The group paused by the stone bench where his grandmother had often sat with her roses, Elizabeth gesturing expressively as she spoke. Georgiana’s delighted laughter rang out, followed by Bingley’s enthusiastic response.
Darcy reined his horse toward the stables. He would not give them the amusement of a dramatic entrance. Let them have their garden party. Let Bingley play the gallant suitor to his heart’s content. Darcy would approach this situation with the samemethodical precision that had guided every significant decision of his adult life.
After handing Maximus to a groom, he entered through a side door, intent on finding Mrs. Reynolds. The housekeeper would have information about the household’s activities during his absence—particularly anything involving Elizabeth and his sister.
Darcy found her in the gallery, supervising the polishing of silver picture frames.
“Mr. Darcy.” She curtsied promptly, dismissing the maids with a subtle gesture. “We did not expect you back until dinner.”
“My business concluded earlier than anticipated.” He clasped his hands behind his back, a habit that steadied him when his thoughts threatened disorder. “I see we have quite the gathering in the garden.”
“Indeed, sir. Miss Georgiana suggested showing Miss Bennet the south gardens this morning. The Bingleys joined them after lunch.”
“Have there been any other… activities I should know about?”
Mrs. Reynolds hesitated, a flicker of discomfort crossing her usually composed features. “Miss Bennet has been… curious about the estate, sir. Particularly its history.”
“What sort of curiosity?” Darcy kept his tone neutral, though his spine stiffened.
“She and Miss Georgiana spent the morning speaking with some of the older servants, sir.” The housekeeper’s tone grew cautious. “About Rose Cottage, and the unfortunate events of twenty years ago.”
A cold weight settled in Darcy’s chest. “They questioned the servants about my uncle’s death?”
“Primarily, Molly and Mrs. Winters, sir. Both were here during that time.”
“And what, precisely, did these servants tell them?”
Mrs. Reynolds clasped her hands at her waist, a gesture that mirrored his own attempt at composure. “Molly’s memory is notwhat it was, sir. She spoke of… inconsistencies regarding what was found after the fire.”
“What inconsistencies?” Darcy stepped closer, his voice dropping to ensure privacy.
“She mentioned that only two bodies were recovered, sir. And Mrs. Winters…” Mrs. Reynolds hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.
“Continue.”
“Mrs. Winters has always maintained her own theories about that night, sir. Rather fanciful notions about your uncle and his family escaping.”
Darcy’s pulse quickened. These were precisely the details he had uncovered through his own inquiries, yet hearing that Elizabeth had accessed the same information changed everything. If she were calculating enough to seek corroboration from long-serving staff, her strategy was more sophisticated than he had credited.
“Did they speak with anyone else?”
“Myself, briefly.” Mrs. Reynolds met his gaze steadily. “I advised caution, sir. Some questions are better left unasked, particularly when those who might answer have kept silent for twenty years.”
“Indeed.” Darcy weighed his next words carefully. “And Miss Bennet’s reaction to these… stories?”
“She was most affected, sir. Particularly by the family portrait.” Mrs. Reynolds’ expression softened slightly. “The resemblance is rather striking.”
“That proves nothing,” Darcy said sharply. “She is Rose Bennet’s acknowledged niece. Family resemblance is to be expected.”
“Of course, sir.” Mrs. Reynolds’ neutral tone conveyed neither agreement nor disagreement—the perfect servant’s response. “Later, I saw Miss Darcy take her to the stables to speak to the ostlers. I suspect they asked about Mrs. Wickham’s movements after the fire.”
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention,” he said with deadly quiet. “I shall address the matter immediately.”
Mrs. Reynolds nodded, her expression sympathetic. “If I may sayso, sir, the young ladies seemed quite determined in their purposes. Miss Bennet, in particular, struck me as someone accustomed to pursuing her objectives despite… obstacles.”
Darcy could have kicked himself. He should have told Mr. Hodge to keep his theories to himself. Young gentlewomen should not be gallivanting around stable boys.
“Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. That will be all.” He dismissed the loyal housekeeper and stormed from the gallery to the garden door. The sound of conversation and laughter grew louder as he approached, and he could distinguish Elizabeth’s voice among the others, warm with amusement at a comment of Bingley’s.
