fitzwilliam smiled wistfully. “Absolutely lovely. The young woman, I mean. I have seen her before upon occasion, from afar, but never met her, never even knew where she lived. She gives one the impression of being very ethereal, very otherworldly, very foreign.”

He grabbed absently at some papers on the desk, reshuffling them, replacing them gently when he realized he had ruined their order. “Sorry.” He returned his hands to his knees. “She may be accompanying a young girl Georgiana’s age, perhaps an acquaintance?”

A grinning Darcy leaned back in his chair, studying his cousin closely. “Shall I describe this lovely lady of yours? A dimwitted little pocket Venus—a redheaded slow top.” Chuckling at his cousin’s glower, he picked up his quill again.

“You are not, in any way, shape, or form, amusing, Darcy.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “Yes, well, the only trouble is that you always get bored with these silly creatures within a week, sometimes less, and then you have the problem of where to dump the bodies. And if she is a servant or governess or even a paid companion, that never ends up well, does it?”

Fitzwilliam opened his mouth to argue but realized that Darcy was pretty much on target. He grunted and went back to sipping his coffee. “Are you going to finish that pie?” he asked and reached for the apple tart on the side of the desk.

Darcy quickly snatched back the plate, never taking his eyes from his books. “Yes, I am going to finish that pie. Don’t you have a barracks or something that provides you with food? I’m not made of money, you know.”

“Are you insinuating that I take advantage of your good-natured hospitality?”

“Who’s insinuating?” Darcy abruptly looked up from his paper and stared hard at his cousin. “A man your age, really, Fitz! You should have a home of your own by now. You should be over this constant need for conquests, unless you truly don’t want to marry and have a family.”

Fitzwilliam shifted in his seat and studiously avoided eye contact. “Well, certainly I do, Darcy. One day. Perhaps in the future. The distant future. When I am old and defenseless. Stop staring at me like that! There is no immediate rush, is there? There are so many lovely ladies I have yet to meet in the time God has allotted to me. Besides, I have little income, no home, and no immediate prospects. So, unless I can impregnate a ninety-year-old virgin heiress with a dickey heart, I am not inclined to rush the event.” He put down his coffee cup on the edge of the desk and brushed off the crumbs that had been collecting throughout the morning.

Darcy rolled the quill between his fingers and looked with benign pity upon his cousin. “You should, you know. It’s a wonderful feeling to be the head of your home, with a wife who adores you and whom you adore in return.”

Fitzwilliam whipped out his pocket watch. “Oh, look at that. I have to run.”

Ignoring him, Darcy turned his face to the fire, a besotted look in his eyes and a smile on his lips. “It’s a good feeling to care for your family and their well-being. It makes you finally grow up, I can tell you.” He sighed deeply and began attacking his figures once more, his mind filled with unlimited love and joy, thinking on his upcoming paternal responsibilities. “I myself find women to be unbelievably wonderful creations.”

“I suppose you will continue with this treacle even as I beg you to stop.”

“Well, think about it…” Darcy continued, looking up from his work.

Fitzwilliam groaned.

“They give back to you double and triple whatever little you hand them.”

“I think I’m going to be ill, Darcy. Please stop.”

“You hand them disparate items of food, and they give you back a wonderful meal. You provide them with four walls and a floor, and they give you back a loving home. You give them your seed,” Darcy’s eyes misted, his voice choked with emotion. “You give them your seed, and they give you back the most precious thing of all—a child…” They sat in silence together.

“And God help you if you give them shit.” Fitzwilliam was calmly packing tobacco into his pipe, and his eyes met Darcy’s for a moment. Understanding flashed between them.