Chapter 44

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

“ Y ou hesitate, my love?” Elizabeth asked as she stood upon the stoop of Darcy’s immaculate London townhouse. Darcy had intended to drop her at Gracechurch Street, but she had declared that they had been separated too long as it was. Her beloved readily agreed.

They had stepped down from the carriage several minutes before, but Darcy had yet to move towards the gleaming black door.

“It is just,” he began with a sharp intake of breath, “part of me wondered if I should ever return. Here, to Darcy House. Or to my old life at all.”

“And yet, you have. You are here, and the danger is past. Your cousin will never hurt you again—or anyone else for that matter.”

“True,” he said without conviction. Perhaps he was thinking of Miss de Bourgh’s denial of sending the assassins to Rosings. Elizabeth was keen to forget that detail, if only for a moment.

“Shall we knock?”

“I do not believe Jeffries would take kindly to a derelict vagabond such as myself walking in unannounced,” he answered with a self-deprecating grin.

Elizabeth smiled back at him and busied her hands with straightening his kerchief. He was being so strong, and she knew it was partly for herself. He did not wish to worry her with his pain, but she could tell it was immense. She would not force him to speak but would stay by his side and make herself available to him whenever he needed to give vent to his grief.

With a deep, deliberate breath, Darcy stepped forwards and rapped upon the tall door with his bare knuckles, as the knocker was down.

A full minute later, a middle-aged man pulled the door open. He stepped into the entrance, filling it with his lanky frame, looked Darcy up and down, and said in a disdainful monotone, “Deliveries are received at the rear door.”

“I am not here with a delivery, Jeffries,” Darcy stated in the authoritative tone Elizabeth had been used to hearing. “In fact, I have had a deuce of a day—a deuce of a month, really—and I would like nothing more than a hot bath. Do you think that can be arranged?”

The astounded butler’s brows shot up in astonishment. He was clearly fumbling for words, for his mouth, though agape, could only produce stunted grunts.

“Have Barnes sent to my rooms immediately,” Darcy said with a smile, patting the bewildered man on the shoulder as he passed him into the house. “And have Mrs Bonifay show your future mistress to the yellow guest room. Were you not informed that we were coming?”

“We were indeed informed that—” Jeffries choked out, still overset by the sight of his master in such a state. He shut the front door dutifully behind Darcy and Elizabeth, gazing in wonder at the latter. “Mistress, sir?”

“Jeffries, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” Darcy told him as he sidled up to his bride-to-be and slipped a hand around her waist, “who has graciously agreed to end my suffering and become my wife.”

“How do you do?” Elizabeth said with a smile.

Jeffries bowed to her elegantly, his face a study in impassivity save for the awe she espied in his eyes.

Barnes dressed him with his usual aplomb, tugging and buttoning and straightening until not a hair was out of place. Darcy’s rest had been refreshing, though entirely too short, but he was happy to be in his own clothes again, standing before his own mirror, and enjoying the ministrations of his own faithful valet.

After brushing off his shoulders and looking him over one last time, the valet’s brows quizzed and he turned to examine Darcy’s dressing table.

“Is something wrong, Barnes?” Darcy wondered.

“It is just,” he hesitated, becoming more frenzied in his search, “I cannot find your father’s watch.”

“It was stolen. My first night in Clerkenwell,” he explained. He did not want to give in to the melancholy creeping through his veins. In a way, he had lost his mother only that morning, and now he was reminded of having lost this important piece of his father.

“Did you see Mr Wickham when he was here, Barnes?”

“I did.” The valet’s response was clipped.

“And you read the letter I sent along with him, explaining that he has been welcomed back into the fold?” Darcy asked in a tone of mild reprimand.

“I did, sir,” Barnes answered in the same unhappy manner.

“Has he not been a pleasant guest?”

“Oh, very pleasant, sir, as always,” Barnes replied with clear opprobrium. “He very pleasantly charmed Mrs Bonifay and the kitchen maids into preparing his favourite supper. He very pleasantly made himself master of the house, sitting at your desk to write letters, then sending footmen off with his correspondence. And ordering me—most pleasantly —to make him look presentable for his jaunt to Gunters this morning. He even had me dress him in your clothes, sir! I did so, but I gave him only the oldest and most worn.” Barnes huffed, obviously satisfied with his small victory.

Darcy was not surprised by this. Wickham had ever been able to get what he wanted with his handsome face and magnetic personality. And after having served in the militia all these months and then being forced to run for his life, the man probably had no clothes beyond the shabby ones Darcy had found him in; it was no wonder he wished to be well fitted out at last.

Besides, with the muscle Darcy had put on in the last month, his older jackets might not even fit anymore. The one he was wearing was rather snug in the shoulders and arms.

“I beg you will indulge me in this, Barnes,” Darcy finally said. “I owe Mr Wickham much more than a plate of beef and a fine suit. Indeed, we shall be seeing much more of him at Darcy House, I believe.”

Darcy did not say so, but he had been thinking about his old friend’s future. Might Wickham wish to be ordained after all? Rosings would need a new rector, and perhaps Wickham might be a good fit. Or if Wickham wished to live the life of the gentleman he was raised and educated to be, Darcy would be glad to throw ball after ball to find him a wealthy lady of the ton who would be only too happy to have such a charming fellow to escort her about.

Thinking of Rosings, Darcy was unsure of the legalities of the ownership of the manor. As Anne had inherited the entirety of the estate upon reaching her majority, to whom would it devolve now that she was unable to run it? Lady Catherine had certainly made it clear that she wished to combine Rosings and Pemberley upon Darcy’s supposed union with her daughter, thus giving Anne and himself some of the most valuable holdings in all of England. Had Sir Lewis made provisions for such an occurrence in his will?

If this be the case, Darcy had many decisions to make. Decisions that could wait for another time, for at this moment his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth was awaiting him in the vestibule.

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