Adrian froze. “You would not.”
“I would,” Mr. Darcy said softly. “Particularly the portion involving treacle, a candle, and the vice-chancellor’s hat.”
A beat.
Adrian’s expression collapsed into reluctant surrender. “Very well,” he said, with a sigh that suggested this was a sacrifice. “For the sake of family harmony, and because I have no desire to see my youthful ingenuity used against me—”
“Adrian,” Elizabeth warned. She would not say it, but her concern had been muted by the fact that he was making a joke of it. Surely he would not tease them if it were something terrible. Would he?
Adrian cleared his throat with exaggerated solemnity. “Prince Adrian will, upon meeting Princess Elizabeth, ascertain whether she is already married or engaged. If she is, Their Majesties will honour said attachment and will not interfere.”
Relief rushed through her.
Mr. Darcy released a deep breath.
Fitzwilliam looked between them. “He asked about marrying,” he observed, as though noting an unusual bird. “Our Darcy. Who once looked pained when a lady mentioned needing a partner forajig.”
Adrian lowered the list. Elizabeth arranged her face into what she intended to be composure; it did not last a moment before the corners of her mouth betrayed her. He looked from Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth and back again, his expression brightening into something between glee and menace.
"It continues,” Adrian said. “If Princess Elizabeth is not attached, Their Majesties request she not become so. If she is engaged but not yet wed and can do so with comfort, they would wish to celebrate her marriage in Thurnia at the palace, and to receive her English family with all honour.”
Adrian folded the paper and tossed it on the table. “There are other instructions,” he said. “Some involving introductions, and some involving what I am allowed to say to you about your family.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Am I allowed to ask?”
“You are allowed,” Adrian assured her, “and I am allowed to answer, so long as I do not ‘startle you into rash behaviour.’”
“That sounds as though you have a reputation,” Elizabeth said.
“We have an uncle who believesallbehaviour is rash if it occurs before breakfast,” Adrian replied.
Mr. Darcy, still holding Elizabeth’s hand, said with deceptive mildness, “And now that you have delivered the crown’s assurances, you both may leave.”
“I beg your pardon?” Colonel Fitzwilliam was on the verge of laughing and did not appear to have any intention of removing himself.
There was a brief shuffle, and then her father appeared in the doorway, looking mildly ruffled and rather curious. Uncle Gardiner and Aunt Gardiner followed him.
She watched as her father took in the scene. “What have I missed?” he asked.
“A number of rules about poultry, Papa,” she told him. “Apparently I am not allowed to bring any to Thurnia with me.”
His shaggy eyebrows lifted.
“Oh,” she said, as though she had forgotten, “and I am engaged.”
Mr. Darcy’s growl was low and seemed to issue from the back of his throat. But it did not make her laugh. It made her feel something she had never felt before and was not entirely sure was proper.
Her father stared at her, then at Mr. Darcy, then back at Elizabeth again. “Engaged,” he repeated.
“Yes, Papa,” Elizabeth said.
“And was anyone,” her father asked mildly, “intending to consult me?”
“Sir—” Mr. Darcy began. Adrian and the colonel smirked at him, and he glared back before continuing. “May I request a few moments of your time? Privately, if you please.”
Papa’s brows lifted. “Now? After the engagement has already occurred?”
Mr. Darcy held his ground. “I would not dare ask you beforeher, sir.”