That, apparently, was the extent of his commitment.
The search began. Elizabeth moved to the tall cabinet, opening drawers one by one, while Darcy knelt to examine the lower compartments. Now and then their hands brushed over the same handle, sending a faint, unwelcome awareness humming through her fingertips.
“Your family’s records are thorough,” Darcy remarked, straightening with a sheaf of yellowed correspondence.
“My father’s predecessors were rather more industrious than he in such matters,” Elizabeth replied, lowering herself to her knees beside him to check the next drawer. “Though in fairness, they did not have Lydia to distract them.”
Darcy’s brief laugh was low and almost reluctant, but it warmed her nonetheless.
At last, after more than half an hour’s work, Elizabeth drew out a long, tightly rolled bundle tied with faded ribbon. She untied it and spread the papers across the desk.
The plans were drawn in a precise, elegant hand—ink lines softened now by time, corners curling. They traced the shape of the house as it now stood, but also contained faint notations in the margin: alterations, additions, and in one place a lightly sketched rectangle that appeared to have been crossed out entirely.
“Here,” Elizabeth said, pointing. “This wing—look at the oddness of the corridor.”
Darcy leaned in, his shoulder nearly brushing hers. “And here,” he murmured, indicating the shaded block where no rooms were marked. “It appears to have been closed off entirely. This could well be your servants’ quarters. This must be where the new house meets with the old.”
She felt a small shiver—whether from the nearness of his voice or the implication of the drawing, she could not be certain.
Mr. Bennet watched it all with a keen eye, standing and coming forward to take a look. "You are correct, Mr. Darcy." He took off his spectacles and cleanedthem with a handkerchief. "I ought to have been more engaged from the beginning. You have my heartfelt apologies."
"It is never too late to begin again, sir." Mr. Darcy nodded in acceptance.
From across the room, Mr. Bingley called, “What have you found? Treasure? Secret staircases?”
“Not yet,” Elizabeth answered, carefully rolling the papers again. “But perhaps the ghost has a more practical hiding place than the attics.”
“It will have to wait,” Darcy said quietly. “It is already late, and you have preparations for the ball. We should search after Netherfield—when the household is settled and you can spare the time.”
Elizabeth hesitated, but nodded. “After the ball, then.”
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Bennet nodded in agreement.
"We shall have to defy your mother's edict to forgo a search." Mr. Bennet's wry humor felt ill placed and Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She knew her father often fell to such things to ease his own anxieties.
Darcy’s eyes met hers, steady and searching, as though the agreement bound them to more than the mere opening of a locked door.
Darcy helped her re-tie the ribbon around the plans, his fingers brushing hers in a way that was no accident of clumsiness.
“Keep these safe,” he said, his tone low enough that only she could hear. “Do not let them out of your possession.”
Elizabeth slipped the roll into the crook of her arm, feeling the crisp edges of the parchment against her sleeve. “I am quite capable of guarding a few sheets of paper, Mr. Darcy.”
“I have no doubt.” His lips curved just slightly, but the expression did not quite reach his eyes. “It is not the papers for who I am concerned.”
Her breath caught—not from fear, but from the steady weight of his regard. She looked away first, turning towards the window where Mr. Bingley was admiring the way the late sun lit the orchard after the rain.
“It is a fine thing,” he said cheerfully, crossing the room to join them. “The air smells fresh enough to be spring again. I should like to see the gardens tomorrow—if I may impose.”
“You are welcome, of course,” Elizabeth replied, grateful for his easy intrusion.
Darcy straightened, collecting his gloves from the desk. “If you wish it, we can examine the eastern exterior then. The plans will be more easily compared to the outside once theground is firm.”
“That would be sensible,” Elizabeth agreed, though her heart gave an odd little leap at the thought of another search in his company.
Mr. Bingley was already moving towards the door. “I had best see that the horses are not chilled. My sister will scold me for bringing them out in such damp air.”
As they stepped into the hall, Darcy lingered a moment, allowing his friend to pass ahead. “Elizabeth,” he said softly, “I am glad your father sent for me. It is better to have certainty than to live with shadows.”
