Chapter 30
Darcy sat in the comfortable armchair by the window in his study. Coffee cup in hand, he stared unseeingly out of the window.
Mrs Darcy had not come down to breakfast this morning, and he had not seen her walking out when he was returning from his gallop. He had called for the housekeeper, and Mrs Kerr had informed him that his wife was indisposed today.
He had nodded and gone about his business; while unusual, this was not the first time, and she had always been down later in the morning. But she had not been down for lunch either, and that had never happened to his knowledge.
Was she really ill? He had never known her so, and he had been watching her a great deal over the last few weeks and that had convinced him she was a wonderfully robust lady.
He had enjoyed watching her stride out in the mornings, her confident manner as she climbed into the gig to be driven to her tenant visits and her air of competence around the duties of mistress.
He was pleased with her, and thought she despised him less as he attempted to be in her company more often, now that he was confident that his temper was under better regulation.
The apartment next to his was almost ready, and he relished the thought that soon she would be nearby and he would hope they might soon deepen their marriage and become more comfortable with each other.
He smiled to himself. Life was improving, and far sooner than he could have imagined after that dreadful incident at Netherfield. He frowned; he hoped she did not still despise him for needing a woman to rescue him — perhaps he could soon forget it himself.
Mrs Darcy … Elizabeth … the thought warmed him. Soon, perhaps, he would dare to call her by her given name. He would like to hear his name upon her lips in return.
There was a knock on his door. He shook his head, sorry to have to dispel his thoughts. “Enter!”
The butler bowed. “Mrs Kerr would like to speak to you, sir.”
Darcy raised his brows. “Of course.” Mr Payne nodded at the woman behind him and waited in the doorway.
Mrs Kerr might be the deputy, but she was supremely confident. She and Mrs Darcy seemed to have a good working relationship, and Darcy was pleased for it.
“Yes, Mrs Kerr?” She was carrying a folded letter in her hand, and looked anxious.
“I am sorry, Mr Darcy, but Mrs Darcy is not in her room, sir. She left this on her dressing table.” The woman looked miserably distressed.
Darcy reached out and took the letter. His name was on the outside, and he felt dismayed that he could not recognise her handwriting. “So, where is she?”
Mrs Kerr seemed to be having difficulty not wringing her hands.
“Her maid prepared her for the night at about nine o’clock, sir.
But Mrs Darcy told her not to bring a tray in the morning, as she was indisposed and wished to sleep late.
But when it came to lunchtime and she had not rung for Emily, I became concerned and decided to knock on her door.
” She glanced at the butler, and then looked down.
“She was not there, sir, and her bed had not been slept in.”
Darcy hardly knew how he dismissed them, but now he was alone, and he stared at the letter in his hand, afraid to break the seal. He glanced at the window; it was still very cold at night. Where was she?
With a sudden exclamation, he broke the seal. He must know.
Mr Darcy
I do not know when you will receive this letter, but I must tell you not to search for me.
Perhaps I should start from the beginning, so you may know why I am leaving, and …
Those first words froze him and he could not, for a few minutes, read further. She was gone? Had left?
He swallowed convulsively and forced himself back to read more.
His heart seemed to shatter as he read of her misery, of her feeling she had been ignored, uncared-for. And panic warred with the disbelief that he had felt increasingly warm towards her and she had still suffered while he did not know.
Something had fallen from the letter as he had unfolded it. He looked down, almost knowing what it was. The cheap, worn, plain, brassy ring that he had pushed onto her finger in the ceremony he could barely remember. The ring he’d had his valet buy, the one that had been pawned by another.
Darcy squeezed his eyes shut, the ring digging into the skin of his palm as he clenched his fist round it. After a moment or so of despair, he knew he could not hide what had happened, and leapt to his feet, ringing the bell in panic.
The butler hurried in; he must have been waiting close by, and beyond him, Darcy could see Mrs Kerr. He beckoned her in, too.
“Mr Payne, find out who was night footman last night, and discover exactly what he saw. Set up a full search of the whole manor — all the store rooms, all the attics. I want every inch of the place searched.” He turned towards the woman, and then back to the butler.
“Oh, and have someone go round every outside door, and see if one is unlatched. Mrs Kerr,” he turned back to her.
“Have her rooms checked and searched. See what is missing and make a list.”
The butler was hurrying for the door. “Mr Payne,” Darcy called after him. “Summon Mr Reed for me at once.”
As soon as he was alone he sank into his chair as if his legs wouldn’t hold him, fighting the urge to mount his horse and search every inch of England until he found her. She must be safe. She must.
He glanced at the letter again, driving a dagger through his heart.
… You do not see me. Not Mrs Darcy. Me …
He bent over the sheet of paper, the lavender fragrance taunting him; he who had never been close enough to smell the scent on her.
What she had written was all true. He must be the worst blackguard in the land in his carelessness of her.
His wife. And she had not deserved any of it; she was worthy of the best he was, not the worst.
Lavender. Lavender. He remembered that, and his hand stole towards his breast pocket, where her handkerchief lived.
He recalled Mrs Kerr’s words … her bed had not been slept in …
Where could she be? It was almost too dark to search, but there might be time to search the immediate environs of the house, and they would start again tomorrow at dawn. Every inch of the grounds would be examined. There must be some trace of her, some clue as to where to search.
He pushed himself to his feet; he would go to her rooms and find out if she had warm clothing, or had taken blankets. He could not bear to think of her being cold for even one more night.