Page 1 of Cousin Conundrum

Chapter One

Fitzwilliam Darcy trudged up the front steps of his Aunt Catherine’s town home, trying to ignore the stickiness of the overly warm air that had settled onto London of late. He did not wish to be here and cared not at all to enter. Aunt Catherine had summoned him, however, and disobeying a summons from Lady Catherine de Bourgh generally resulted in more aggravation than simply obeying.

Generally.

The door swung open to the butler, Higgens, relieving the need to knock, and to a greeting of, “Mr. Darcy. Lady Catherine is expecting you.” As Darcy stepped in, Higgens added, “She is in the jade drawing room, sir.”

“I know the way,” Darcy advised as he handed over his outerwear.

“Very well, sir.”

Ignoring Higgens’ mild disapproval, Darcy set out unescorted down a wide, overly chartreuse-themed corridor. A maid scurried by bearing an armful of white cloth, followed by another. In each room Darcy passed, he spied more of them, all going about the work of covering the furniture, cleaning the grates, securing the windows, and closing the curtains. Generally, making the house ready for Lady Catherine’s departure.

Which irked Darcy all the more. Were he a touch less obedient, he would have missed his aunt and not received his dose of the tirade she’d already delivered to his uncle, the Earl of Matlock, and to both of Darcy’s Matlock cousins. Though if Richard’s version had reached him where he was stationed, Darcy couldn’t say. Regardless, Lady Catherine would not be satisfied until every one of her male relations agreed to do all in his power to apprehend and punish the person who robbed her London home. A fact which aggravated Darcy in particular as he could think of no steps he could add to what his three very resourceful and well-connected relations, an earl, a viscount, and a colonel, already undertook. Yes, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley wielded clout, but not in comparison to members of the peerage. Nor did he strategize better than a man of military action, even one who must do so from afar, as Richard was stationed abroad. Aunt Catherine simply required one more person at whom to shout.

Or, worse, she sought to mold the violation of her home into a fresh push for Darcy to marry his cousin Anne. Why had his mother ever written to Aunt Catherine of his vow, spoken so long ago? ‘If I do not marry Anne, I will marry someone who brings at least as much to Pemberley as Anne would.’ Such a simple promise. An easy enough way to soothe his mother as she lay ill. And to alleviate his fit of conscience, for even then he knew he would never marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh as his mother wished. Darcy and Anne did not suit. Worse, while Anne possessed a keen enough mind, her body was frail. He feared her incapable of producing heirs, and Pemberley required an heir.

At the time, with his mother and father still attempting to add to their family and his Uncle Lewis alive, the boy Darcy was years ago had no thought Anne would be an only child. That she would inherit Rosings. Where was he to find another woman with as large a dowry as Anne now possessed?

He turned into the corridor off which the jade drawing room lay and halted to draw back his shoulders and take a deep, calming breath. Lady Catherine was his aunt and her home had been burgled. Naturally, she was upset and seeking all the reassurance she could garner. As a dutiful nephew, he must support her in any way he could. His churlishness must be set aside, even should she mention his youthful pledge.

That decided, he plastered on a neutral expression and crossed the remainder of the distance to the jade drawing room.

He turned into the room to find no preparations for departure yet in evidence. Instead, Aunt Catherine perched across from him, glaring at him over a large, low table. To Lady Catherine’s left sat Darcy’s cousin Anne and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson, leaving the settee to her ladyship’s right for Darcy. He supposed he should be honored.

“You are late, Darcy.”

Darcy bowed. “I came as soon as I received your summons.”

“Then either you are incompetent, or your staff are.”

“Yes, Aunt Catherine.” He pivoted, reissuing his bow. “Anne, Mrs. Jenkinson. It is pleasant to see you both.”

Anne wrinkled her nose at him.

“You would see Anne every day were you married.”

“That is how marriage often works, Aunt,” Darcy replied, employing his mildest tone. Then he stood, hands clasped behind his back. Perhaps Aunt Catherine’s mood was so foul, she would send him away.

She waved a hand to her right. “Stop hovering, Darcy. Sit.”

Giving up on his scant hope, Darcy complied.

“I have been robbed,” Aunt Catherine declared. “Someone walked into my home and stole from me.”

“Walked in?” Darcy reiterated, interest piqued despite his lack of desire to be here. “Surely, you mean broke in?”

“Nothing was broken,” Anne said with a little head shake. “We think he must have picked a lock. We do not even know by which door, or I imagine window, he entered.”

“Then surely it might be—” Darcy broke off. To suggest one of the staff would cause them hardship, and any proposal that Lady Catherine had simply mislaid whatever was missing would cause him the same.

“It was not the staff,” Lady Catherine said, seeming to read his mind. “They rifled through my correspondence as well, and several letters were taken. My staff would not go to the trouble. Only Higgens and my housekeeper can read. I do not tolerate literate servants lurking about.”

Darcy bit back his thoughts on illiteracy as a hiring requirement.

Lady Catherine pulled a card from her gown. “Furthermore, the thief left this in place of the jewelry with which he absconded.”

Darcy accepted the card with a touch of awe. The Peacock. For almost two years now, the Peacock had terrorized London, if the papers were to be believed. He’d rapidly become the stuff of legend, robbing wealthy widows of their valuables. Always when they were out. Never with a trace of evidence left. Not a window broken nor a lock scuffed. Not so much as a boot print on a rich Axminster carpet. Simply his card, a stylized, violet peacock stamped on the front.