“That was his original intention, madam, but—has no one informed you? He is returning today.”
“Today? With the whole party? No, I assure you I was not informed. Nothing is ready!”
“No, not the whole party—just him. I managed to arrange a meeting with the architect from York at the last minute. Mr Darcy is riding ahead of the rest of the party to join us.”
“I see.” In a tight voice, she added, “It would have been helpful to know this yesterday. Chef has nothing planned.”
Mr Ferguson gave a slight, conciliating smile. “No preparations are necessary, Mrs Reynolds. Mr Darcy has accepted an invitation to dine with Mrs Ferguson and me this evening.” He glanced at his fob watch. “I am expecting Mr Jacobs in the next hour. Would you have him sent to the estate office when he arrives?”
Mrs Reynolds inclined her head, waited for him to go, then let out a heavy sigh. She supposed there were no repercussions of any great import, other than that Pemberley was not in the state of refined tranquillity it ought to be whenever the master was in residence. Nevertheless, she wished she had been given enough notice to clear the house of servants before his arrival. Indeed, she would have set off directly to see to it except, without warning, the master himself burst through the front doors.
So sudden was his appearance that Mrs Reynolds let out a cry of surprise, though Mr Darcy seemed not to notice. Indeed, he seemed not to have seen her at all, or James, whom he strode directly past before coming to an abrupt halt in the middle of the hall. There he remained, staring at the floor, his countenance a picture of confusion and his erratic breathing indicative of some vast agitation.
The possibility of his being unwell or having suffered some manner of misadventure on his journey was uppermost in Mrs Reynolds’s mind. She watched him carefully as she expressed her pleasure to see him returned home safely. He only nodded absent-mindedly in her direction and glanced briefly over his shoulder at the doors before returning to frowning at the floor in front of him.
Mrs Reynolds shared a concerned look with James, then ventured, “Mr Ferguson has only this moment informed me of your early arrival, sir. I beg you would forgive the maids still being at their work in some of the rooms. They ought to be finished very soon.”
“Think nothing of it,” he muttered, wholly distracted. He cast another pensive look at the doors.
As discreetly as she could, Mrs Reynolds looked also, but she could see nothing out of the ordinary through the glazing, and James confirmed the absence of anything unusual with a shake of his head. A sudden apprehension beset her. “Are you expecting anybody, sir? Mr Ferguson said the rest of your party are still coming tomorrow. I trust that is correct?”
He did not answer at all this time.
“Miss Darcy?” she pressed gently. “Ought we to expect her this afternoon also?”
“Pardon? Oh—no. My sister is coming with the others tomorrow as planned.”
She nodded and waited for him to say more, but he did not. Instead, he began fidgeting with his fob watch. Mrs Reynolds’s alarm increased; the master was not given to inattention, and she could not recall ever seeing him fidget, even as a boy. She cleared her throat and enquired cautiously, “Was your journey eventful, Mr Darcy?”
“No. Thank you. I…” He did not finish and turned fully away from her to stare out of the front windows into the park. Mrs Reynolds wondered whether he would go back out, but though he tapped his fingers against his thigh in a restless manner, he remained where he was.
“Mr Ferguson waits upon you in the estate office, sir,” Mrs Reynolds said at length.
Mr Darcy started as though he had forgotten anyone else was present. He thanked her in a voice utterly devoid of his usual sedateness and, after a quiet but observably measured exhalation, walked in that direction. So perturbed was she by his behaviour that Mrs Reynolds accompanied him—and she was no less perturbed when he did not object.
The steward came to his feet when they entered the office. “Mr Darcy. I thank you for returning early. I did not think you would wish to miss Mr Jacobs, and he is obliged to return to York tomorrow.”
The master looked around the room. “Where is he?”
“I expect him within the hour. Should you like to inspect the east wall before he arrives?”
Mr Darcy looked intently at the plans laid out on the table. The moment stretched into an uncomfortable silence. Then abruptly, he said, “No. I have something I must attend to first,” and left the room.
Mr Ferguson was a steady, sensible man in his late forties, who was respected by all who knew him for his mild temper and practical mind. Mrs Reynolds had rarely seen him vexed. Yet even he raised an eyebrow at this. “Do you know where he is going?”
“I do not, and if you will pardon my saying so, sir, he seemed…troubled.”
“Yes, well, this problem is troubling us all, Mrs Reynolds. It requires his attention.”
“I am sure he will be back before Mr Jacobs arrives. He has come this far at your summons—he is not likely to miss the meeting now.”
“Let us hope not.” The steward sat back down and turned his attention to his plans.
Taking it for a dismissal, Mrs Reynolds left him and set out to determine how much work had been lost to the afternoon’s interruption. She could not be easy. Something was amiss with the master, and though it was not her place to pry, she prayed it was nothing serious. She did not, as she often heard it whispered amongst the other servants, regard Mr Darcy as the child she never had—she was too far removed, and he far too much the master, for such whimsical fancies. Nevertheless, she was devoted to him and did not like to see him in such a state of disquiet as he had appeared moments ago. She did not like it at all.
CHAPTERTHREE
PLAGUED WITH QUESTIONS
