Page 103 of The Scarred Duchess
Three distinguished peers sat in opulent leather chairs before a cool but decorative hearth. Lord Tewkesbury, the senior of the three by a decade, remained fit and trim, his white hair and beard still full. He leant back in his chair and took a long draw on his cigar. His companions, equally well-groomed and expensively dressed, saluted him with their own.
“There is nothing quite like a good cigar after a night at the theatre,” he said.
“Agreed,” replied Lord Bickham, sipping his brandy.
“What did you think of the night’s entertainment?” asked Lord Newbury. He drained his glass and lifted a hand to gain the eye of a Boodle’s servant. “Another round.” He waved his finger in a circle.
“Lady Bickham thought the play was farcical. A scheme where wealthy men targeted a wholesome maiden for sordid purposes. Really!” replied Bickham.
“I enjoyed the swordplay at the end. Who of us does not admire a hero trouncing a villain?” asked Newbury. Heturned to the group’s elder statesman. “What is your opinion, Tewksbury?”
Tewkesbury scratched at his forehead. Months ago, he had spent an hour with Lord Matlock—with whom he had served as a senior war counsellor—who had informed him of the true happenings which inspired the play. In his desire to know everything, Tewkesbury had hired a runner to suss out all the sordid details. A week spent in the slums was money well invested. The Seven Dials denizens knew the truth: Hampstead Heath had been soaked in blood and dishonour. Magistrates and bailiff gangs had remanded viscounts and baronets to Marshalsea, their families ruined and estates confiscated. The deaths of the Duke of Somerset and Marquess Beauford were the only pieces of a puzzle unsolved.Good riddance to them.
Tewksbury sipped his brandy. He would leave Matlock, Bennet, and Gardiner to their peace. “A disputant no more cares for the truth than the sportsman for the hare,” he replied.
The lad squeezed through what Roark now thought of as Billy’s Door. He bit back a smile. No need to frighten him. “Step up, Billy boy.”
“Mr Roark. I got something for you.”
“Spill, lad.”
“One of them men was in his cups. Talked about some puff and kept on about getting back at some Pemmerley family for a pot of gold.”
Roark was interested. “What else?”
“He kept on about going north and getting back at a Fitz.” Billy leant in. “He was going on about his ugly, rich sister.”
Roark crooked a finger at Billy to come closer. “Get your mates to hear more of what they be saying.”
“Of course. All of us will keep an ear out.”
“Do that. And be quick about it.”
Darcy closed the library door, the heavy oak panels echoing a resounding thud up and down the corridor. He had never attended to such a gathering, let alone hosted one. But life brought joys, especially his new wife, and challenges, such as this one with a lifelong—and much despised—acquaintance.
He ushered Mr Bennet into the room and surveyed the three men sitting within it, taking in their hardened faces and cold eyes. They were not men to be trifled with, that much was certain. He could feel their heavy presence, like a thick fog that had descended upon the room. Darcy House had never before hosted such people, but they would be useful now.
“As you are all aware, we have solid information on Wickham’s plan to revenge himself on my family,” he said. “My father-in-law has devised a plan.” He gestured towards Mr Bennet and gave him command.
“You three,” Bennet said, addressing the group of men in front of him. “Hasten to Derbyshire. Darcy will establish an express rider relay so that messages should not take more than two days to reach us.
“Reeves, you know your way around Pemberley. Lambton is for Legget.”
Both men nodded. Darcy noticed Legget’s hand flinch as if to reach for his knife before apparently thinking better of it.
“Odds are, our boy will try to recruit locals for his gang,” said Roark.
“He may try, but he will fail. His cronies are no longer local,” replied Darcy.
“Begging your pardon,” Reeves spoke up. “But you were certain he was gone last time.”
Darcy was not offended. “You are correct. I will not make the same mistake twice.”
He glanced at Mr Bennet, who had thus far seemed impressed by his new son’s determination and composure. The older man nodded.
“Well, I know one thing,” said Reeves. “Our boy will make you come to him.”
“Let him summon me,” Darcy replied confidently. “I shall answer his call.”
