It took him a moment to realise what she was talking about. Darcylooked back at her and saw she appeared to be expecting a reprimand. If nothing Elizabeth had ever done had excited his admiration, this act alone would be enough to raise her in his esteem. For a moment, he considered asking her again to marry him.
But this is hardly the time to wonder if her friendship and kindness harbours all the tenderness and passion I hope it does.
“I think it is right the way it is, facedown and out of sight,” he said. “You must wonder why I had not put it away, or burned it, a long time ago.”
“I suppose your father’s memory, and the memory of your father’s affection for Mr Wickham, was too strong. And everyone knows that you have not used this room since your father died.”
“I had been used to keeping silent on Mr Wickham’s want of principles,” he began slowly, “in order to keep my father from knowing what would only wound him. I learnt at a young age that nothing was going to convince my father that Mr Wickham was not what he appeared to be.”
“I am sorry, so sorry that I trusted and believed?—”
He turned from the mantelpiece to look at her. “Don’t,” he said quietly. “He is a practised deceiver, and sowing discord in regard to me is his favourite pastime. Mr Wickham was always resentful of anything I did that was not in his service. And no other man has so convinced himself neglected, slighted, and ill-treated.”
“And none, I am sure, has had less cause to entertain such ideas.”
She fixed her eyes on him, and Darcy found he loved her even more in that moment. Elizabeth then smiled, and walked past the table. He then realised it was not the missing miniature that he had noticed. “The taperstick,” he said quietly.
To his surprise, Elizabeth looked at him sharply. “You are certain there were two candlesticks? I was here a few days ago with Mr Utterson—we met near the stairs—and I thought something was different from when I was in this room with Miss Darcy and Mr Balfour. I thought there had been two, but I did not know the room well enough to be sure.”
Darcy picked up the square-based silver candlestick that remained. “They matched and were on either side of the writing box because theinkstand has no taperstick mounted to it. My father would sit here to write because he had a view of the garden there”—he pointed to the window—“and could see out the doorway and watch for my mother leaving her room. He would melt the sealing wax with this one,” he said, placing it back, “and the other sat just there.”
“Where has the other gone? A servant?”
A servant stealing it was the simplest assumption, but it was not a common occurrence at Pemberley. “They are paid well, given liberty or a reference whenever needed. It is highly irregular, and I have assured everyone that they would be paid at Michaelmas just as always.” He ran a hand over his eyes. “I must have Reynolds speak to them.”
“As though you do not have enough trials,” she said softly. “I suggest again that a confidant might be what you need, a gentleman who understands you and what you are facing.”
What he needed was a wife with whom he could live in unbound confidence. He had wanted it before this flood, and he wanted it still in the woman who was looking at him with such concern. He wanted a wife with whom he could have a sincere friendship, in whom he could confide every thought, and who would always be honest with him.
I should not ask her such a question when my mind is oppressed with more anxious sensations.
“I think you are right, Miss Bennet. I am going to write a letter directly. Never did I need the consoling advice of a friend more than now. I shall be down in a moment.”
Elizabeth said she was glad of it, and offered to tell the others he would join them shortly. Darcy opened his father’s writing box, and sat in his chair, with his view of the garden and the corridor leading to the room that had once been his mother’s. Pushing aside the wave of memories, he took out a sheet and sharpened a quill.
Wednesday August 12
My dear sir,
I am now set down to write to you on a subject that fills me with inexpressible concern. You have perhaps read in the papers by now that on Monday a storm unlike any I have seen threatened all of the county. The frequent flashes oflightning coming athwart the darkness and the thunder reverberating through the house had an awful effect. The Derwent rose rapidly to a surprising height, and I have more than one hundred acres of productive farmland destroyed and an estate village ravaged. We are still searching for the dead, but I fear this shall be set back because it is likely to rain again tomorrow. I feel anxiety from toil, loss, and danger, and even the expense of the campaign to recover from this disaster.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was another early morning for him, but it felt better to be tired and active rather than to do nothing. Darcy rode to assess the damage of two buildings, and then visited with a few of his tenants who had not suffered as much as the others. After settling what assistance he could depend on from them, Darcy was riding back to the house when, as predicted, the skies opened.
There is another fine expanse of meadows inundated.
As he came in from the rain and changed his clothes, he wondered at the future expense of everything. He had demands on himself for more than two thousand pounds already, primarily for repairs and for those who now had no crops, and many would be unable to pay their rent. His expenses for the support of his family were manageable, but for visitors, a season in town, travelling, they would now be exceedingly high considering what all else he had to spend for the sake of Pemberley.
Darcy stayed in his apartments as a gloom settled upon his mind. He was lonely, but knew he was in no mind for conversation. Dinner last evening was a sombre affair and everyone retired early, and this morning he ate a very early breakfast alone in his room. He had seenno one since last night and knew he must make an effort to engage with his guests.
The guest he most wanted to engage with was Elizabeth. She had been so expressive in her friendship towards him last night that he considered when he might ask if her feelings for him had strengthened. Darcy looked out the window at all the rain and sighed. He should not be thinking of her sparkling vivacity of wit and humour in times like these. That entire matter of if she loved him had best be put aside for the present.
This second storm settled in for over an hour, during which time Darcy wrote letters asking his neighbours for what help they could give, and to the cabinetmaker in Buxton to be ready for work because they needed coffins quickly. It was a heavy rain, and Darcy saw that it stripped the remaining leaves from most of the trees. Half an hour after it stopped, he was on his way down the stairs to return to Lambton when Mr Stevenson found him.
“I was looking for you,” he said, with an air of real regret. “Sir, the gardener has found a body in the stream.”
Darcy’s shoulders fell. “Where?”
