Page 74 of Her Whole Heart
Bingley nodded eagerly and Darcy turned his glare on Fitz.
“See, Bingley? Darcy’s stare has frozen me like the Thames before an ice fair,” Fitz teased. “We should have a painter in to capture that look for you. You can practise it in your glass each morning. Here, try it now.”
Bingley stood unsteadily, spilling a bit of his coffee on his lap in the process. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, nearly losing his balance and falling on his face.
“Oh no,” Milton said, still bent over and shaking his head. “That will not frighten anyone, Bingley. You only look as though you require the necessary.”
Darcy placed the sole of his shoe on Milton’s rear and shoved, sending his eldest cousin staggering forward. He ran into Bingley, who was knocked back into his chair.
Milton picked himself up, dusted himself off, and smiled brightly at Darcy.
Fitz chuckled. “Let us begin again, Bingley.” He held out his arm to Bingley, who grasped it just below the elbow and was immediately pulled up to his feet. “You must project an air of authority. Stand tall.”
Bingley tried.
“Chest out.”
Bingley tried.
Fitz assessed him. “Speak in a firm, unwavering voice.”
The voice that issued forth from Bingley was a startlingly good impression of Darcy’s. “Caroline, Louisa, I demand that you cease your meddling in my life. I am my own man and not yours!”
Even the slur was gone. But it was nothing Darcy would ever say. This struck him as incredibly funny, and he joined his cousins in laughing so hard he had to wipe the tears from his eyes when they were done.
“My stomach hurts,” Milton gasped.
“Civilians,” Fitz sneered. His brother punched him in the shoulder.
“Ow,” Milton said, shaking his hand out.
Fitz’s expression was unbearably smug.
“A good effort, Bingley,” Darcy said, still attempting to assist his dejected friend. “But perhaps a bit much. You do not wish to be thought a fool. Be firm, but not overbearing. Always the gentleman, but never so polite that you are in danger of being considered a milksop.”
“But first, the lease,” Fitz interjected.
“Of course,” Bingley said. “A man must be king of his castle.”
Darcy nodded and lifted his glass. “For a man’s house is his castle, et domus sua cuique est tutissimum refugium.”
Fitz strode over to lift his own glass in a toast. “And each man’s home is his safest refuge. Well said.”
“God bless old Sir Edward Coke,” Milton added.
Bingley just stared at them all.
“Coffee beginning to help?” Milton said drily.
“I cannot be the king of my castle when there iss no castle,” Bingley said slowly, with only a slight lingering slur.
“Precisely!” Milton exclaimed. “You do not want to be the court jester, you want to be”—he paused, waiting for Fitz to take a sip of his brandy, and then lifted his own glass. “Bing the King!”
The brandy Fitz had been drinking suddenly filled the air before him in a fine mist.
Darcy sighed. Good French brandy was not available anymore, and he hated to waste a drop of it. He handed Fitz a handkerchief.
Emboldened by his success, Milton snatched the rack from the billiard table and placed the triangular piece of wood atop Bingley’s head. “There. Your crown, my liege.”
