Chapter XXI #2
“Go in without me. I shall join you presently.”
Georgiana looked at him curiously but asked no questions. Lydia, whose attention was already occupied by the prospect of dinner, merely nodded.
Once the young ladies had disappeared into the room, Darcy turned and made his way towards the servants’ side of the house.
He found Mrs. Barnes in conversation with a footman concerning the following day’s arrangements.
“Mrs. Barnes.”
The housekeeper turned immediately. “Mr. Darcy.”
“I should be obliged if you would ensure that the principal rooms are thoroughly attended to in the morning.”
She looked mildly surprised. “Certainly, sir.”
“The drawing room, the parlour, and the winter garden in particular.”
“Of course.”
Darcy nodded. That ought to have concluded the matter. Instead, after a brief hesitation, he added, “We are expecting visitors.”
Mrs. Barnes waited.
“Two ladies.”
The explanation sounded strangely inadequate even to his own ears.
“I see, sir.”
“Nothing elaborate is required. Only that everything should be in proper order.”
“Naturally.”
Darcy inclined his head and turned to go. After three steps, he stopped again.
Mrs. Barnes, who had known him since childhood, remained wisely silent.
“Could flowers be brought into the hall tomorrow morning?”
“Flowers, sir?”
“Yes. Fresh ones.”
“Very good, sir.”
He frowned slightly. “The parlour as well.”
“Of course.”
Again, he began to leave. Again, he stopped.
Mrs. Barnes lowered her eyes with admirable discipline.
“And perhaps ask Cook to prepare something suitable for midday refreshments.”
“What would you wish, sir?”
“I leave that to Cook’s judgement.” He considered. “A cake, perhaps.”
“A cake.”
“Something special. By noon.”
Mrs. Barnes’ expression remained perfectly composed. “Certainly, Mr. Darcy.”
Apparently satisfied at last, Darcy turned and left.
Mrs. Barnes listened to his retreating footsteps until they disappeared. Then she stood very still for a moment.
A nearby maid looked up curiously. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”
“Not at all.” Mrs. Barnes’ lips twitched. “It is merely that I recently received a letter from Mrs. Reynolds of Pemberley.”
The maid blinked.
“From my counterpart in Derbyshire.”
“Oh.” The maid appeared relieved.
Mrs. Barnes folded her hands. According to her, shortly before a certain young lady visited Pemberley, Mr. Darcy requested fresh flowers in several rooms, additional attention to the principal apartments, and rather more refreshments than usual.
Mrs. Barnes resumed her duties.
Nevertheless, she could not help reflecting that for a gentleman who rarely noticed flowers at all, Mr. Darcy had developed a remarkably sudden interest in them. She decided to attend to the winter garden herself. She was sure to have a good look at the ladies arriving.
***
By the time Darcy finally entered his study after Georgiana and Lydia retired, the house had settled into its usual quiet.
A fire burned low in the grate. Several candles illuminated the desk, upon which rested an accumulation of correspondence that had been awaiting his attention for days.
Darcy regarded it with resignation.
No matter how eventful life became, letters possessed an extraordinary talent for multiplying.
Taking his seat, he began sorting through them.
The first thing he sought was the latest report from the man Colonel Fitzwilliam had employed to assist in locating Wickham. Unfortunately, it contained little of value. Several names had been investigated, two promising leads had come to nothing, and Wickham himself remained as elusive as ever.
Darcy set the report aside with a frown.
The next letters proved less urgent. There were invitations to two dinners, a musicale, and an evening card party. Under ordinary circumstances, he might have accepted one or two of them. At present, he declined them all without hesitation.
A further letter was from his cousin, Viscount Phillip Fitzwilliam, and was immediately set aside for later consideration. Experience had taught him that any communication from Phillip generally contained either an excellent idea or a thoroughly alarming one, and occasionally both at once.
Gradually, the pile diminished. Several required replies. Others were of no consequence at all.
At length, he reached a small bundle that had been forwarded from Pemberley. Darcy untied the ribbon.
His attention immediately settled upon a single envelope.
He frowned. The handwriting was feminine.
He turned the letter over. Longbourn, Hertfordshire.
He simply stared. The room seemed strangely still. Suddenly, the remaining correspondence upon the desk no longer appeared of the slightest importance.
His hands were shaking all of a sudden. His pulse quickened. This letter came from Pemberley.
Very carefully, he broke the seal.
The fire crackled softly in the silence. Outside, somewhere beyond the windows, a carriage rattled along the street. Darcy heard neither.
Only hours earlier, he had stood in the same room with her, and tomorrow she would be under his roof.
And yet here was a letter.
The first line met his eyes. And at once the remainder of the evening ceased to exist.