“Yes, well, be that as it may, I am not well enough to formulate a witty rejoinder.” And truth be told, he was not certain that he could even if he was completely well. His views of marriage had shifted during his stay in Hertfordshire.

  “Ah! You are awake and seemingly alert,” Richard said as he entered the room. “Darcy, it is good to see you. I have been instructed that I am also to make an appearance in the sitting room to see your wife, as well as Georgiana and Kitty. However, now is not a good time, as the ladies have much to discuss over tea.” He took a seat in a chair Darcy had pulled over next to his. “I can move furniture now without tipping over,” he muttered.

  “Just allow me to do you this small service so I can say I did so if questioned later by either my wife or Lydia.”

  Wes chuckled. “What stratagems are being planned?”

  “It is a campaign to see Mary secure a husband. Apparently, she is not intent upon being a spinster, which, from what I hear, has been declared by her mother a time or two. However, Lydia has decided that she should lend her services. Therefore, we are all hopeful for success.”

  “I had gathered that from the way she was questioning Darcy before he entered the room.”

  “She was questioning you?” Richard asked Darcy, who nodded.

  “She seems to think that if someone is a friend of mine, they will be a respectable sort of fellow.”

  “It is a good deduction,” Richard agreed.

  “I am your friend, and I would venture a guess that Miss Mary would not consider me respectable.” Wes scowled. There was no need to guess, he knew she did not think of him as anything near respectable.

  “This is true,” Darcy muttered.

  “Mother is quite pleased to have a project such as this to keep her occupied, and I think it has raised Lydia even more in her eyes.”

  Darcy laughed.

  “At least, if she is occupied with Miss Mary, she might leave me be,” Wes said. “Did you both have to find ladies at the same time? Could you not have spread it out a bit?”

  Again, Darcy laughed, and Richard joined him.

  “It was not planned,” Richard said.

  “Which is how it should be,” Wes said. “Matches should not be forced.”

  “Miss Bingley’s was, and that has worked out quite well,” Richard argued.

  “That is an exception.”

  “I am not so certain it is. There are many who have married as arranged and found themselves quite happy,” Darcy said.

  “And an even greater number have found themselves tied to a life of misery. Have Miss Lydia and our mother considered that?”

  “I see the foul mood which led to your riding in the rain and catching a fever has not lifted,” Darcy said.

  How could it have lifted? Mary thought him as bad as Wickham and was entertaining other suitors. And all of that disturbed him greatly for reasons he was not willing to admit – even to himself.

  “I am ill. One is not required to be cheerful when one is ill.”

  “Duly noted. Wes is not to be expected to formulate witty rejoinders or be pleasant if he is ill.” Darcy’s lips quirked up into a teasing smile.

  “I retract my statement from before. Marriage does not suit you. It has made you unbearably insolent.”

  Darcy chuckled. “I apologize. I should be more considerate of your indisposition.”

  “Yes, you should,” Wes agreed.

  “In all seriousness, how are you?”

  “As I said, I will be well enough to return to Brook Street tomorrow, and then I would expect to be laid low for only a day or two longer before I am my formerly witty and charming self.”

  “I am pleased to hear it,” Darcy assured him. “When you are well, my wife would be happy to have you call on us.”

  The goofy grin Darcy wore every time he mentioned his wife was enviable for it was such a look of complete satisfaction and good fortune.

  Darcy shifted his attention to Richard. “I have already received a report about how you are feeling. Lydia seems pleased with your improvement. I do hope you and she will call on us at Darcy House soon. It has been far too long since you barged into my study.”

  “Indeed, it has, though I shall do my best to remember to knock now that you have a wife.” Richard winked at Darcy, who only grinned once again and assure him that it might be best.

  “Have you and your father discussed much about your future yet?” Darcy asked.

  “Extensively. He has spoken to a few friends about possible postings that would rely on my mind for strategy and not my physical ability to lead a battalion. However, it does not look promising, and he thinks it would be best if I prepare myself to take up the running of Beaumont Abbey.”

  Surprisingly, Richard did not look displeased by such a thing.

  “And financially?” Darcy asked. “Will that provide what you need?”

  Richard nodded. “And it can always be improved. Father has promised a few pounds to help fund some renovations since he thinks Lydia will wish to do some redecorating and there are things which could use modernizing or improving before they fail and cause damage such as the roof on one of the outbuildings.”

  “I am not opposed to adding to the happiness of a cousin or my wife’s sister.”

  “I know, and I thank you for the offer.”

  Wes waited for the however which would precede a refusal of assistance. Richard had always in the past been adamant that he would make his own way in the world and would not rely on the charity of his relations. Wes waited, but the however never came.

  “You are accepting his offer?” Wes could not keep the shock from his voice.

  “I am. There may be a need for assistance.”

  “Just like that?” What had become of his brother?

  Richard nodded. “I am of no use to the military at present, and I will have a wife for whom to provide. I cannot afford to be cavalier.”

  “And if I offered to assist you?”

  “I would accept it if needed, just as I am doing with Father and Darcy.” He blew out a breath. “It is not easily done, I assure you, but I have little choice. This is not just about me any longer. I cannot afford to think only of what I wish. I must put Lydia and whatever family we might have before myself.”

  “And you will not regret doing so?” Wes asked.

  Richard shook his head. “I would regret doing anything which separated me from Lydia or anything which would cause her discomfort or pain. I simply could not bear that.”

  Wes’s eyebrows rose while Darcy nodded as if he completely understood such reasoning.

  Richard leaned forward and placed a hand on Wes’s. “Loving Lydia and being loved by her in return is the treasure.”

  “And worth securing and protecting at all costs,” Darcy agreed.

  Wes’s brow furrowed as he considered what it might be like to feel so about someone. His eyes drifted to the door while his mind wandered down the hall and to the sitting room where Mary’s future was being discussed, and finally, and with great reluctance, he admitted to himself what he had known since shortly after he had arrived in Hertfordshire. He knew what it felt like to feel as if the love of a particular lady was a prize to be sought, and he knew what it was to long for such a treasure. Unfortunately, he also knew what it was to know that such a treasure would never be his for the lady he desired held him in the greatest contempt.

  “I will have to take your word for it,” he said.

  For he would surely never be so fortunate to be loved as either his brother or Darcy was.

  Chapter 9

  “You are not leaving.” Lord Matlock stood just inside Wes’s door the following morning, blocking Wes’s path. “Your horse has been returned to the stable. Your mother will not be persuaded to let you leave until you are completely well, and I will not be persuaded to go against her in this.”

  Wes sat down on the edge of his bed. His father was actually forbidding him from leaving Matlock House? That was new. He had expected his mother to be put out with him for leaving before she declared he was well enough to do so but not his father.

  In fact, he had hoped his mother would be put out with him for he was not at all pleased with her at the moment. Mary would not have been out riding in the park with Langley twice already if it had not been for his mother and that completely beguiling pink dress she had insisted Mary wear to that musicale.

  He scowled both because he was being forced to do as his mother wished and because apparently, the fact that Langley was familiar with Sally did not make him a completely unsuitable candidate for marriage for Miss Mary.

  “I realize,” his father continued in a cautious tone, “that you cannot be forced to remain here. You are free to do as you please to a point. However, I would caution you to remember how dearly your mother loves you.”

  Guilt. That was to be the prison guard, was it?

  “You know, of course, that every servant in the house has been instructed not to aid you in departing.”

  Of course, his mother was proficient at setting a firm line of defense. It really was no wonder his brother had done so well in the military if he had inherited even a fraction of the skills of strategy his mother possessed.

  “Therefore,” his father continued, “you will have to make your horse ready yourself, as well as pack your things and see to their transport.”

  “I have servants to see to such things.” Had his mother forgotten that fact?

  His father grimaced. “Your mother can be demanding.”

  A sense of foreboding settled in Wes’s stomach. “What has she done?”

  “Your servants have returned to Brook Street.”

  Apparently, she had not forgotten about his servants. “She dismissed my servants from the house?” he asked incredulously.

  His father nodded.

  “And you allowed her to do this?”

  His father smiled. “I did not disallow her to do it.” He shrugged. “I suppose the two are nearly the same.”

  “They are exactly the same!”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, I saw Langley after his call yesterday, and I thought it best if you were to remain here for a day or two.”

  Wes tipped his head, which was once again beginning to ache, and studied his father. “What do you mean?”

  Lord Matlock crossed to take a seat near Wes’s bed. “There is no need for you to be out of bed.”

  “I am tired of being in bed,” Wes grumbled as he climbed back onto his bed and settled into his pillows. There was no point in being out of bed if he had no man to help him dress. “Now, tell me what you mean.”

  “Are you not going to remove your robe and slippers?”

  “No.” Wes folded his arms and waited for his father to tell him what he wished to know. He had still not decided if he was going to do as his mother wished or attempt the feat of getting himself from his bed here to his bed in Brook Street.

  His father chuckled. “You look very much like you did when you were six, and I refused to allow you to go see the new lambs because you were still speckled and itching with chickenpox. You have never been very good at not getting what you want.” He shook his head. “The silent tantrums with which your nurses had to deal! I likely should have paid them more than I did. The sulking and stewing you would do!” He chuckled again. “Much like you are doing right now.”

  He was not sulking and stewing — not really. He was ill and wished to be away from where he would hear of Miss Mary and her suitors. Added to that, the fact that he was being prevented from doing what he wished was frustrating, and one could be excused for being out of sorts when one was ill. So, therefore, it was different than sulking and stewing. Sort of.

  “Does this have anything to do with why I should be here rather than at home?” Wes smoothed the flap of his robe over his legs. There was no sense in being cold due to a refusal to properly tuck himself into bed.

  His father nodded and then settled back into his chair, affecting the posture he always took when about to lecture his son on something – elbows propped on the arms of the chair and hands clasped with two fingers steepled upon which he rested his chin. He drew and released a deep breath, and Wes knew that he was indeed going to be lectured about something – though he could not for the life of him think of what it was until his father asked…

  “How did Miss Mary know that Langley has visited a brothel?”

  “How do you know she knows that?” Wes countered warily. His father rarely asked random questions.

  “As I said, I saw Langley before he left yesterday and bore a great deal of his displeasure on your behalf.” His left eyebrow arched. “Did you tell Miss Mary about Langley visiting Sally’s?”

  “I might have,” Wes admitted reluctantly.

  “Well, according to what Miss Mary told Langley, you most certainly told her about Sally’s.”

  “If you already knew that, then why did you ask me?”

  “I want to know why you told her.” He shifted so that his hands were draped over the ends of the chair’s arms and his ankles were crossed in front of him. “And do not concoct some story about wishing to see to her wellbeing or some such drivel.”

  “What if it is not drivel?”

  His father shook his head. “It is.”

  His father seemed entirely too confident and relaxed.

  “Then, what do you think is my reason?” Wes retorted. “You appear to suspect an answer.”

  “Are you certain you wish me to answer that?” The right side of his father’s lips lifted in a half-smile.

  “I think I should like to hear your suppositions.” And truly, he was curious to hear them, despite the niggly fear that told him to not press for the answer. He should likely just be happy that Langley had been sent packing and leave it at that.

  “You are smitten with her. I saw it in how you watched her at Netherfield.”

  “I am not.” Wes’s ears grew warm at the lie.

  “You are, and jealousy made you tell her about Langley’s shortcomings.”

  Wes had always admired his father’s insight and wisdom until this moment. He turned his eyes away from his father and looked at the wall across from his bed. “If you are correct, and I am not saying you are, it matters very little. Miss Mary thinks of me as no better than Wickham.”

  “I beg your pardon?” His father’s tone was incredulous.

  “She thinks I am no better than Wickham.”

  “Why?”

  Wes blew out a breath. “I asked her sisters for a kiss one night when I was well into my cups and leaving Sally’s. I thought they were…” What? Prostitutes? Light skirts? Women of the night? He could not bring himself to call either Lydia or Elizabeth such a thing even if it was what he had thought at the time. “Well, they were at Sally’s.”

  “Ah, yes. Your mother told me about that. So how does that relate to you being thought of as a scoundrel by Miss Mary?”

  If he only knew the answer to that!

  “I am certain I could not say. However, she has accused me of taking advantage of women and was angry at first that I did not know who her sisters were when I asked them for a kiss and then when she asked if I knew anything about the women at Sally’s and I told her I did, she became even more furious and said…” He paused mid-ramble as a thought pricked his aching brain.

  What had Lydia said to Darcy yesterday? Mary wished for a gentleman who was proper and respectful. And she had accused him of treating her sisters ill. Understanding dawned with a putrid sickening feeling.

  “She thinks I am incapable of respecting her.” He shook his head. “Wickham seeks only to please himself.” The words hit him as soundly as a punch from his sparring partner at Gentleman Jacksons would, but they hurt far more. “In Mary’s eyes, I am a self-centered bounder.”

  “And what do you think?” his father asked.

  “I do not think I am. Do you?” He looked to his father for an answer.

  “What I think does not signify.”

  “But it does. What if she is right and I am wrong?” The horror of such at thing gripped his chest, squeezing the air from his lung so that he could only breath in quick, shallow breaths.

  His father leaned forward. “If you are not what she says, then prove it to her, and if, after some soul searching, you find you are what she claims you are, then change your ways. You must decide who you are going to be.”

  How many times had his father said something very similar to that to him?

  You are the one who decides who you become, Son. Not some title, not your friends, not even your mother can make that decision for you. Your future is yours alone.

  And he had taken that advice and had only used it to justify pleasing himself while ignoring its deeper meaning. How foolish he had been!

  “How do I do that? How do I prove myself to her?”

  “Only you can decide, my son.”

  “That is far from helpful,” Wes grumbled.

  His father shook his head. “You are wrong. My solving your problem will not help you as much as your figuring out the solution on your own will.” He reached over and patted Wes’s leg. “If you love Miss Mary, as I suspect you do, the toil will be worth the reward.” He pushed up from his chair and crossed to the door.

  “But what if I cannot do it?” Something very akin to panic settled upon Wes’s shoulders and began stirring his emotions.

  “My lord, Reginald Arthur Fitzwilliam, Viscount Westonbury, the first-born and heir of the body of Lord Matlock, incapable of obtaining that for which he wishes?” His father’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Not possible, unless he is far less like his mother than I suppose and not at all the man I know him to be.” And with those parting words, his father ducked out the door, leaving Wes to ponder the problem named Miss Mary on his own.

  Chapter 10

  No sooner had Mary’s feet both landed in the library than she wanted them to take her out of the room, for she was completely unprepared to see Lord Westonbury sitting at the desk, writing. She had thought him still confined to his room.

  “Wait just a moment. I am nearly finished,” he called to her before she could make her escape. “I should like to return your book to you before you run away.”

 

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