Page 64 of The Slipper Scandal
"Indeed we were," Lady Matlock agreed.
"Which makes it all the more tragic that she is so reluctant to marry you," Milton added, helping himself to another serving of roast duck. "Though one can hardly blame her, given your legendary charm."
"Milton," his uncle warned, though his eyes held a glint of amusement.
"What? I am merely acknowledging what we all know. Darcy is about as expressive as one of Mother’s statues. The poor girl likely fears she shall be trapped in a mausoleum for the rest of her days."
Darcy set down his wineglass with deliberate care. "I appreciate your concern, but I hardly think my private affairs require a family council."
"Nonsense," Lady Matlock declared. "This is precisely when family is most needed. You are in love with the girl, are you not?"
The directness of the question caught Darcy off guard. He glanced around the table, finding three pairs of eyes fixed upon him with undisguised interest while Fitzwilliam’s gaze remained fixed on his duck. Even the footmen seemed to be moving moreslowly as they served the next course, clearly hoping to overhear his response.
"I hold Miss Bennet in the highest regard," he said.
Milton snorted. "There you have it, Mother. For Darcy, that is practically a declaration of undying passion."
"As I suspected." His aunt nodded with satisfaction. "And from what Richard tells us, the young lady is not indifferent to you."
"What Miss Bennet needs," Milton proclaimed, gesturing with his wine glass, "is a grand romantic gesture."
"Absolutely not," Darcy said immediately.
“Every woman wants one,” Milton insisted.
"I agree with Darcy," Fitzwilliam said. "He must be on solid ground with her first. Otherwise, he shall frighten her off."
"Frighten her off . . .” Milton scoffed. "What about a midnight serenade beneath her window is frightening? I could arrange for the finest string quartet in London."
"Or perhaps a poem," Lady Matlock suggested. "Women appreciate a man who can express his feelings through verse." She cast a sideways glance at her husband whose ears were now turning red.
Darcy did not want to know why.
"Darcy? Write poetry?" Fitzwilliam asked, incredulous. "I would sooner expect my horse to make the attempt."
"He would make a better job of it," Milton added, and the brothers laughed.
"What about a private reading of Shakespeare's sonnets?" Lady Matlock suggested. "Lady Spencer hosted such an event last season, and two engagements were announced the following week."
"Because the gentlemen were desperate to escape another such evening," his uncle remarked. "Three hours of amateurtheatrics is enough to make any man propose if for no other reason than self-preservation."
A soft snicker came from the direction of a footman. The butler glared at the man and jerked his chin. Chagrined, the footman left the room.
His family did not notice.
"Perhaps a favourite volume of poetry with meaningful passages marked?" Lady Matlock offered. "Ladies appreciate such thoughtful tokens."
Milton snorted. "For heaven’s sake, do not leave it up to Darcy. He would probably hand her a copy of Aristotle's treatises."
Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Your suggestions grow increasingly helpful."
"I merely speak the truth," Milton replied with a careless toss of one hand. "Though I will say, a man with your conversational skills must consider leaning heavily on his other attributes.” He studied Darcy’s apparel and frowned. “And a new coat from Weston might not go amiss."
"Henry!" Lady Matlock admonished before turning her own eyes upon Darcy’s evening coat. She frowned.
What was wrong with his coat?
"What about a meaningful keepsake?" Lord Matlock suggested. "Perhaps something that has been in the family? The small enamel box your mother used for her trinkets might make a thoughtful gift."
