Darcy fully intended to refuse the invitation. What desire had he to hear of the Knightley brothers’ hardships? Why then was he nodding his head? “I am bound for the Alfred Club, which is just there. I would be honored to host you both for a meal.”
“Capital,” cried John. “We are in desperate need of advice.” He linked an arm through Darcy’s and bore him along the pavement.
Like it or not, Darcy was destined to become a confidant.
Chapter 2
The sirloin served at the Alfred Club was excellent, and so was the port. A table in a secluded corner was ideal for private conversation. It was amusing to observe the differences in the two brothers. As soon as the plates were cleared away, Darcy signed for the waiter to withdraw.
John Knightley brought out a notebook and pencil. “Now then,” he said gleefully, “we get down to business.”
Darcy now remembered that John’s profession was the law. “Business,” he repeated.
“But of course. You were a dab hand at solving our troubles at school. I daresay you can help us with this one.”
“I trust we do not interrupt your plans for the afternoon,” added his brother politely.
“Ha. What can be more important than finding a solution to a dashed awkward crisis?”
“It is hardly a crisis, John.”
“I say that it is. Barring a deadly outbreak of influenza, you are washed aground, brother-dear, without recourse of any kind.”
“John, really.”
John Knightley faced Darcy. “George not only lives with our dear papa-in-law, but he lives in the man’s house. Meanwhile, our family estate sits empty. A scandal, isn’t it? Donwell Abbey collects cobwebs, while poor George is left high and dry in Highbury.”
John gave a burst of sardonic laughter. “High and dry in Highbury. That’s rather good.”
His brother did not laugh. “As usual,” he said, “you exaggerate. I walk over to Donwell several times a week. I am, after all, magistrate in that parish.”
John waved this aside. “Our troubles are compounded, Darcy, by the fact that our father-in-law is illness-mad. He’s convinced that he’s dying of old age, or is about to succumb to a wasting disease—brought on by the wrong sort of food, or the weather, or being subjected to a foul draught. Does he become sick? No such luck! Woodhouse lives on, as healthy as ever. He positively enjoys having everyone dance attendance upon him.”
“To be fair,” George pointed out, “he lost his wife when my Emma was little more than an infant. His wealth has given him leisure to indulge his fears. My brother makes him out to be a tyrant, but Mr. Woodhouse is a gentle, kindly soul.”
“Yes, but he drives everyone to distraction! Any change to his household is pernicious. Worse, he never travels. Not even to London.”
“My father-in-law was the same,” said Darcy slowly. “He lived much of his life in his library, away from his noisy family.”
“If only Woodhouse would do likewise,” cried John. “But no, he must meddle in the health of every person he encounters. If Emma dares to serve cake to guests, he apologizes and then urges them not to eat it. If it begins to snow, he is convinced that the roads will immediately be impassable. Disaster lurks round every corner.”
“To be honest,” said Darcy, “I do not see how I can advise you.” He turned to George Knightley. “Your wife is comfortable in her old home. Naturally, she will not wish to leave it. I take it the house is large enough?”
“It is,” said George.
“If Mr. Woodhouse were to give his blessing, would she be willing to remove to your estate?”
“Absolutely.”
“What my brother does not mention,” said John, “is that Emma is expecting. Of course they would like to raise their children at Donwell; who wouldn’t? But not if our dear papa-in-law raises a stink.”
“You are giving Darcy the wrong idea. I offered to live at Hartfield of my own free will.”
“Otherwise, Emma wouldn’t agree to marry you.”
Darcy could see an argument brewing. “So, we must therefore come up with a reason for Mr. Woodhouse to change his mind.” He looked again to George Knightley. “Your wife is the only woman in the house?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” complained John.
Darcy was betrayed into a smile. “A great deal. For the past fortnight, my London house has been filled with women. It is difficult for my wife’s mother to remember that she must defer.”
“Instead of being the one to give orders?” said John. “I see.”
“It is the same with us,” said George. “When John’s family stays at Hartfield, Isabella takes up her former role as mistress of the house. This is particularly irksome to Emma.”
John threw up a hand. “Just a minute,” he cried. “There was something you said earlier, Darcy; what was it? About your father-in-law. Did you say that he lived in his library? Is this true?”
“He did, yes.”
“As in, formerly but not presently?”
“My father-in-law is deceased.”
John gave a crow of delight. “Your mother-in-law is a widow? I say! George, did you hear that? It’s the solution to everything!”
“What is?” said George.
John gestured to Darcy. “He has a widow, and we have a widower! What could be simpler than to marry them to one another?”
Darcy broke out laughing. “For pity’s sake, Knightley, no! My cousin had a similar suggestion, but it will never work.”
“But it will. Absolutely it will. What old Woodhouse wants is a wife!”
George was looking thunderstruck. “At his age?”
“Listen, it’s perfect. You wish to remove to Donwell, and so does Emma. The new Mrs. Woodhouse will become Hartfield’s mistress. She will be the one to drive you from the house. And unless Woodhouse enjoys being henpecked, he’ll have to agree!”
“But Mr. Woodhouse has no desire to marry,” said George.
John waved this aside. “Nonsense. He simply hasn’t thought of it. Therefore, we shall cause him to do so. And I don’t think it shall be so very hard.”
Darcy could not help laughing. “He has all my sympathy. I should warn you. For years, my old father pushed the idea of marriage at me. I resisted every effort.”
“Ha,” said George. “I assumed that I would die a bachelor.”
“You will die,” said John, “with a son who has no proper feeling for Donwell—because he has been raised at Hartfield. And when my wife inherits, he will feel wronged and maligned. Is this what you want?”
“You are so dramatic,” complained George.
“Someone has to be. Now then, Darcy, tell us about your widowed mother-in-law. Is she very ugly?”
“Not at all. She is quite attentive to her appearance and is mindful to follow the latest fashion.”
John lifted an eyebrow. “Has she lost her figure?”
Darcy gave him a measured look. “As to that, I have no opinion.”
“Well said,” remarked George.
“Is she the quiet type? Dutiful and reserved?”
“On the contrary,” said Darcy, “she enjoys talking. I should say it is one of her favorite activities.”
“John, enough,” said his brother. “You know full well that Mr. Woodhouse will hate the idea of marriage.”
“What’s the difference? He hates everything! How can we go wrong?”
Darcy could think of a number of ways but decided not to voice them.
“Give the woman some credit,” said George. “She has no reason to marry him.”