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He broke it open. The soft centre released a trace of warmth left from the kitchen. Darcy raised one half to his mouth, hesitated, and bit into it.

Everyone had gathered at the vestry door by the time he began chewing.

His eyes widened.

Elizabeth waited for his judgement. “Well?”

He swallowed. “It has texture.”

“Most food does.”

“And warmth.”

“It was baked.”

He ate the remaining half.

The second muffin disappeared with less ceremony. By the third, Fletcher had entered the vestry and uncovered the butter, though Darcy refused to delay long enough for it to be spread. He ate the fourth while Mr Collins explained that gluttony was a sin even when newly available.

Mr Hurst leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms. “Three centuries of honour, restraint, and authority have ended in theft from a church choir.”

“I shall compensate them.” Darcy reached for the fifth muffin.

“There are twelve children.”

“There are more muffins.”

“Not for long.”

Elizabeth began laughing before the sixth. Jane covered her mouth, Charlotte surrendered after the seventh, and even Mr Bennet’s shoulders moved when Darcy seized the eighth from Fletcher before his valet could return it to the basket.

Miss Bingley watched him scatter crumbs on the embroidery of his waistcoat. “Pemberley has survived wars, poor harvests, and generations of Darcys. It may not survive the expense of feeding you.”

Darcy brushed one hand across his coat and succeeded only in spreading the crumbs. “I have not eaten for a long time, Miss Bingley.”

Mrs Hurst rested her head briefly against Mr Hurst’s shoulder. “Do you remember food?”

“Vaguely. I do not remember making such a spectacle of it,” he said.

“You were born a gentleman,” Mr Bingley reminded him.

Darcy selected a ninth muffin, but Elizabeth caught his wrist. “Enough, husband.”

He glanced at the basket, then at her hand around his newly warm skin. “But...” Darcy considered, then returned it with visible reluctance. “Mortality has acquired restrictions very quickly.”

Mr Bennet entered the vestry and took Darcy’s free wrist. He counted silently, his fingers resting over the pulse.

“Much improved. Yesterday I could have completed a chapter between beats.”

Darcy regarded him. “Is it normal?”

“It is quite rapid,” Mr Bennet said.

“Perhaps because I have undergone a transformation,” he suggested.

“You have eaten eight muffins, son.”

Jane returned to Elizabeth and examined the linen around her right palm. Only one drop had entered the bowl, but the shallow cut continued to stain the cloth. Jane cleaned it with water from the vestry basin, applied fresh linen, and bound it securely.