Page 13 of Dear Friend

“Scarcely a quarter of an hour had passed before she had contrived to mention Pemberley five times.”

Richard laughed. “Perhaps she admires Derbyshire.”

“She has never been there.”

“That does weaken my defence of her.”

“She asked whether the picture gallery was as extensive as she had heard, whether my mother’s jewels remained in the family, and whether I generally passed the whole summer at Pemberley.”

Richard’s amusement increased. “Efficient.”

“I am glad you find it entertaining.”

“I find your indignation entertaining. Miss Thornbury’s conduct sounds rather less so.”

Darcy looked down at his glass. He was accustomed to being regarded as a desirable match. It would have been absurd to pretend otherwise. His fortune was considerable, his estate ancient and prosperous, and his connections such as society valued. He did not object to a woman knowing these things. He objected to the uncomfortable suspicion that, with too many of them, there was very little they cared to know beyond them.

“I do not expect a woman to be ignorant of my circumstances,” he said. “I should merely prefer that they not constitute the whole of my recommendation.”

“That is rather different from expecting her never to think of them.”

“I expect no such thing.”

“Good, because you would be disappointed. Pemberley is not a minor inconvenience which may be politely overlooked. Neither is ten thousand a year.”

Darcy’s expression hardened slightly. “I am aware of my income.”

“I thought you might be.”

“What exactly is your point?”

“That a sensible woman may know perfectly well what you possess and still value you for yourself. The two are not mutually exclusive.”

Darcy was silent.

Richard had the irritating habit of introducing reason into an argument just when Darcy would have preferred to dismiss it.

“I would rather remain unmarried,” Darcy said at last, “than spend my life wondering whether my wife would ever have looked twice at me had I possessed five hundred a year and no estate.”

Richard contemplated this. “At five hundred a year you would be a very different man.”

“My character would not necessarily be different.”

“No, but your life would be. Your education, your habits, the society you keep, the responsibilities you bear. Pemberley has had some hand in making you what you are, Darcy, whether you choose to admit it or not.”

Darcy frowned, though he could not entirely dispute the observation.

Richard smiled. “Do not look so injured. I am not suggesting you marry the first woman who asks to inspect the family jewels. I merely say you may make the business impossible if you require a woman to separate you entirely from everything belonging to you.”

“I require sincerity.”

“That is more reasonable.”

“And affection.”

“Eventually, I hope.”

Darcy gave him a look.