Darcy Returns The Favor 

Richard Meets Connie

Richard Fitzwilliam looked over the assembly gathered in his mother’s ballroom. She had decorated extravagantly for the celebration, an “intimate party” she had said. Mother did nothing in halves.

If society doubted her happiness in welcoming Elizabeth to the family, they could not rightly do so now.

Richard was happy for Darcy and a little jealous. He had always known his stoic cousin would wed before he would, but now that it had happened and Darcy had a worthy partner in Elizabeth, Richard felt… alone. 

And edgy. 

It had been a month since Darcy had vowed to repay Richard for his “kindness” in sending him off to the country when he was so close to finding the missing Rembrandt. Oh, he had been livid. But he had met the love of his life and found the precious painting, so Richard considered that the reward far outweighed his initial interference.

Unfortunately, Darcy did not agree, and as he was leaving for Pemberley with his bride on the morrow, Richard knew he would have to act tonight. 

Richard had noticed more than one meeting (to which he was not invited) between his mother and Darcy. Richard had inquired what they were up to, only to be answered with silence (Darcy) or changes in topic (Mother). With sufficient time to plan and the help of a clever wife and Richard’s own traitorous mother, Darcy had the clear advantage. 

At least Richard had Georgiana. She was too gentle to plan against him.

And he had Constance–reliably intimidating and always at his side. The scimitar had been a gift from General George, a man who was neither a general nor was his real name George. A reformed pirate who ran a shooting gallery, General George was respected in military circles for his expertise in staying alive when he ought to have been killed a dozen times over.  

Richard had trained with him, and the savvy techniques he learned had served him well.

General George had taught him not to waste his time fighting cowardly men who would run at the mere sight of a larger or unfamiliar threat. He had given him the scimitar, spoils from his former life, and told him to use it wisely. It worked more often than not. It had certainly helped at Seven Dials. 

He rested his hand on Connie’s hilt. Richard had found that his scimitar had a similar effect in society. She discouraged the disagreeable from approaching and the weak from attacking. 

Darcy approached, with Elizabeth at his side. Neither of them were afraid of Connie. 

Richard’s nerves increased. He hid them with a wide smile. “Are you enjoying the evening?” 

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow and studied him. 

Richard kept his hands relaxed, though the temptation to wipe the sweat beading on his forehead and upper lip nearly overpowered him.

“Very much so,” she replied. “Have you met anyone interesting?”

Before he could answer, Georgiana swooped in excitedly. “Richard! I have been looking for you. There is someone I wish to introduce you to.”

What a dear girl to intercept before Darcy could do whatever it was he planned. Relieved, Richard followed Georgiana.

“You will thank us later.” Darcy’s deep voice stiffened Richard’s spine.

He looked down at Georgiana, her eyes wide and innocent. “Are you in on the scheme, too?”

She rolled her eyes and tugged on his arm. “All I will say is that when Miss Barbary was young, she was in her family’s carriage when it was assaulted by a highwayman. It… had an impact on her.” She stopped in front of a young lady about her age whom she introduced as Miss Isabella Barbary. 

Richard relaxed. It was just a friend from the seminary, a fair-haired maiden in a frothy gown. The kind of lady who would have fainted at the sight of a highwayman. Poor child. 

Miss Barbary reached behind her, tugging at a woman he had not until then noticed, so unremarkable was her gown and coiffure. “My sister,” she explained, tugging on her reluctant kin and proving she was not as fragile as Richard had thought when she finally pulled her sister forward. 

The woman looked up at him, and the fire in her blazing blue eyes burned Richard’s skin. His breath caught in his throat. A highwayman would have a fight on his hands with such a fierce woman. She tapped a walking stick, and Miss Isabella released her hold. 

Richard could not look away from the walking stick. He had noticed no limp. Had the highwayman done that to her? Anger pumped through Richard, but he held his hands softly at his side, palms out, reassuring her he was not a threat. “Whoever caused you to need that walking stick ought to be whipped until he cannot walk.”

One corner of her lips curled upward. “It is not just a walking stick.” With a flick of her hand, she pulled a cane-sword free of its sheath. Proudly, she held the blade up, swiping it deftly in front of her. 

Her sister hissed. “Not here, Connie.”

Richard’s heart tripped in his chest.

Connie lifted her chin defiantly, captivatingly. “A lady should never be defenseless.”

Richard bowed. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, at your service.”

She curtsied. “Miss Consuela Barbary. My sister calls me Connie.”

Richard held his arm out for her, not knowing if he was asking for a dance or for a turn about the room, but certain that he would agree to anything she wished. 

He would thank Darcy later.