THE COMTE D’ESTROUVILLE had inherited his title and estates at an early age, and maintained both these and his head during the Terror by the simple expedient of remaining in the country throughout the turmoil and giving the appearance of being exactly what he was: a conscientious landowner providing food and cloth to the citizens of Paris. That he did so cheerfully—and at a substantial profit—did not, in the eyes of Buonaparte, lessen his value to the Republic. Thus, he returned to Paris at a youthful six-and-thirty, just as handsome, and even more rich. How much of this wise policy was due to his natural intelligence and sagacity, and how much to the similar mind of his lady mother was now not much to the purpose. That they had both escaped the horrible fate of so many of their family and friends was fortunate for themselves, and—thought the Darcys—for France.

Released from the voluntary exile of his country estates, the Comte re-entered Parisian society with éclat, and was soon regarded as one of the most admired gentlemen in Paris. This circumstance arose in some portion from his engaging manners, partly from his situation as to birth, figure, and fortune, and, at least as importantly, from his being yet a single man, who, the female subdivision of Parisian society averred in unison, must be in want of a wife. The elegant figure of the dowager Comtesse on his arm did not deter either matron or daughter in their attentions. Few, if any, evenings saw the Comte unengaged. Rather, he ate his suppers at the most fashionable salons, commonly seated at the right-hand of his hostess and across from some one or other of her eligible daughters. Such a situation in itself was not a surprise; the wonder was that after months of assiduous assault by the most charming women in Paris, he remained steadfastly single.

The constant stream of cartes de viste were invariably succeeded by invitations, as Paris recognised the consequence of the Darcy family, soon producing an intimacy with the Comte and his mother. Elizabeth observed the repeated sorties launched against the Comte’s bachelorhood with interest and amusement. It did not escape Elizabeth’s discernment that—more often than not—rather than attending to the fawnings of the legions of jeunes femmes et leurs mères, the Comte seemed to prefer the quiet, rational, unaffected conversation he found in Georgiana. They had not been many days in Paris before Elizabeth believed that Georgiana was more likely to captivate the amiable Comte than any or all of the single women of France.