CHAPTER FOUR
LADY CATHERINE’S SOUP GONE COLD
Darcy countedthe napkins and pillowcases in Lady Sophia’s linen closet, selecting the best pieces for her honored guests. How had the Master of Pemberley been reduced to reviewing pillowcases, silverware, and curtains? Mrs. Alford, the capable housekeeper, would ordinarily oversee this task, but somehow Lady Sophia had thrust this additional responsibility onto his shoulders, and, truthfully, it was penance for his past indifference to Elizabeth Bennet’s comfort.
That lack of foresight had died a messy death in a Hunsford parsonage—her scathing rejection of his majestic proposal had seen to that. He had walked into that room expecting a grateful “yes” and walked out realizing that his name, his ten thousand a year, and his carefully curated dignity meant less than nothing to her. She didn’t just dislike him; she wasn’t evenimpressedby him.
His command of the linen closet would not raise her opinion, either.
“Twelve sets of silk pillowcases,” he muttered, noting the quality while wondering how it would feel against Elizabeth’s rosy cheek.
He should have bolted for Pemberley the instant Lady Sophia mentioned a goddaughter in need of a trustee. Lady Sophia collected godchildren the way other women collected cameos and snuff boxes. He was one of the earliest specimens, living under her roof before he’d acquired Darcy House next door.
She had always delighted in bestowing trinkets—carriages, canal shares, the occasional racehorse—but never her entire estate. If he had known who her latest favorite was, he might have refused. Not that he ever could refuse her anything.
Neither could he deny this particular goddaughter.
Elizabeth had not wanted to see him, nor did she expect to. Not if she’d lived to a hundred, would she ever have suspected he would darken her doorway—and survive an attack from her terrier.
So yes, the linen was a necessity, as were all the furnishings and preparations. He would ensure her approval, for he could not bear her opinion, if she thought of him at all, to worsen.
“You have now inventoried that shelf three times,” Lady Sophia said, appearing with the stealth of a probing godmother. “Mrs. Alford has also inventoried it. The pillowcases are aware of their own existence. The house will not require a fourth accounting, Fitzwilliam. It is clean, it is aired, it is provisioned. You have engaged competent staff, secured a barouche, and will send her a traveling carriage. Even the dog has a new cushion. I believe we may declare the preparations complete.”
“I have not confirmed the outriders.”
“The outriders have been confirmed yesterday—and the day before—unless you require an entire royal procession.”
Darcy set down the inventory. “The journey is twenty-four miles. If they depart at nine?—”
“They will arrive by two at the latest, and Cook has been informed. Fitzwilliam.” Lady Sophia tapped her cane. “You arewearing a groove in the carpet that I shall have to explain to Miss Bennet when she takes possession.”
He ran his fingers through his already disheveled hair, but stilled his feet. “By then, we will have an entire horde of Bennets and the dog to accommodate. I only wished to ensure their arrival is perfect.”
“You’ve done that, and more,” she said. “I have received Miss Bennet’s reply. She will come with her sisters, Jane and Mary. Her father remains at Longbourn with Mrs. Bennet and the younger girls.”
An unacknowledged tension loosened from his chest. Relief and opportunity.
No Mrs. Bennet to launch her maternal barrage. No Lydia, who was fifteen and had all the discretion of a cannon in a cathedral. “And the terrier?”
“No mention, but I believe Nettle will insist on accompanying her mistress.” Lady Sophia tapped her cane. “Come. Georgiana has arrived, and she is attempting to arrange the Broadwood with all the concentration of a woman planning for company.”
Abandoning the linens, he escorted Lady Sophia to the music room, where he found his sister carefully arranging sheet music.
“Brother?” His sister looked up with an expression of breathless interest, which she tried to pass off as casual. “Three young ladies are to be our neighbors? And one of them is musical?”
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Mary,” Lady Sophia confirmed. “You will meet them shortly, and yes, Miss Mary plays, I am told.”
Georgiana’s face brightened with hope. She was sixteen and had no friends her age in London. The debutantes daunted her with their polished ease. The accomplished young ladies with their brittle laughter and competitive pianoforte performancesterrified her more. And she was, thankfully, not out yet, so Darcy was not required to fend off suitors and fortune hunters.
“Perhaps she might like to try the Broadwood,” Georgiana said. “It has a lovely action.”
“I think she would like it very much.” Lady Sophia’s smile beamed, because it delighted his godmother to bestow happiness on her “young people.”
Darcy was wondering whether Elizabeth would try a hand at the pianoforte when Lady Sophia’s butler, Stilton, appeared at the doorway.
“Madam, Mr. Darcy’s aunt and cousin, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Miss de Bourgh, have arrived. They called first at Mr. Darcy’s residence, and have been admitted here into the drawing room.”
Darcy winced at the impropriety. Then again, Lady Catherine and Lady Sophia had warred over his late mother’s affection since childhood, and no, Lady Catherine would not wait, because when she arrived, she expected the household, even the one adjoining, to organize itself around her presence.
