Darcy had written hissister’s name three times before he allowed himself to continue.
My dear Georgiana,
He paused, pen hovering. Brutus lay at his feet, chin on his paws, eyes half-lidded but alert enough to register the slightest shift of movement. The library windows stood open to the afternoon; voices drifted faintly from elsewhere in the house, the murmur of activity that Netherfield never quite escaped.
I hope this letter finds you in good health and spirits. I trust Pemberley remains much as I left it, and that you have not been overburdened by visitors or correspondence in my absence.
That would do for civility. He read it once, then continued, more cautiously.
I write to ask after a matter which has occurred to me of late, and upon which I find my own recollection insufficient. Do you remember, among Father’s books, a small volume kept apart from the others—bound plainly, without title upon the spine?
He stopped. The phrasing felt clumsy. Too abrupt.
He crossed outkept apartand rewrote the line above it.
a volume he did not often bring out, but which you may recall seeing inside the cabinet in the drawing-room.
The pen dragged slightly at the curve of the dash. Darcy set it down and pressed his fingers to his brow.
The door opened without knock or permission. “Oh, Mr Darcy, there you are!”
Miss Bingley entered as though she had been expected, though he had not summoned her. She carried a folded paper and an air of decision.
“I wondered where you had gone. Mrs Nicholls has settled the matter of the menu, and Sir William has been most obliging about a referral for the musicians. Though I do hope that one flutist we had the dubious pleasure of hearing at the Assembly will find himself indisposed for the occasion. We must decide whether the supper will be laid in two courses or three.”
“I am occupied,” Darcy said, without looking up.
“Oh, yes, but this will only take a moment. Now, I understand the, ah… thelocalsare still quite satisfied with two courses, but I fancy three, in the French style. It has become quite the fashion in London, of course, but shall the provincials of Meryton think us unpatriotic?”
“Have two, then.”
“Two! I daresay Netherfield can bear the expense of a lavish party, Mr Darcy!”
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving his letter. “Then amuse yourself by having a third. I must beg your pardon, Miss Bingley.” He dipped his pen again.
If it is still there, I should be obliged if you would send it to me. But not to Netherfield, as I anticipate I shall stop in London some while this Season.
That was too much. He struck throughobligedand replaced it withglad.
Miss Bingley glanced at the page. “Writing to Miss Darcy?”
“Yes.”
“How conscientious of you.” She moved closer, peering with open curiosity. “I hope you are not alarming your sister with tales of militia officers and provincial excitements.”
He angled the paper away. “I am not.”
“Good. Dear Georgiana is far too sensible to be troubled with unnecessary speculations.”
The word struck too close.
Darcy’s jaw tightened. He continued writing, his hand firmer now.
You need not trouble yourself to search for it if it is no longer at hand. I ask only because a reference was made recently that put me in mind of it, and I find I dislike not knowing whether my memory has embroidered the thing beyond recognition.
He stared at the sentence. The wordreferencesat there like a lie. And he knew very well that the book was certainly “at hand,” for it was precisely where he had told her to look.
He drew a line through the entire paragraph.
