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She knew.

ACT II • A DAUGHTER OF MATLOCK

CHAPTER 9

A Place at the Table

Elizabeth woke to the unfamiliar luxury of silence.

For several moments she lay listening, uncertain whether she had overslept and ought to hurry downstairs before Mrs. Bennet found another reason to complain of her idleness. There were no running footsteps on the landing, no Lydia calling for a ribbon, no sharp voice demanding to know which girl had taken the last piece of toast. A clock chimed somewhere beyond her door. The fire had been coaxed back to life, and a jug of hot water stood upon the washstand.

It was only when she saw her mother's German books upon the shelves that she remembered where she was.

London. Matlock House. A room that had been prepared for her before her arrival, by people who had not been obliged to receive her at all.

She sat up and put a hand to her throat. The locket rested there, tucked beneath her nightdress. She had worn it even while sleeping, unwilling to place too much trust in a kindness that, through no fault of the Matlocks, still felt terribly new.

A soft knock came at the door.

"Come in," Elizabeth said.

The maid who entered carried a tray with a pot of chocolate and a plate of bread. She was a cheerful woman of perhaps thirty and introduced herself as Anne.

"Her ladyship thought you might prefer a quiet breakfast this morning, miss," Anne said. "But if you would rather join the family, they shall be down at nine. His lordship is always early, except when he declares that rising early is an affront to his dignity."

Elizabeth smiled despite herself. "And which opinion prevails?"

"Whichever allows him the larger breakfast, miss."

Anne spoke without the guarded curiosity Elizabeth had come to expect from servants encountering a dependent relation. She asked whether the water was warm enough, whether Elizabeth preferred the blue or the cream morning gown, and whether the fire ought to be made up further. Nothing in her manner suggested that Elizabeth must earn the right to answer.

When she was dressed, Elizabeth chose the stairs rather than the tray. If she was to live in the house, hiding in her room could hardly be considered a promising beginning.

She encountered Lord Saye on the landing, carrying a small sheaf of correspondence. He halted so abruptly that a letter slid from the top of the pile. Elizabeth stooped to retrieve it, but he reached the floor first.

"You have found the first difficulty of living among the Fitzwilliams," Saye said. "Our family papers have a habit of escaping custody."

"I had supposed estate business more obedient than this," Elizabeth said.

"Estate business? Never. A tenant who wishes to repair his roof will wait six months to tell me. A tenant who believes his neighbour's cow has trespassed will send three letters in a week."

He examined her face, although not so closely as to make her uncomfortable. "Did you sleep?"

"Very well, thank you. I confess I woke expecting to hear my cousins quarrelling over a looking glass."

"We have only one cousin who makes a habit of quarrelling with his reflection, and Darcy insists it is an unjust accusation."

Elizabeth laughed. "You will not persuade me that Mr. Darcy is vain enough to quarrel with a mirror."

"No. He would reason with it and be disappointed by the result. Richard, however, has been known to consult one before breakfast."

Richard's voice came from below them. "I heard that, Saye."

"Then you have already exceeded your usual accomplishments at this hour," his brother called back.

Breakfast proved a trial of an unexpected sort. Nobody asked Elizabeth why she had taken the good marmalade or whether the larger piece of toast ought to be reserved for a daughter of the house. Lady Matlock asked if she would like to accompany her on an errand to the bookseller. The Earl wanted to know whether she had slept soundly. Richard announced that the chessboard remained available if she felt disposed to another assault upon his character.

"You have fought enough battles this week," Saye said. "Allow her a day's peace."