Chapter Seven
The townhomes on three sides of Grosvenor Square were large, even palatial, but on the fourth, where Darcy resided, most measured a sensible twenty-five feet across.
They were narrow enough that more than one occupant had fled for more commodious residences, but the house was sufficiently grand for him.
Not overly large, but well kept and richly furnished.
After all, he was a bachelor, primarily in town only for the season each year.
He felt no need to waste money keeping a legion of servants on board-pay.
The location had become fashionable over the years it had been in the family, and he secretly delighted in the disappointment of avaricious women and their matchmaking parents who had heard his address and expected his London home to be expansive.
For one glorious season a few years back, there had been rumors that he was not as wealthy as previously believed, but his uncle had effectively quashed them.
The next rumor was that he was cheap and grasping, which his relations and friends, led by his aunt, Lady Matlock, had also successfully countered.
He was grateful to them all for caring so assiduously for his reputation, but in some ways, he regretted its restoration.
For almost one entire season, he had mercifully been left alone to speak with people who did not believe he could provide them with anything other than reasonable connections; it had been as close to comfortable as Darcy had ever been in London society.
As he entered Darcy House, Richard on his heels, he handed his hat to the butler and faced his short, stout, very surprised housekeeper, who had bustled out to greet him.
“Mr. Darcy, sir!” she said between gasps, her snowy hair escaping its pins in tufts and her face aflame. “I must apologize, have I missed a letter?”
“No, Mrs. White,” he reassured her. “I was called to town unexpectedly, and there was no time to write. Please do not distress yourself.” He gave her a smile. “Hanson will be following with our trunks sometime today; I suspect he is already well into the journey.”
“Oh, and Mr. Fitzwilliam with you!” the woman exclaimed as Darcy moved to one side. “Have you boys eaten?”
Darcy nodded. “At the moment, we are most in need of sleep, Mrs. White.”
Mrs. White nodded vigorously, her cap perilously close to flying from her head. Obviously relieved, she asked, “When would you like dinner, sir?”
Darcy glanced back at his cousin. “Seven, Richard?”
Richard nodded, but said nothing. Darcy could see his cousin was finally beginning to flag.
“Very good, Mr. Darcy.” Mrs. White trundled away, and Darcy heard her muttering, “The list, the list. Must speak to cook, send John out—at least the rooms are in readiness.”
He smiled to himself. Mrs. White was considered a peculiar woman by his family, but she held a warm place in his heart.
She had been housekeeper here since he was a boy.
She was not ambitious, so he was not concerned about her searching for a larger, more prestigious household to serve.
She seemed content to provide for him and his guests, and she performed her job admirably.
Mr. Pattuck was impassive as ever, waiting patiently, his hand still out to receive Darcy’s coat. He then gathered Richard’s outerwear and disappeared, leaving the two men to make their way upstairs and collapse into bed.
Elizabeth slept deep into the afternoon.
When she rose, it was nearly time for dinner.
She sent word that she would take a tray in Aunt Olivia’s room, and threw open the doors of her closet to select a gown.
It was as if she had an entirely new wardrobe, nearly all of them finer than those she had taken with her to Longbourn.
In fact, some of them were new, for she had never worn them.
For a private meal with Aunt Olivia, however, she did not require a fancy gown.
Elizabeth selected a delicate rose muslin she knew her aunt favored, and when Alice arrived, she pointed it out. Alice helped Elizabeth dress and put her hair up in an easy but elegant style suited to a family dinner. Elizabeth then made the short trip across the hall to her aunt’s chambers.
“Enter,” her aunt called in response to her knock.
“Good evening, Aunt,” Elizabeth said, smiling to see Aunt Olivia on the settee, a tray from the kitchen set up before her. “Are you feeling well?”
“As well as can be, my dear,” her aunt replied, waving her over. “Sit down, Lizzy, and let us eat before it gets cold.”
Elizabeth served them both. They supped together, her aunt asking questions about her family and her time at Longbourn. When Elizabeth finished telling stories about her sisters, she found that Aunt Olivia was gazing at her affectionately.
“Aunt?” she asked, but there was no reply. She leaned forward. “Is there something on my face?”
“Lizzy,” her aunt complained, “you know very well there is nothing on your face.” She turned her face to the window.
They were eating early, but the days were short now, and it was already dark outside.
“I was merely commending myself for the decision to leave you at Longbourn. You needed your sisters, Lizzy, and now you have them back again.”
“I did enjoy my time with them, Aunt,” Elizabeth confirmed. “I hope to invite Mary to visit if she is not already to come with Jane for the season. I think Kitty should wait a little longer.” She moved her empty plate back to the tray and reached for her aunt’s.
“Thank you, my dear,” her aunt said softly. Once Elizabeth was done, Olivia patted the settee. “Come sit with me.”
Elizabeth did as her aunt requested, and found her hand taken up in Aunt Olivia’s.
“I want you to tell me about your young man. I know from your very descriptive letters that it was not love at first sight,” she said with a delighted laugh.
“No, it was not,” Elizabeth agreed, resting her head on her aunt’s shoulder. “He had my enmity, then my sympathy, then my ire.” She sat up and placed their joined hands on her knee. “Then he had me utterly baffled and not a little intimidated.”
“Nonsense, Lizzy,” her aunt said dismissively. “Nobody intimidates a Russell woman.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Mr. Darcy did. He had… has this way of staring at me…” She paused.
Her aunt smiled mischievously. “Have you only just realized that he was admiring you?”
Elizabeth let out an exasperated half-laugh and shook her head. “No, but I am ashamed to say it was not as long ago as it ought to have been.” She felt a light pressure on her hand where her aunt had squeezed it.
“And now,” Aunt Olivia pressed, “he has your love?”
“He does,” Elizabeth confirmed. “I love him so much, Aunt Olivia, I cannot even put words to it.” She gazed directly into her aunt’s eyes. “I cannot even draw it.”
Aunt Olivia’s face was graced by a smile so tender, Elizabeth thought the older woman might weep. “Aunt?” she asked. “Is everything all right?”
Her aunt touched Elizabeth’s cheek. “Everything is precisely as it should be, my dear.”
Darcy made his way downstairs for dinner but halted suddenly near an empty alcove in the wall between two windows. He studied it, running his fingers over the empty space.
Richard found him there, tapping his fingertips on the stone pedestal.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Darcy nodded slowly. “There should be a small bronze of Apollo here.”
Richard’s eyebrows rose. “Perhaps Mrs. White removed it for cleaning, or it was sent out for repair?”
“Unless it happened recently, she would have written.” He recalled, suddenly, the report of two missing silver spoons.
“Well, let us not linger on the stairs, Darcy. I am starving. Let us go down to dinner and ask her.”
Darcy and Richard made their way to the small dining room.
There was room for six at the round table here; the formal dining room had space for as many as fourteen, were it required.
This suited Darcy perfectly, for it limited his guests by necessity, allowing him to choose only those friends he truly wished to invite.
His mind was not on the satisfaction of his arrangements, however, but on the mystery that lay before him. Mysteries.
Mrs. White answered his summons promptly, arriving in a flutter of dark skirts, chatelaine bouncing against her hip.
“You asked to see me, Mr. Darcy?” she asked. She was clutching a piece of paper.
“I was wondering where the bronze of Apollo has gone, Mrs. White,” he inquired.
Mrs. White huffed. “I am not going mad, then,” she said. “At least there is that piece of good news.” She handed him the paper. On it was a list of seven items.
“These are all things we have discovered missing since I wrote you, Mr. Darcy. I was making this list to send on. At first, I put it down to forgetfulness, but so many items? It is not possible.” She frowned. “The art on the stairway is usually dusted by Susan.”
Richard’s face was stormy. “Susan?” he asked roughly.
Mrs. White nodded. “I must say, she has always been a good girl, a hard worker.”
“Does Susan know I am here?” Darcy asked.
“No, sir, she left not a quarter-hour before you arrived. She works a half-day on Wednesdays when you are not in residence and returns late at night. She has a mother and sister she sometimes visits. Near St. Bart’s, I believe.”
Darcy felt a headache beginning behind his eyes. “Tomorrow, Mrs. White, you shall take the inventory books through the house. Check every room. Move whatever staff you need from their duties to assist.”
“Very good, sir,” Mrs. White replied.
“As for Susan, please tell her I shall wish to speak with her in the morning,” Darcy said, picking up his napkin and settling it on his lap.
“You may wish to defer that, cousin,” Richard warned.
Darcy blinked, but quickly worked out why his cousin would say such a thing. “You may go, Mrs. White, I thank you. Please do not mention either the inventory or our presence to anyone else.”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. White promised.