We’re a few days closer to release day! Today, you get your next installment of A Respectable Gentleman. Remember release day is October 6th. If I can manage to submit the final draft in time, I will do a pre-order, otherwise, I will have a release day party to remind everyone that the book has been released.
We’re up to Chapter 2, but if you haven’t read Chapter 1, click here.
Chapter 2
Monday (March 9th)
Fitzwilliam set down his pen and sanded the letter he had just completed. While he let it dry, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. His brother and Mr. Ashford should return at any time. They had been gone for more than enough time for whatever lesson the tutor had planned.
No sooner had he returned his attention to the missive before him than the door to Darcy House slammed shut, and the form of his younger brother, George, strode past with an urgent gait that could only mean he was unhappy. He was oft times angry or put out by some trifle or another; he did not want to do his schoolwork; he wanted to go to White’s when Fitzwilliam did; he wanted to attend the races. When would his brother understand he was sixteen, not six and twenty? His father would have known how to manage George’s wilful behaviour, but Fitzwilliam was at a loss.
“Ashford!”
The tutor, who had been passing by, stopped and entered his library. “Sir, I apologise for Master George’s behaviour. I am afraid he stole away while I pointed out a narcissus and explained the mythology behind the name. One moment I was speaking, and the next, he was gone. When I finally located him, he was sitting on a bench with a young lady. She was properly accompanied by a maid and a footman, so we need not be anxious on that account. I have since scolded him on his impudent behaviour in approaching her in the beginning. I fear he is not best pleased at the moment.”
Fitzwilliam leaned back in his seat with a heavy exhale. “I am not concerned over him being best pleased. He needs to learn proper decorum whether he wishes it or not, but he is so headstrong and arrogant. I am surprised the lady’s servants allowed the encounter to continue.”
Ashford’s eyebrows drew in a little. “By her countenance when I approached, I would guess she was amused by him. If she told her servants to stand down, and they perceived no threat—”
“They may not have intervened.”
The older man nodded. “The lady’s brother arrived not long after me, and after introductions, he accompanied her home.”
“Do you remember the name?” If the family was important enough, he would need to make amends for his brother’s impetuosity.
“The gentleman was Mr. James Bennet of Longbourn. Your brother asked for their direction, and they are staying on the corner of Chapel and Audley Streets.”
The house on that corner was not as large as the others in the neighbourhood and had also been empty for several years, if he remembered correctly. Perhaps the family had purchased it? It was well known the former owner had refused to let it, despite having retrenched. He shook himself. At least this lady was not the daughter of an earl or God forbid, a duke.
“I shall speak to him. If you are the only person to reprimand his misbehaviour, he will stop hearing you.”
The man shook his head. “I am certain he has already ceased listening, sir.”
Fitzwilliam stood and with heavy legs, made his way up the stairs. If only his parents were still alive. With his father’s death, taking over Pemberley was a rather simple task when compared to raising his younger brother. George presented an unexpected challenge when their father succumbed to a mysterious ailment three years ago. What had been a persistent pain in his belly and stomach upset had become unbearable one day. Not long after, his father became hot with a fever, turned yellow, and died within two days. The physician could do nothing. After, George changed, and not for the better.
He became lackadaisical about his studies and had even been caught leaving the grounds of the school without permission. If Fitzwilliam had not removed George when he had, Eton would have expelled him.
As he stood before the door of his younger brother’s bedchamber, Fitzwilliam lifted a fist and knocked. “George, open the door. I wish to speak with you.”
“I know what you plan to say, and I shall have none of it! Go away!”
With a growl, Fitzwilliam strode inside, throwing the door shut behind him. “I did not ask if you would listen. You will whether you want to or not.”
“Why?” George’s eyes flashed as he rose from where he had been sprawled in a chair near the fire. “What will you say to me that Mr. Ashford has not? I have heard about how disgraceful I am; how I give offense wherever I go. Yet I can tell you Elizabeth did not object to how I introduced myself to her—”
“Miss Bennet. Her name, as I understand it, is Miss Bennet. I would hope she did not allow such familiarity.”
“No,” said George as he stepped forward. “She addressed me as Mr. Darcy throughout our conversation, even if I would have preferred to be addressed less formally. I spoke to her first. She was nothing but kind and agreeable during our conversation, so do not dare place blame for any of this on her.”
Who could not consider the possibility? However, his brother would be just the sort to approach a lady, particularly if she was handsome, and speak to her without considering the propriety of it all.
“I had not said I would do so.”
George scoffed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “It would be like you. Ever since you wed Anne and spent more time with Lady Catherine, you have become impossible. All you care about is connexions and reputation. I am certain you already have an idea of who I should wed when I become old enough. Likely the priggish daughter of some lord or another. After all, since Anne died, I am the one who has to carry on the Darcy bloodline, is that not correct? All because you refuse to marry again.”
Fitzwilliam’s hands clenched at his sides. His brother was not wrong. He had married Anne out of obligation as soon as mourning ended for his father, and she had died a few months later. No love had existed between them, but they had been friends of a sort. He had no desire to wed someone else just because it was expected.
“I have done my duty to this family,” said Fitzwilliam in a low tone. “Is this why you act as you do—to avoid your responsibility to my parents, to those who depend upon us?”
“Why do you want to know? ’Tis not as if you care.” His brother’s tone was petulant.
Fitzwilliam’s hands relaxed, and he reached out an arm. “George, I do care. You are my brother. I do not wish us to be so at odds all of the time, but since Father died, you do not seem to care about anything anymore.”
His brother’s chin lifted, and it was all Fitzwilliam could do not to sag in his spot. Nothing would be solved now.
“You are correct,” said George. “I care for naught and no one. Now, pray, leave me. Mr. Ashford has given me an inordinate amount of Shakespeare to read this evening, and if I have any hope of progress, I must begin.”
“I am pleased to see you applying yourself to a lesson.”
George gave an odd sort of laugh. “You know I live for nothing more than to please you.”
Fitzwilliam’s mouth opened to respond, but he quickly closed it. He longed to see his brother happy and laughing in earnest once more, but George was so stubborn. How was he to make the angry young man before him understand that all he did was for his brother’s own good?
“If you should like to discuss your reading with me before you do so with Ashford, I should be willing to do so.”
“There is no need.”
His heart sank like a lead weight in his chest as he departed and made to return to his library. All he could do was continue to try, but what if he and his brother never made amends. Although was amends truly the best word to describe what they required? The two of them had never had a falling out, so to speak. They just never agreed anymore.
“Sir,” said Butler who was ascending the stairs. “Lord Fitzwilliam is in the drawing room. I tried to tell him you were busy, but he insists upon speaking with you.”
His teeth ground together. His uncle was the last person he wished to see at the moment. No doubt his aunt had found some obsequious young daughter of a political ally to shove into his notice. He could not abide the ladies she favoured, and since Anne died, she had not ceased to press, regardless of his desires.
When he entered the drawing room, his uncle turned and plastered on a wide smile. “Nephew! You and your brother did not come to Wentworth for Christmastide. Your aunt and I have missed the two of you.”
“You know George and I prefer to remain at Pemberley and attend the chapel for services. Mrs. Reynolds ensured we were well fed. We did not feel as though we were lacking; I assure you.”
His uncle lifted his hands. “Well, your aunt had invited her niece Lady Sarah for the month, so you missed her charming company.”
Fitzwilliam made no effort to hide his grimace. “Lady Sarah is a vile and insipid young lady. She takes great pleasure in speaking ill of those she sees as beneath her, and she cannot claim one iota of wit to her credit. Her parents should have made some effort with her education beyond the masters they hired to unsuccessfully teach her to play the pianoforte. Then there is her singing! Her voice could inspire my most reluctant hounds to bray.”
“That is uncharitable,” said his uncle.
“I speak nothing but the truth. I have asked you and Lady Fitzwilliam to desist in these matchmaking attempts, yet you persist, despite my entreaties.”
“Because you require an heir.”
“One day, George will marry, and he can give Pemberley an heir. I am content with my lot as it is.”
His uncle stepped forward, his countenance no longer as jovial as when Fitzwilliam entered. “Yes, any child he has could be the heir, but what if he never marries? What if he joins the army and is killed on the continent without issue? You cannot rely on your brother! Pemberley must have an heir!”
“George will never join the army. He will, of course, attend Cambridge and be educated, but I thought he could be of assistance with the estate. I do not require him to take a living or find some occupation. The estate can support us both.”
“What if this is not what your brother wants?”
Fitzwilliam’s chin hitched back. “Why should it matter? I had no choice in my life, and naught is amiss with it.” Why would George wish to do anything else?
“You cannot leave matters to George. He is more than capable, but he has been so angry since your father died. If we cannot temper his emotions, he will never be amenable to your plans. He may go off and make his own way in the world, and since he is a man, you will be able to do nothing about it.”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “I have no desire to marry anyone ever again.”
“Lord and Lady Clarence are holding a ball next week. During a call on your aunt this morning. Lady Clarence mentioned that she had sent you an invitation. You will attend.”
“You cannot force me.”
His uncle squeezed his eyes closed for a moment before reopening them. “If you force my hand, I can remove George from your care. Do not forget that my son Richard shares guardianship with you. If I must, I can persuade him to do as I wish.” Which meant his uncle would threaten the funds provided to Richard to supplement his army wages.
“I shall consider it.” The final act of defiance was childish. His uncle knew well he would do naught to harm Richard. Albeit cousins, he and Richard could have been brothers. His cousin was a year older, but they had been, for all intents and purposes, raised together. How often had Richard come to Pemberley for a month here and there when they were young?
“You would do well to do so. I shall talk to your aunt about Lady Sarah. The poor girl has her heart set on you, but from your blunt assessment, I understand she has little hope. You are correct, of course, in your description of her. The young lady played the pianoforte at Christmas, and I had wished to stuff my ears with cotton wool. But since neither you nor George require the instrument, I would simply hide the ones here and at Pemberley if the lady you wed cannot manage a simple tune.”
Fitzwilliam choked down a laugh. His uncle, at least, had some sense of humour about it all.
“That said, her uncle is influential in the House of Lords, and she does have a fortune of forty-thousand pounds, which renders her a bit more handsome, I think.”
“Uncle,” he said in a low tone.
The earl held up his hands, palms out. “Yes, yes. I understand. I shall not continue to push for Lady Sarah.” He furrowed his brow. “Since I am here, how is George?”
“As recalcitrant as ever. He apparently escaped Ashford, and when the man found him, George had introduced himself to a young lady and was sitting with her.”
“That is why young ladies of status are accompanied by a maid and a footman.”
“According to Ashford, a maid and a footman were a few steps away, but she appeared amused by my brother. He is so angry that I do not know why she would be entertained, but perhaps she is simply odd.”
His uncle laughed. “Perhaps your brother can charm when he wishes. If he had been angry, I doubt any lady would desire his continued presence.”
Fitzwilliam shrugged. “I do not know. Ashford told me her name and their direction, but since they seem to be of little importance, I had thought to leave the matter be; I would not apologise for my brother’s forwardness.”
Lord Fitzwilliam crossed his arms over his chest. “Mayhap a call would still be prudent. You could enquire about George’s demeanour. What if he told her some bit of information that may be of benefit?”
“I had not considered it in that way.” He would do anything to have his gregarious and smiling brother returned to him.
His uncle clapped his hands together and rubbed. “Very good! I shall expect an update at the ball next week. In the meantime, I am certain your aunt will be expecting me soon for tea. I should go.”
He had no objections to his uncle’s departure. After the day he had endured, Fitzwilliam desired nothing more than a quiet library and a sizeable glass of whiskey to alleviate the slight pounding in his temple. A horrendous headache to finish the day was not an ideal situation.
As soon as he poured his drink, he sat in a comfortable chair near the fire and stared at the coals as they glowed in the grate. What could he do about George? Something must done, but he had no idea how to influence his stubborn little brother.
The concentration made the throbbing intensify, so he took a sip of his drink and leaned his head back against the cushion. The problem of George Darcy would need to wait until the morrow. After all, there was naught that could be done this evening. It was too late to call.
So, we’ve learned a bit more about both Darcy brothers as well as met the earl. I’m interested in hearing your thoughts!
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