“Have you nothing to say?” Darcy asked.
“Not really, other than to congratulate you on choosing a lovely woman on which to bestow your attention.”
“Bestow my attention?”
“It is the best I can muster at this time.” Morgan said, his eyes twinkling. “Does Hurst know?”
“Not yet, but when Lady Elizabeth arrives, I plan on having a dinner party, where the Hursts will be invited.” Darcy angled his body to face Mrs. Gardiner. “After her arrival, I will send a note, asking what date works best for your family.”
“If you plan to call upon Lizzy, I am certain you can ask in person. No need to stand on ceremony.”
Darcy beckoned to Hurstacross the crowded drawing room at White’s, where cigar smoke hung in lazy blue clouds beneath the gilded ceiling. His friend navigated through the sea of gentlemen, exchanging brief pleasantries with several before reaching Darcy’s side.
“So, you have returned from Lady Catherine’s clutches unscathed,” Hurst remarked with a wry smile, settling into the leather armchair opposite Darcy.
“The visit proved unexpectedly agreeable this time.”
“Indeed,” Hurst said, reaching for his brandy. “I expected you to be seeking solace in the bottom of a decanter, lamenting your aunt’s persistent attempts to make you marry your cousin.”
“That familiar scene did unfold,” Darcy admitted, mindlessly twisting his heavy signet ring. “But circumstances have... shifted.” He lifted his palm when Hurst opened his mouth. “I must keep you in suspense until summer. All shall become clear by July.”
“How intriguing,” Hurst studied Darcy’s face. “I wonder what else happened while you were in the wilds of Kent. You look almost… content.”
“I had the opportunity to speak with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
His shoulders tensed imperceptibly as Hurst’s words brought to mind the letter in which Elizabeth had disclosed her family’s astonishing reversal of fortune. Mr. Thomas Bennet, once merely a gentleman of Longbourn with its modest two thousand per annum, now bore the title, Earl Rumley. If the speculative whispers exchanged behind silk fans in London’s finest drawing rooms were to be believed, he commanded an annual income that surpassed sixty thousand pounds, an income that would make the wealthiest of peers take note. Though he trusted Hurst implicitly, Darcy was bound to keep Elizabeth’s confidence. Such news was hers alone to divulge.
“At your aunt’s estate?” Hurst leaned forward. “What business did Miss Elizabeth have in Kent?”
“Do you recall the strange little man abandoned at Bingley’s ball when the Bennets departed?” Darcy asked.
Hurst’s gaze drifted momentarily towards the rain-spattered window as he searched his memory.
“Ah, yes. An obsequious fellow with that peculiar bow, bent nearly double like a pocket knife. Caroline detested him thoroughly. Almost reason enough to befriend him.” A wry smile twisted his lips. “What of him? Beyond forcing Miss Elizabeth to endure his company for the opening set of dances at Bingley’s ball.”
“The gentleman is Mr. Collins and, not only is he a cousin to the Bennet family, but also Lady Catherine’s parson.” Hurst laughed softly, murmuring something about a contest of insufferability between aunt and parson. Darcy paid his comment no mind and continued. “He married Miss Charlotte Lucas, Miss Elizabeth’s intimate friend, whom she was visitingthe same time Fitzwilliam and I were in Kent.”
“And did you seize the chance to make amends for your conduct last Autumn?” Hurst’s eyes narrowed shrewdly.
“I had already written to Mr. Bennet that night following our conversation.”
“You did?” Hurst’s brows lifted slightly. “I confess I am surprised. I expected months of brooding before any action.”
“Your lack of faith wounds me.” Darcy’s voice carried the faintest hint of amusement. “I strive always towards what is right. Honour demands it.”
“Fair enough, you are very honourable — occasionally to your disadvantage.” Hurst’s tone was light, but his eyes were serious.
“I was raised with good principles,” Darcy replied, gazing about the room, not focusing on any one thing in particular, “though I confess my reserve often conceals their practice.”
“You are a good man, Darcy. I cannot take that away from you.” Hurst straightened in his chair. “Tell me of your encounters with the spirited Miss Elizabeth. Did she receive you with cold civility, or pierce you with that remarkable wit?”
“Neither. We walked together in my aunt’s gardens most mornings.” A smile touched Darcy's lips. “Her father had shown her my letter, which made our discourse... unexpectedly agreeable.”
“Agreeable?” Hurst echoed with a smirk. “From you, that borders on effusive praise.”
“Preferable to mutual resentment, I assure you.”
“True, true.”