She descended the stairs to find her mother pacing the morning room, wringing her hands in her characteristic manner. A wicker basket sat on the side table, covered with a clean linen cloth.
“There you are,” Lady Hartford declared. “I need you to take this basket to the steward’s cottage immediately. Your father just finished with the new steward. He wishes you do deliver some provisions to welcome Mr Darcy properly—cold mutton, fresh bread, a pot of Mrs Jenkins’s preserves.”
Elizabeth eyed the basket with barely concealed reluctance. “Could one of the maids not perform this errand, Mama? I was planning to take a walk, and I am hardly dressed for formal calls.”
Indeed, her morning dress of simple blue muslin was perfectly suitable for correspondence and family company, but rather plain for meeting strangers. The recent rain had left the paths muddy, and she had no desire to appear before their new steward looking like a vagabond.
“Your father specifically requested that it be delivered it personally,” Lady Hartford replied. “He wishes to make a good impression, and what better way than to send his most accomplished daughter with proper welcome gifts?”
Elizabeth suspected at once that he had tasked his wife with this errand and it was being passed along because she did not wish to do it. However, she knew she could not call her mother out on the matter. “Jane is the eldest—”
“Jane has delicate constitution and should not be walking about in damp air. Besides, you are less likely to be tongue-tied in conversation with a stranger.”
Elizabeth recognised defeat when she saw it. Her mother had clearly made up her mind, and further argument would only prolong the inevitable. “Very well. But I shall not linger for an extended conversation.”
“Of course not,” Lady Hartford agreed, though her tone suggested she rather hoped Elizabeth would do precisely that. “Simply deliver the basket with our compliments and perhaps enquire whether he requires anything else for his comfort.”
Elizabeth lifted the basket, testing its weight. Substantial, but manageable. The linen covering was secured with a pretty blue ribbon that matched her dress—a coincidence that made her suspect her mother’s planning had been more elaborate than she let on.
“I shall return shortly,” she promised, making her way towards the side entrance that led most directly to the cottage.
The recent rain had left the paths treacherous, and Elizabeth picked her way across the courtyard, grateful for her sturdy half-boots but rueful about the inevitable mud that would cling to her hem.
The steward’s cottage looked welcoming despite the grey sky. Smoke was rising from its chimney and warm light was visible through the clean windows. As she approached, Elizabethcould see movement within—their new steward settling into his quarters, no doubt.
She paused at the blue-painted door, suddenly uncertain. What did one say to a steward? Her previous interactions with Percival had been limited to polite greetings when their paths crossed, but he had been an elderly man content with such minimal acknowledgment.
Mr Darcy was clearly a different sort of person entirely.
Elizabeth knocked on the door, straightening her shoulders as footsteps approached from within.
The door opened to reveal their new steward, and she had to admit Lydia’s assessment had been accurate. Mr Darcy was indeed handsome—tall and well-formed, with dark hair and striking eyes that regarded her with polite attention. His shirt sleeves were rolled up from unpacking, and she could see books and papers scattered across the cottage’s main table.
“Yes?” he enquired, his tone businesslike. She had hoped Sarah might open the door. She had been sent to look after the steward’s house but it appeared she was out.
Elizabeth lifted the basket slightly. “I’ve brought this from the kitchen, sir. Welcome provisions from the family.”
“Ah, excellent. You may leave it on the table there.” He stepped aside, gesturing curtly towards the interior.
Elizabeth blinked at his dismissive tone but complied, setting the basket down carefully beside his belongings. She had expected perhaps a few words of gratitude, some enquiry about the family’s comfort, the usual courtesies exchanged between family members and steward. Then it came to her. She hadn’t introduced herself. He didn’t know who she was. She glanceddown at her attire, the hem of her simple dress was now soiled, and her half boots were splashed with mud. Rather than a lady of good breeding she looked more like a servant.
Was that what he thought she was? A maid? She decided not to correct him at once. She placed the basket down where indicated, then turned. He looked her up and down, assessing her appearance in a way that made her rather warm under the collar.
“You ought to change when you return to the house,” he suggested. The warmth departed at once, as though he had dumped freezing water on her. “It’s unseemly to be seen with dirty skirts. Standards must be maintained, even amongst the staff.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose at this presumptuous advice. “I shall take that under advisement,” she replied crisply.
“The household reputation reflects upon all of us,” he continued, apparently feeling the need to explain his position. “Proper deportment from everyone is essential to maintaining the family’s standing.”
Elizabeth said nothing, merely watching as he examined the basket’s contents with professional interest. His hands moved efficiently through the offerings—cold mutton, fresh bread, preserves carefully wrapped in clean linen.
After a moment, he selected a small jar of apricot jam, holding it out towards her. “Please, take this as a small token of appreciation. I realise I may have sounded rather stern—it’s simply important to establish proper standards from the outset.”
Their fingers brushed briefly as she accepted the jar, and she wondered if he might notice that her gloves were of arather high quality, given he presumed her a servant. Alas, if he noticed, he did not say.
“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied with terse politeness, tucking the jam into her basket. “Good day, sir.”
She departed without further ceremony.
