He narrowed his eyes.Thatwas easy enough to investigate. Perhaps he might stop by her brother’s cottage outside of Weston, just to… enquire after his health.
Pemberley
Darcywasstillonhis balcony when he heard his valet enter the bedchamber just before dawn. He had spent the night there, grateful for the portico that shielded him from the weather. He jumped from his chair, somewhat embarrassed at dragging half the bed coverings out of doors.
Wilson found him almost at once, but his expression was perfect professional neutrality. “Good morning, Mr Darcy. I trust you rested well?”
“Yes, thank you.” He held a blanket in his hand still, and Wilson patiently offered to take it from him.
“Would you like your shave now, sir?”
Darcy felt of his chin. Yes, he would very much like the clean, fresh feeling of a shave. Never in his life had he tolerated even a shadow to besmirch his jaw, but there was a certain comfort—an anonymity, perhaps—in the unsightly thatch he had cultivated. Elizabeth had not made any objections to it yet, and if she did not mind, perhaps there was no great rush. “I think just a trim.”
Wilson, good man that he was, refrained from grimacing. “Very good, sir.”
In a moment, Darcy was seated in the chair that he had used to occupy every single morning of his adult life. His paper was at his right hand, and a fresh hot towel draped about his neck. Just as if the last months had never happened. Darcy waited for Wilson to turn round, then tugged the stifling towel a little lower, away from his face.
He watched Wilson silently, observing with care all the little things he had once taken for granted. Details so simple as the rich bowl of shaving cream, the polished water kettle, the lavish basin without crack or chip, were all almost foreign to him now, despite his intimate familiarity with them. Wilson lifted the gleaming scissors, the rays through the window dancing off their brilliant surface, and Darcy’s heart stopped.
“No!” he jerked to his feet and yanked the towel from about his neck to throw it far away from himself. He stood trembling, his chest heaving.
Wilson was still standing by the chair, his mouth agape in astonishment and the scissors still poised in his hand. Darcy drew breath to apologise, but released it in futility. He merely shook his head and turned to the window. A few moments later, he could hear Wilson putting away the shaving items and discarding the water.
“Do you wish to dress now, sir?”
Darcy glanced back, almost looking over his shoulder but not quite. “No,” he replied in a low voice. “I shall call for you if you are needed.”
He heard Wilson draw a sharp breath, then answer with his typical, “Very good, sir.” The door closed softly, and Darcy was left alone with clenched fists, his breath fogging the glass of the window. He could bear its confines no longer, and he walked back out to his balcony. Leaning over it, he drank in the fresh, cool air and struggled for at least two or three calm breaths.
How was a man who had been wrenched from life to go on with it? Was he truly expected to simply step back into the world he had left? It seemed there must be some ritual to observe, some formal recognition to his reclaimed status as a living man.
Unfortunately, that notion raised its own dilemmas. At the moment, the only ceremony he thought he could endure was the one that would make Elizabeth his own, and that only because hers would then be the last face he saw each evening, and the first one to wake him each morning. It would be her hands that might soothe over his hammering chest, her voice that would comfort him when the fears pressed upon him. He smiled—and if she were very generous, she might not even object to helping him into his coat and breeches, rather than requiring his valet’s services.
Nowthatwas an interesting prospect. He was starting to relax just a little, as pleasant visions of Elizabeth, instead of Wilson, struggling with his close-fitting attire roused his sleep-deprived mind to wakefulness. He felt his previous tension draining, and an entirely new energy was trickling into his body. Yes, in just a few more moments, he would be enough at peace to resume his morning preparations, and then he would see her. And he would ask her for a quiet moment….
“Darcy, by thunder, I was starting to think you had been carried off again!”
A jolt shot through Darcy’s arms, making his hands clench and his shoulders bunch for combat. He forced a few deep breaths and turned round. “Richard? What are you doing back here?”
Richard strolled easily out onto the balcony, his eyes sweeping over Darcy’s appearance. “I found something—or, rather, someone. But before I tell you more, why the devil are you not dressed? Has your valet forgotten how to shave you? Egad, but you look a fright.”
Darcy eyed his cousin’s approach warily. Richard seemed all ready cheer, but there was a tension in his shoulders Darcy knew all too well. Something had Richard agitated, and he supposed that it was himself. Why would it not be?
Richard drew close, apparently unperturbed that Darcy had not answered his questions about his personal regimen. Once by his side, however, his smile faded and concern lined his eyes. In a somewhat softer voice he asked, “Darcy, are you well?”
Darcy looked back to the rolling fields, his jaw working. “Well enough,” he returned quietly. He clutched the stone railing and breathed somewhat more easily when Richard also diverted his gaze in that direction, and a silent moment of contemplation passed. At last, he asked, “What brings you back, Richard?”
“Well, you are not the only member of our family concerned about some of the recent doings. I decided to look into some matters on my own.”
“And?”
Richard cocked his fist at his belt with a satisfied grin. “It turns out that some very unlikely individuals have found one another.”
Darcy sighed. “Your ability to keep me in suspense has not diminished, but I am not in the mood.”
“Darcy! You are disappointing my fun. Can you not think of anything that would drag me out of my bed in the wee hours, then back an hour out of my way to beard the lion—that’s you, old boy—and all before my breakfast? Think back to the night you arrived! Did you not have some lingering questions to answer?”
Darcy turned. “If you intend to cast my doubt upon Miss Bennet’s character, you may save your breath. I have confidence in her honour, and will thank you to let the matter rest.”
