"I won't go!"

"Yes, you will!"

"No, I won't!"

"If you do not behave yourself," seethed Mina. "I will not let you attend any other events for the next fortnight, and that is final."

"I would rather stay home for a month than do what you are asking," shot back Diana. "Did you even think I would not want to go with them to Kent?"

"The Robertsons are a fine family, and you actually like their daughter," snapped Mina. "Why would you not want to go?"

"Because their sons are boorish and loud and rude!" said Diana indignantly. "I would not marry any of them if they were the last men left on this earth!"

Mina tossed away the letter she was writing and stood up, shaking a finger at Diana threateningly. "You will go, and you will be polite. I do not care if you marry one of their sons or not, but they might introduce you to someone who will marry you, and for that we need them. Is that clear?"

Diana's eyes glinted. "I will not go, and that is that."

Mina did not answer, merely stomped out of the room and snapped at Sarah, who was hovering outside the door, to go and ready Diana's trunk. The Robertsons were a fine family, and their daughter was genial and clever and friendly, but the thought of being in a large manor house in Kent with the insufferable men of the family made Diana want to throw herself out of a window. She was powerless to resist, however; her mother would make her go, kicking and screaming.

"We can pack your trunk after dinner," murmured Sarah, laying out a fresh dress on Diana's bed. "You are dining at the Fitzwilliams' tonight. Miss Emily will also be there, and Mr. Darcy."

"Perhaps I should just marry Darcy." Diana snorted at the thought of it. "Can you imagine, Sarah? Me, the mistress of Pemberley?"

"Mr. Darcy is a fine young man, miss, with a great income and a very large estate."

"He's absolutely sullen on a bad day and painfully shy otherwise, Sarah. You may not say it but we both know it's true."

Sarah refused to be baited. "Perhaps he needs someone like you to bring him out of his shell."

Diana rolled her eyes. "I am not in the business of teaching men how to act. And do I have to wear blue tonight?" she eyed the new dress warily. "It is very dressy."

"Your mother said you should look your best. Best to listen to her on this, miss, if you want a chance to get out of going to Kent," advised Sarah. When Diana nodded reluctantly, she tried to cheer her up. "Come, sit down and I will see if I can bribe one of the maids to run across the road and get me some flowers for your hair. Would you like some tea?"

Diana sighed and shook her head, allowing Sarah to fuss over her with whatever small means she had. The younger girl's friendship was a blessing, to be sure, especially considering the fact that Diana rarely spoke to anyone else when she was home. Her mother was out all day, making calls with Lady Alexandra and forming new acquaintances – all of whom had eligible sons – that she would then introduce to Diana at balls, dinners and smaller gatherings at the homes of people she had never met. They never had guests visit their rooms, except for the Fitzwilliams, the Carmichaels and now, Emily Davenport. Diana knew it was because the modest area they lived in, though not quite Cheapside, was not fine enough to entertain the kind of people Mina Harris wanted to associate with. It left Diana on her own at home during the day, but often one or the other of the Fitzwilliam boys would visit, bringing with them a cousin or acquaintance that Diana did not often find too unbearable. Thus, Mr. Darcy was a regular visitor, but only because Richard Fitzwilliam brought him along every time.

Diana winced as Sarah brushed the tangles out of her hair, even as her mind wandered to her newest friend. Because by now, they were friends. Diana was not sure how it had happened: somewhere between her stepping on his toes during Almack's and him teaching her how to beat him at chess, they had formed a friendship that seemed almost entirely reliant on Richard teasing her every moment they were together, but being unbelievably kind when he thought no one was looking. It was not quite the protectiveness of an older brother, nor the platonic affection of a childhood friend; Diana did not know what to call it, and so she had settled on friendship.

Yes, she was friends with Richard Fitzwilliam, and it was good. He danced with her at every ball, defended her when someone tried to comment on her social standing, begged for her favour if a lady seemed too interested in capturing his attentions – which he gave willingly, until his mother threw him a disapproving look – and often asked nothing of her except her company on the fringes of whatever event their mothers dragged them to. Diana did not think she had much to offer in return: no money, no prospects, and none of the quick wit the Fitzwilliam family was known for. However, she knew better than to question a good thing when it came her way, and contented herself by not thinking too far into the future, when she was not sure what it would hold.

{–}

"Right, you've been quiet since you walked in," declared Richard, appearing next to her with a cup of coffee. "I demand to know why."

Diana ignored his question and eyed the coffee cup warily. "I asked for tea, you know."

"I know you did. This is mine," smugly, he took a sip and grinned at Diana's expression. "I will bring you your tea when you tell me what's wrong. What's your mother done now?"

"I have been invited to spend a week in Kent with the Robertsons," Diana sighed. "Their sons are brutes and while their daughter is nice enough I have nothing to talk to her about beyond art and horses. She is not very good at art and I do not like horses."

"How on earth did you get invited without knowing about it yourself?" asked Richard amazedly. Diana gave him a pointed look, and he grimaced. "Ah, yes. One can't say your mother isn't persistent."

Diana smiled weakly, but did not comment. She returned to gazing out the window at the empty garden. Dinner was over, and the Fitzwilliams and Carmichaels had taken Mina and Mrs. Davenport into the other room to play cards, leaving the 'young ones' to mingle amongst themselves. Darcy and Henry were talking and Emily was playing a tune on the pianoforte, which had given Richard the perfect opportunity to corner Diana. While she was always glad to talk to him, at that moment she wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

"What if I told you, you didn't have to go?" asked Richard suddenly.

Diana did not look away from the window. "I would remind you that you promised to bring me tea."

Richard rolled his eyes and mumbled something under his breath, shoving his own cup into her hands. "Just take the blasted thing and answer me."

Diana turned to face him. "How are you planning to get me out of it?" she asked, sipping the coffee. He had added too much sugar; it was the way she liked it, not the way he took his own. She hid her smile behind the cup and took another, larger sip.

"That is my business," dismissed Richard. "Now, do you really want to get out of it, or are you merely saying you don't want to go to appear modest?"

Diana snorted. "Who in all of London has called me modest so far?"

Richard grinned. "It is settled, then. You won't be going to Kent."

"What are you planning?"

"Nothing your mother will be able to say no, I promise. Now, will you stop sulking and come join the rest of us? Poor Miss Emily deserves a break on the pianoforte."

Diana raised her eyebrows, but accompanied him across the room, where Emily willingly gave up her chair. "Are you planning on singing with me?" she asked, taking the offered seat.

"Oh, do sing with her, Richard," said Emily, clapping her hands together excitedly. "You are so good."

"You flatter me," Richard bowed, his face giving away how much he enjoyed the compliment. "I can only hope our fair pianist can gain your approval in equal measure."

Diana rolled her eyes, ignoring Richard's rebuffs of Emily's entreaties and flipping through the pages of notes until she found a piece she liked. Henry and Darcy wandered over to the pianoforte as well, looking curious.

"Oh, Diana, do ask him to sing," Emily said, finally giving up. "He won't ever listen to anyone except you."

"Sing or don't sing, it is of no consequence to me," Diana played a few practice scales to warm up. "However, you are mistaken if you think your voice will take attention away from me. You know I play better than you sing."

"Ah, but my voice always adds depth to your performances," shot back Richard.

"Without my playing, you would have no performance."

"I can sing without music!"

"No, you can't," said Diana smugly, and Richard shut his mouth because she was right, he did not have enough practice to manage without a tune to guide him. Diana knew this, because she sang herself, but no one in the room knew that about her yet, and she was planning on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

"And I believe Diana wins that round," said Henry with a grin. "Richard, will you be accompanying her or not? I'd like to sit and listen, if you don't mind."

Richard made a face, but took his position at Diana's right, and everyone else backed away to sit and enjoy the performance, because Diana and Richard always gave an entertaining performance, even before the music could begin.

"I would put money on Miss Harris causing Richard to walk out of the room at least once before the night is over," muttered Darcy as he pulled a chair out for Emily next to Henry and sat on her other side.

"Would you?" asked Henry, his voice equally low. "How much?"

Darcy grinned, and Emily rolled her eyes. She gestured for the two to begin as the men on either side of her began to discuss the terms of their bet, too quietly for the people in question to hear them. The performance started, as always, with Richard disagreeing with whatever song Diana had picked.

"You know I can't sight-read well enough for you to sing along to a new piece," scowled Diana, when he tried to hand her a different page. "What's wrong with this one? You like this song!"

"I prefer something else," said Richard, flipping through the music scattered over the pianoforte. "This one is too… mellow."

"You take too long to pick a song, Richard."

"You cannot rush an artist, Diana. You would know, if you were one yourself."

Diana rolled her eyes and stepped on his foot, causing him to yelp and take two steps away from her. Darcy perked up in his chair, groaning quietly when Richard only mumbled a curse under his breath. Oblivious to their audience, Diana smiled innocently and continued practising her scales, ignoring Richard's muttering as he inched closer and finally handed her a piece he liked. Fortunately, it was one she knew, and Diana jumped into it with no warning, forcing Richard to start two verses in, rather than from the beginning. Fifteen minutes later, the performance was incomplete, but Diana and Emily were laughing, Richard was sulking, and Darcy was reluctantly handing Henry his winnings, who was laughing louder than any of them.

When their visitors had departed, Darcy and Richard excused themselves to the library, while Henry joined his father in his study and Lady Alexandra retired to the parlour. Once alone, Richard barely gave his cousin time to sit before he asked, abruptly, "What would you say to a visit to Pemberley?"

Darcy looked up from the book he had picked up, and raised his eyebrows. "Are you eager to quit London already?"

"Perhaps we could invite Miss Emily, and then Henry would come as well," mused Richard, ignoring his question. "Miss Harris must be invited, then, with Mrs. Davenport as chaperone."

Darcy resisted the urge to smile. "When?" he asked.

"Next week. Perhaps in the middle of the week, so the roads are clear."

"I can write to my father and inform him, but it should not be any trouble," said Darcy. As Richard nodded and poured him a drink, he could not resist asking, "Did Miss Harris express a wish to see Pemberley?"

Richard snorted and handed him a glass, turning back to fill his own. "If she had, would you be eager to show it to her?"

"Certainly not without your permission."

"You have all the subtlety of a stampeding elephant, Darcy."

"There is an elephant in the room, Richard, and we ought to speak of it, since you won't acknowledge it to anyone else. Miss Harris is –"

"– destined to marry rich," Richard finished his sentence for him and turned around, still smiling. "I know that, William."

"Do you?" asked Darcy seriously. "Because the way you act in public would indicate you forget that fact quite regularly."

"I have never asked her to dance more than twice at any ball, I am always willing to facilitate an introduction to any young man of note, and I am always welcome in her mother's drawing-room because that woman, shrewd as she is, knows I could have no designs on her daughter. What more can I do?"

"It is not more, but less, that you should be doing," Darcy shook his head. "You cannot lie to me and say you feel nothing for the girl."

"I do not plan to lie," said Richard easily. "I do feel for the girl. Her father died and her mother thrust her into society without a thought, ready to get her married off to the highest bidder. Could you imagine if we did that to Georgiana?"

Darcy raised his eyebrows. "You cannot think to tell me you feel for Miss Harris as you do for Georgiana, Richard."

"That is not the point," Richard waved a hand dismissively. "Miss Harris needs a friend, preferably one who will not be tempted to propose to her before the season is out. I am the perfect candidate."

"Your friendship is certainly less altruistic than that."

"It is," Richard grinned at Darcy's exasperated tone. "Come now, cousin, what is it you would have me say? I find Miss Harris quite beautiful, to be sure, and charming, when she chooses to be. It is refreshing to befriend a woman who has no designs on me and I none on her. I enjoy her company, but not enough to stand in the way of a perfectly good suitor. And I assure you, neither of the Robertsons are good enough for her."

"The Robertsons?" Darcy asked sharply. Richard winced, clearly regretting his slip-up, and Darcy narrowed his eyes. "What are you not telling me?"

"Your penchant for truthfulness, cousin, make me think it is best I do not tell you anymore," said Richard. "Suffice to say that Miss Harris is a friend, and I am doing her a favour. Your estate is simply the only arsenal I have at my disposal with which to be of any service to her."

"You are clearly organising a trip to Derbyshire so she does not have a chance to be wooed by potential suitors," Darcy frowned. "That, cousin, sounds like something a rival suitor would do."

"It would indeed, if the estate were mine. Fortunately, it is yours, and the invitation shall come from you," grinned Richard. Darcy choked on his drink, and Richard thumped him on the back cheerily. "Come now, William. Surely you are not afraid of sending a card to Mrs. Harris and asking to take charge of her daughter for a few days? I daresay Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley is a better catch than either Mr. Robertson, after all."

Darcy glared. "I am not courting Miss Harris, Richard."

"Of course not. Mrs. Harris would eat you alive, not to mention you would bore Di-Miss Harris to tears. We will simply go to visit Pemberley's fine grounds on Wednesday, and even invite the Robertsons a day or so later, if that eases your conscience," added Richard. "It saves her the trouble of visiting them, but she may still be wooed, at your insistence."

"I can see you have made up your mind," Darcy sighed. "I will send the card. On one condition," he added, when Richard grinned in triumph. "You will clear this with your mother. Miss Harris is her ward, and I do not want your so-called noble intentions to get me in trouble with her."

"My mother believes I am an excellent friend to Miss Harris. I cannot see her denying her permission."

"Your mother believes you are an excellent friend to Miss Harris because you would never be naïve enough to make designs on her," frowned Darcy. "If you were to prove her wrong –"

"An utter impossibility, I assure you."

"– she would be delighted, I think," continued Darcy, and his words were so contrary to what Richard had been expecting him to say that he gaped at him in surprise. Darcy smirked. "You know it as well as I, Richard. Aunt Alexandra adores her, and the only reason she has not offered you as a potential match is because you would never hear of it. You would prefer an heiress, of course, for comfort, perhaps, or because it is what everyone has always told you to look for. But Miss Harris would keep you on your toes more than any other woman you have met. Adventure, my dear cousin, is what I believe she offers you, and that may appeal to you yet."

Richard cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable; but why was he uncomfortable? He refused to entertain the notion that there was a very small part of him that agreed with his cousin's assessment. How could he not? In his private moments, where he did not have to put on a face for Diana, or his parents, or his brother, he could admit that he would have found her appealing, had he enough money to support her. But it was not to be so, and Diana deserved better than a poor second son whose only goal in life was to find a woman whose dowry he could be content with – and he had always intended to have as much fun before that inevitable fate as he could. Chasing Diana, however tempting the thought may be at times, was out of the question. But surely that did not mean he could not look out for her?

"Adventures end, William. Money, when managed well, does not," said Richard finally. Eager to shift the focus back onto a subject he was comfortable with, he poured them both another drink and sat down again. "Now, what do you say to my plan?"

"I say yes," said Darcy, clinking his glass solemnly with Richard's. "I also say that you will propose to that girl by the end of the season."

Richard snorted. "That, William, is a wager I am more than willing to make."