Darcy and Bingley exchanged a quick glance before Bingley gathered himself enough to nod. “Indeed, very pleasant,” Bingley replied, easing the words out with his usual charm. “Actually, we… we came with a purpose, though it feels rather forward now. We hoped to inquire about leasing Netherfield for a time.”
“Leasing it?” Sir Thomas’s expression shifted for the briefest moment—something uncomfortable flickered there, but he quickly recovered. “Ah. I see. Yes… yes, that is indeed the purpose my agent set forth.”
Bingley gave a quick, awkward smile. “Well, yes. I hope you don’t find it too presumptuous. We simply wished to see the property ourselves and, if suitable, to arrange some terms.”
“Not at all, Mr. Bingley,” Sir Thomas replied, though his tone was a touch graver than before. “In fact, I should be quite pleased if Netherfield found such occupants.” He glanced away, as though contemplating something beyond the room. “It… appears that managing the estate is somewhat beyond what I had anticipated when I acquired it. Bath suited me well enough for a time, but, as they say, a man sometimes feels the pull of the country.”
“When did you come to Hertfordshire, sir?” Darcy asked, noting the pensive cast to Sir Thomas’s features. “I recall you once mentioned a preference for the life in Bath.”
“Ah, yes.” Sir Thomas gave a half-hearted smile, his eyes clouded as he looked toward the tall windows, where the last of the evening’s light had faded. “It was about five years ago. I was taken by a notion, perhaps a foolish one, that I might… er… make something of it. But I did not foresee all the… particulars of managing such an estate. Bath was, indeed, simpler.”
Bingley shifted, a flicker of sympathy crossing his face. “So, it has proved more of an undertaking than expected?”
“Yes, you could say that,” Sir Thomas admitted, his tone carrying a subtle but unmistakable note of regret. “One takes a fancy to certain prospects, you understand, and… Well. Perhaps we shall discuss the details later.” He paused, then his expression brightened again, as if determined to set aside any concerns. “You both look in need of rest after such a journey. Let me have you shown to some rooms. I cannot think of anything less hospitable than letting you return to Meryton in the dark to suffer a night at that drafty old inn.”
Darcy opened his mouth to protest, but Sir Thomas raised a hand, his voice warm and final. “Come now, Mr. Darcy. It would please me beyond measure to be your host. Think of it as a small token of my pleasure at renewing a previous acquaintance, if you will. Daniels?”
Darcy and Bingley both turned as Daniels, the footman who had let them in, stepped back into the drawing room. But he was not alone, for just outside the open door, a maid was hovering, her expression troubled. She appeared to have been speaking with Daniels in hushed tones, and she quickly fell silent as he straightened and turned his attention to Sir Thomas.
“Roberts,” Sir Thomas said, nodding at Darcy and Bingley, “see to it that Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley’s trunks are brought up by some of the others. They shall stay with us tonight.”
Roberts inclined his head with almost military formality. “Of course, sir.”
Sir Thomas then turned to the maid with a gentle smile. “Miss Flora, would you arrange to have tea sent up to their rooms, and perhaps a light supper if the kitchen has anything ready?”
The maid nodded as her eyes shifted uncertainly to Darcy and Bingley. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
Sir Thomas turned back to them with a smile that, though polite, seemed faintly wistful. “My people here will ensure you are well looked after. And I should be honored to show you over the house myself in the morning. Rest well, my friends.” With that, he inclined his head in a farewell bow and slipped quietly from the room.
Darcy and Bingley watched him go, glancing curiously at each other until Roberts spoke again.
“If you would follow me, gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward the hall. Darcy’s gaze trailed to the doorway where “Miss Flora” had been, but she had already disappeared, leaving only Daniels waiting for them. As they ascended the stairs, Darcy noted the quiet, almost reverent stillness in the house, and an uneasy feeling settled in his chest.
Bingley, however, appeared unfazed, leaning close to Darcy as they climbed the stairs. “How very peculiar! I’d no idea of blundering into Sir Thomas’s house. What luck, eh, Darcy?”
Darcy only tightened his jaw as they followed the footman. At the top of the stairs, they followed the man down the corridor, passing several closed doors. Darcy’s eye snagged on one that had a ribbon tied to the handle. He thought it odd at first, but two doors later, he saw another. What could be the meaning of that? He glanced over his shoulder at Bingley, whose eye was roving the ceiling beams and carpet and nearly everything but the odd little ribbons on the doors.
“These will be your rooms, sir,” Roberts said, pausing before an open door. “The sitting room is for your private use, and there is a bedroom on either side. The maids will be here soon with tea, and I will see that your trunks are brought up directly.”
Darcy nodded. “Thank you.”
Roberts bowed shortly and left them. Bingley turned to watch the man go, then looked back at Darcy with his brow quirked. “Odd. I do not think he is quite a proper footman, is he?”
Darcy shook his head and wandered into the sitting room, motioning for Bingley to close the door behind him. “No. Polite enough, but perhaps he is… new.” His gaze swept the room—soaring windows that might have done Pemberley proud, covered by drapes at least a decade out of fashion but still quite serviceable. The furnishings were of a similar style—outmoded, perhaps, but solid.
Bingley was wandering the room with a similar fascination, looking about at everything. He swept his hand over an old mahogany writing desk, and, as was his wont, could not pass by without tugging open the drawer. However, instead of the usual pens, sealing wax, and pounce pots contained in most desk drawers, he plucked out a roll of linen bandaging strips.
He held it up to show Darcy, his brow furrowed in confusion. “How very singular.”
Darcy frowned and drew closer. “Indeed.”
“Well,” Bingley murmured, casting another glance about the room, “our first night at Netherfield, and I daresay it already feels as though we have entered something… intriguing.”
Darcy cast a wary glance at his friend. “Intriguing? I would use a different word, Bingley.”
“Oh? What word might that be?”
Darcy shook his head, but his frown deepened. “Unsettling, perhaps.”
