Elizabeth did not press the point, for he was evidently determined to misunderstand. She comprehended why: Mrs Reynolds’s disloyalty had left an ever-lengthening shadow. She asked him, instead, to remind her of everyone’s names and was relieved to see the storm clear from his eyes somewhat as he obliged her.
They arrived late in the afternoon, and Elizabeth was touched that despite the gathering gloom, several servants had congregated at the front of the house to greet them. They looked respectable and orderly, precisely as she recalled. Matthis, the butler, introduced the first and second footmen, both of whom Elizabeth recognised, three housemaids, whom she did not, and explained that the other servants would be presented at whatever time was convenient to her.
“Where is Mrs Fairlight?” Darcy enquired.
Matthis cleared his throat in a disgruntled manner. “Unwell, sir. She arrived yesterday with a fever and…other disagreeable symptoms. I have ordered her to remain abed until she is recovered, for I would not have contagion running rampant throughout the house.”
Darcy gave no response but to scowl.
“Please tell her I hope she feels well soon,” Elizabeth said. “It cannot be pleasant to be ill in unfamiliar surroundings.”
Matthis thanked her, informed them that dinner would be in an hour, and dispatched the footmen to begin unloading the trunks. Darcy led Elizabeth inside. He was still scowling.
“I hope you are not planning to dismiss Mrs Fairlight for not clambering out of her sickbed to welcome me.”
Darcy looked at her sharply but relaxed upon meeting her gaze. He was, she was pleased to observe, learning admirably quickly to be laughed at.
“I should have preferred that she was not indisposed, but not as much as she, I am sure. Should you like to rest before dinner?”
“Unless you would prefer to rest, I should like to see some more of the house while there is still a bit of daylight left.”
Darcy agreed readily and directed her to a room beyond the stair hall, which he informed her was known as the Derwent room. “A few of the portraits from the gallery are being stored in here while the underpinning is done. I can show you my mother and fa—” He stopped speaking when the action of opening the door caused something beyond it to bang, scrape, and then smash loudly. He muttered something that sounded divertingly ill-tempered and used his shoulder to force the door more widely open. “What in blazes?”
Elizabeth followed him into what little space there was left in the room. She could not see the perimeter, but it was clearly a large space, and it was full to bursting with stack upon stack of crates. One had been toppled off its pile and was wedged, upside down, between two other stacks, its contents—what looked to have been a vase and a large quantity of books—emptied onto the floor.
Darcy closed his eyes briefly, then stepped back to the open door and called loudly for somebody to attend them. Behind him, Elizabeth quietly bent to rescue those books that had fallen with their pages open, stacking them carefully on the floor, then picked up the pieces of broken vase.
“This room was not being used for storage when I left less than a fortnight ago. Pray explain why it is now full of the contents of my library,” Darcy said severely.
Elizabeth stood up; the footman James had arrived.
“Mice got to the crates where they were before, sir. Mr Ferguson wanted them put somewhere secure until alternative storage could be arranged. We had to use the Chesterfield and Hadrian rooms, too.”
“Both?” He sighed. “So be it. Where are the portraits that were in here?”
“Still here, sir. At the far end of the room.”
Elizabeth stepped forward and handed the footman her collection of broken porcelain. “Would you see whether this can be rescued?”
He took it with a rather bemused expression and darted away. Darcy began to apologise, but Elizabeth dismissed it with a wave of her hand and edged along the nearest wall in the direction James had pointed. “This is why we are here. We knew everything was going wrong. If it were not, we would still be in Meryton, suffering the most drawn-out courtship in history with Jane and Bingley. I should much rather be here, clambering over boxes to meet your mother, than at Longbourn, listening to mine eulogise about which warehouses are best for wedding clothes. Oh! I have found your father!”
She could not see Darcy anymore, and therefore could not tell what caused the delay before he replied, but when he did, all trace of vexation was gone from his voice, and that made her smile.
“How do you know it is my father?”
“Because if it were not for the wig, I would have thought it was you.”
“Elizabeth, he was forty-two when that was painted. I am not yet thirty.”
“That is something for me to look forward to, then.”
After another pause, Darcy said, “If you are quite finished, I would show you our rooms now.”
Something in his voice made Elizabeth’s stomach flutter. She sidled back out from behind the crates towards the door. As she passed in front of Darcy, he rested his hand on her back to guide her towards the stairs. She wondered whether he knew what effect the slightest touch of his hand had upon her. Then she wondered what the touch of hers did to him. Then she became aware that she had, once again, succumbed to indelicate reveries and forced herself to stop thinking about either of their hands and pay attention to the house.
She had not been to the upper floors since Mrs Reynolds showed her around, and she could recall almost nothing of what she had seen that day. There were too many pictures, ornaments, and chandeliers to take in at once, but the overall impression was of elegance and taste, and she felt again the sense of Pemberley being a comfortable home, despite its grandeur.
Her room, when Darcy showed her into it, was somewhat less cosy—the fire was not lit, and there was a distinct chill in the air. She said nothing of it, but she could tell Darcy was displeased. He rang the bell and stood in brooding silence while she explored the space. Eventually, his summons was answered by one of the maids who had been outside before.
