Chapter One

Fitzwilliam Darcy trudged up the front steps of his Aunt Catherine’s town home, trying to ignore the stickiness of the overly warm air that had settled into London of late. He did not wish to be here. Cared not at all to enter. Aunt Catherine had summoned him, however, and disobeying a summons from Lady Catherine de Bourgh generally resulted in more aggravation than obeying.

Generally.

The door swung open to Higgens, the butler, relieving the necessity to knock. “Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine is expecting you.” As Darcy stepped in, Higgens added, “She is in the jade drawing room, sir.”

“I know the way,” Darcy advised as he handed over his outerwear.

“Very well, sir.”

Ignoring Higgens’ mild disapproval, Darcy set out unescorted down a wide, overly-chartreuse themed corridor. A maid scurried by bearing an armful of white cloth, then another. In each room Darcy passed, he spied more of them, all going about the work of covering the furniture, cleaning the grates, securing the windows, and closing the curtains. Generally, making the house ready for Lady Catherine’s departure.

Which irked Darcy all the more. If he’d been a touch less obedient, he could have missed his aunt and not received his dose of the tirade she’d already delivered to his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, and to both of Darcy’s male cousins. Apparently, Lady Catherine would not be satisfied until every one of her male relations agreed to do all in his power to apprehend and punish the persons who had robbed her London home. A fact which aggravated Darcy in particular, as he could think of no steps he could add to what the earl, the viscount, and the colonel, already undertook. Yes, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley wielded clout, but not in comparison to members of the peerage. Nor did he strategize better than a man of military action. Aunt Catherine simply required one more person at whom to shout.

Or, worse, she sought to mold the violation of her home into a fresh push for him to marry his cousin Anne.

He turned into the corridor off which the jade drawing room lay and halted to draw back his shoulders and take a deep, calming breath. Lady Catherine was his aunt and her home had been robbed. Naturally, she was upset and seeking all the reassurance she could garner. As a dutiful nephew, he must support her in any way he could. His churlishness must be set aside.

That decided, he plastered on a neutral expression and strode down the hall.

Darcy turned into the jade drawing room to find no preparations for departure yet in evidence. Instead, Aunt Catherine sat across from him, glaring at him over a large, low table. To Lady Catherine’s left sat Darcy’s cousin Anne and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, leaving the settee to her ladyship’s right for Darcy. He supposed he should be honored.

“You are late, Darcy.”

Darcy bowed. “I came as soon as I received your summons.”

“Then either you are incompetent, or your staff are.”

“Yes, Aunt Catherine.” He pivoted to Anne, reissuing his bow. “Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson. It is pleasant to see you both.”

Anne wrinkled her nose at him.

“You would see Anne every day were you married.”

“That is how marriage often works, Aunt,” Darcy replied, employing his mildest tone. Then he stood, hands clasped behind his back. Perhaps Aunt Catherine’s mood was so foul, she would send him back away.

She waved a hand to her right. “Stop hovering, Darcy. Sit.”

Giving up on his scant hope, Darcy complied.

“I have been robbed,” Aunt Catherine declared. “Someone walked into my home and stole from me.”

“Walked in?” Darcy reiterated, interest piqued despite his lack of desire to be here. “Surely, you mean broke in?”

“Nothing was broken,” Anne said with a little head shake. “We think he must have picked a lock. We do not even know by which door, or I imagine window, he entered.”

“Then surely it might be—” Darcy broke off. To suggest one of the staff would cause them all hardship. To suggest Lady Catherine had simply mislaid whatever was missing would cause him the same.

“It was not the staff,” Lady Catherine said, seeming to read his mind. “My correspondence were also rifled through and several letters taken. My staff would not go to the trouble. Only Higgens and my housekeeper can read. I do not tolerate literate servants lurking about.”

Darcy bit back his thoughts on illiteracy as a hiring requirement.

Lady Catherine pulled a card from her gown. “Furthermore, the thief left this in place of the jewelry he took.”

Darcy accepted the card with a touch of awe. The Peacock. For almost two years now, the Peacock terrorized London, if the papers were to be believed. He’d rapidly become the stuff of legend, robbing wealthy widows of their valuables. Always when they were out. Never with a trace of evidence left. Not a window broken or a lock scuffed. Not so much as a boot print on a rich Axminster carpet. Simply his card with a stylized, violet peacock stamped on the front.

Purple, the color of dowagers.

“I did not realize the Peacock had struck de Bourgh House,” Darcy murmured, turning over the card to find the back blank. He weighed the velum in his palm, judging the stock of the highest quality. But then, with what the Peacock stole, he could afford such luxuries. “It was not in the papers.”

“Nor will it be.” Lady Catherine snatched the card back with a sniff. “The de Bourgh name will not be paraded about for general amusement.”

“But you told the authorities who is behind the theft?” Darcy asked. “They cannot do their job if they do not know who they seek.”

“I told my brother. He spoke to the Runners and whoever else he decided should know.”

“Surely, a firsthand account—”

“Of what? We were at the modiste.”

“And your staff?” Darcy suggested. “Have they spoken to the Runners? The parish constables? They may have—”

“If my staff had seen this Peacock, I would hardly have been robbed, would I?”

Reining in his temper at his aunt’s repeated interruptions, Darcy asked, “Why do you so urgently require my presence, Aunt?”

“London has obviously become too dangerous. Last month it was a window. This month a robbery. We simply cannot remain in Town.”

“A window?” Darcy was thankful he had not been called to rectify that as well.

“Yes, on the east side of the house.” Lady Catherine sniffed. “No one saw when or how. As I said, London has become quite dangerous, especially when my staff appears to be woefully unobservant.”

“You did not find London too dangerous when other widows were burgled,” Anne pointed out.

Lady Catherine cast her daughter a quelling look. “That is because I assumed this Peacock knew where the lines are drawn. I am the sister of an earl, not some doughty old dowager. A de Bourgh does not get burgled.”

Darcy met Anne’s gaze and gave a small shake of the head. Pointing out that de Bourgh’s obviously did get burgled would do no good. No one wanted Aunt Catherine more riled. “And what do you require from me?” he reiterated.

“As London has become too dangerous.” Aunt Catherine paused to angle a hard look at Anne before continuing, “We are departing for Rosings today. You will follow within the week so you may continue your courtship of Anne. You will reside with us for the autumn, and there will be a Yuletide wedding.”

Darcy sighed. If only he’d already departed to oversee the harvest, he would already be in Derbyshire and would not be having this argument. Again. “I am not courting Anne, and I am certainly not marrying her this winter.”

“Nor do I wish for Darcy to court me or marry me,” Anne added staunchly.

Beside her, Mrs. Jenkinson stared down at her hands, likely as tired of Darcy arguing against marrying Anne as he, and as he knew Anne to be.

“Hush, both of you. Darcy, you will honor the pact my sister and I made, and do so by spending this autumn in Rosings in preparation for a Yuletide wedding. By marrying Anne, you will remove her from the home of a widow, so she need not fear the Peacock any longer.”

“I am not afraid of the Peacock, Mother. He has never been known to cause harm, or even to be seen. Nor has he ever been known to steal from the same home twice. We are completely safe here.”

“Furthermore,” Lady Catherine continued to Darcy, as if Anne hadn’t spoken, “I wish you, before you depart London to join us, to set people to seeking this so-called Peacock. I do not care what resources you must employ, but you will see him found. He must hang.”

Deciding to ignore the first half of his aunt’s remarks, Darcy replied, “Are not the earl, Henry, and Richard all seeking the villain already?”

Aunt Catherine met his gaze squarely. “They are. What of it?”

“I fail to see what I can accomplish that they cannot.”

“Are you refusing your assistance?” Lady Catherine asked stiffly. “Were your mother alive, you would not show me so little regard. My sister would see every resource expended to bring the man to justice.”

“I am not refusing to assist you,” Darcy said evenly. “I merely point out that the Bow Street Runners are already deployed, and presumably the parish constables notified, and both are quite invested in apprehending the Peacock.”

“More Runners can always be hired.”

Darcy nodded. He supposed they could, for what little good that would do. “A reward may be in order. The papers—”

“What did I say about the de Bourgh name?”

Clamping his mouth closed, Darcy drew in a slow breath, then tried, “Very well. I will hire more Runners and no offer of a reward will be published in the papers. Now, if that is all, I will return to Darcy House and begin making arrangements.”

“Nonsense. Now that our business is concluded, you will remain for tea. Let it not be said that my hospitality is lacking.” Lady Catherine reached to ring a bell. “Anne will serve. She is such an adept hostess, do you not think? She will do well as mistress of Pemberley.”

Resignedly, Darcy sat back on the settee.

Tea proved less arduous than he’d feared, with Anne rallying to discuss novels, none of which Lady Catherine appeared to have read. Darcy didn’t know if his aunt read little these days, or if Anne kept track and deliberately chose books about which her mother couldn’t speak, but he was grateful. His cousin likely would be a perfectly adept mistress of Pemberley. It was almost a shame they held nothing more than cousinly regard for one another.

Almost.

Departing as soon as Lady Catherine allowed, Darcy turned his mount not in the direction of Darcy House, but of the residence of Mr. Steven Hurst. Not that Hurst, a perfectly inoffensive fellow, was Darcy’s aim. He sought Charles Bingley, Hurst’s brother-by-marriage and house guest.

At the Hursts’ small but tidy dwelling in a respectable enough part of town, Darcy was directed onward to his club, where he found Bingley at cards. He supposed he should have sought Bingley there first, knowing how sociable he was.

Unlike Darcy, who refused an offer to join in the game. Instead, he took a nearby table to wait. He waved away a footman who approached to offer brandy.

The game continued amiably, with a fair amount of ruckus and increasingly ridiculous wagers, until a winner emerged. Bingley paid up along with the others, and with far more cheer than some. The cards were collected for a shuffle amidst mild grumbling.

“Bingley, a word,” Darcy called before fresh hands could be dealt.

Bingley looked over with a nod, and stood.

“Ah, come now, Bingley. One more round,” one of the other men called.

“You have a few more pounds on you, I daresay, Bingley,” added another.

“I am afraid you must find someone else to fleece,” Bingley replied with a chuckle. “More serious conversation awaits.” Scooping up his tumbler, he joined Darcy.

“Good game?” Darcy asked as Bingley’s former tablemates turned their heckling to a gentleman across the room, extolling him to join them.

“I lost less than usual.”

Darcy shook his head, but it wasn’t his place to lecture Bingley on such habits. He would take a wife someday. Let her harp on him. “May I be to the point? I have already spent a somewhat trying hour with my aunt this afternoon.”

“By all means.” Bingley waved to a footman, gesturing to his nearly empty glass. “What has brought you here to save me from losing more at cards today?”

“You were considering taking a country estate over the yuletide. I believe, when last we reviewed the property listings your man gathered for you, we narrowed your choices to three?”

“One. Hurst helped me eliminate two more. He is awfully good at unraveling the talk of the leasing agents.”

“Unraveling the talk?”

Bingley nodded, holding out his tumbler for the footman to fill. “Yes. Such as, ‘A lovely medieval bath adjacent to the stable,’ meaning there is nowhere to bathe indoors, unless I want to have a tub hauled from London.”

Darcy nodded. “Many of England’s country estates are still rather rustic.”

“Did you wish to see the listings again? The three I showed Hurst were the three you had not yet eliminated.”

“No. I came in the hope of persuading you to take a property sooner, and then to invite me to join you. I feel the need to get away from London for a time.”

“Happy to oblige, but you do recall that you have your own country estate? Quite the place, too, if I may say. Caroline has not stopped speaking of Pemberley since we visited last June.”

“I am quite aware that I own an estate,” Darcy said dryly. “I require the excuse of being your house guest to avoid becoming my aunt’s house guest.” He also had no intention of providing his aunt with his forwarding address. Let her write to him in London and Pemberley. He would receive her letters eventually.

“On about you marrying that cousin of yours again, is she?”

“Quite so.”

With a glance about, Bingley cautioned, “You do realize you will be trading Lady Catherine’s marital ambitions for Caroline’s?”

“Miss Bingley is far less vigorous in her desire to see me in a wedded state than my aunt, I assure you.” And while Miss Bingley would hound him, she would also do everything in her power to be interesting and pleasant, unlike Aunt Catherine. If Miss Bingley offered a carrot, Darcy’s aunt definitely wielded a stick.

“So long as you do not say I did not warn you.” Bingley sipped his drink before adding, “I can sign the lease as soon as I like, the agent said.”

“May I ask on which property you settled?”

“That Netherfield Park place.”

Darcy frowned, thinking back to when Bingley had arrived at Darcy House one afternoon with a stack of listings. “The one in Hertfordshire, almost due north of London?”

“Yes. Hurst pointed out that not only does the listing for Netherfield Park seem the most honest, the location avails us of London should we choose.”

“We? The Hursts will join you as well?”

Bingley chuckled again. “When have you known Hurst not to enjoy someone else’s hospitality?”

“You often enjoy his,” Darcy felt obliged to point out.

“Precisely. All’s fair and all that.”

With nothing to say to that, Darcy nodded again. “Thank you. I appreciate you taking the lease early on my behalf.”

Bingley glanced at the table of card players, who’d once more begun shouting out wagers. “A little time in the country will undoubtedly do me good.”

As he agreed, Darcy again made no comment.

“I think I should like to see the place in person first, however,” Bingley added slowly.

A pang of guilt hit Darcy. He should not rush Bingley into so weighty a decision of leasing an estate. What if the place proved horrible? “Yes, you should. If you like, I will accompany you.”

Bingley grinned. “I hoped you would offer. You know much more about such things than I. Tomorrow, then?”

“I am at your disposal, but you may want to contact the leasing agent before making plans.”

“Right. Yes. Not mine yet and all that.” Bingley took another sip of his drink. “I will inform you of his reply.” Darcy nodded, relieved. A day in spent inspecting this Netherfield Park place was already a day out of the reach of his aunt. Now he need only hope the estate proved suitable, and that it took Lady Catherine considerable time to realize Darcy had no intention of joining her in Rosings.