“As do I,” Darcy agreed with a chuckle.
Georgiana laughed with him. “Oh, I know it well. It is good to see you so much in love.”
At that, Darcy stopped abruptly. “In love? Georgiana, you do know it was not a love match.”
“Perhaps not. But you love her now. Indeed, it is delightful to see a man so infatuated with his wife.” She glanced at him, looking surprised and a little amused. “But you sound as though you did not know it yourself.”
“I knew it,” Darcy said at last. “I suppose I did not know it was so obvious.”
She shook her head. “Only to someone who knows you as well as I do.”
Perhaps sensing his embarrassment, Georgiana suggested they go to the library. Darcy gratefully took up the idea, both to turn the conversation and because such a suggestion was never unwelcome.
Even on the coldest days of winter, the Pemberley library remained warm and welcoming. Today, as always in the colder months, a large fire blazed in the hearth, but something was amiss. There was a clamminess to the air, and the room felt strangely cold.
Georgiana frowned and looked around the room. “What is that? Why do I feel a draught?” she asked.
Darcy realised it then, following her gaze towards the windows. He walked down the long row of shelving and saw that the terrace door had been left wide open. “That is odd,” he remarked. Going up to it, they looked out at the garden beyond. Footprints were evident in the snow outside the window. “Someone has forgotten to shut this,” Darcy remarked.
“How very careless,” Georgiana said. “I wonder who could have left the door open like that.”
“Perhaps the wind blew it open,” Darcy said, though he did not feel entirely convinced. Such an accident had never occurred before. Taking one last look out into the garden, Darcy shut the door. He put the latch down and tested it to ensure it would not blow open again. “Strange, the latch seems strong enough. Perhaps a servant forgot to close it. I shall speak to Reynolds about it later. Come, let us return to the parlour.”
“Excellent, and perhaps I may play the pianoforte,” Georgiana said eagerly.
Darcy laughed. “I should like nothing better.”
More of Pemberley’s guests were soon drawn to the parlour, first by the sound of music, and then by lively conversation. Lady Catherine came, first to judge Georgiana’s performance, and then to listen in pure enjoyment despite herself. It was no surprise when Anne and Fitzwilliam arrived, seemingly halfway into a most amusing anecdote, though it was unexpected that the narrator was not the colonel, but the lady.
Two absences there were, of very different kinds. Wickham did not show his face, which was a blessing, and Elizabeth was absent, which left Darcy glancing at the door throughout the afternoon, wondering when his wife might appear. More than once, he reminded himself that Elizabeth’s time was her own, and if she wished a little time to herself, to write in the solitude of her rooms or perhaps simply to have a little time away from so many members of her husband’s family, it was hardly surprising.
It was not until teatime that he began to worry. Well past the customary time, Elizabeth still had not appeared.
As the minutes ticked by, Lady Catherine gave a derisive sniff. “How disappointing, and just when I had begun to think better of Mrs Darcy. It is dreadfully rude to keep one’s guests waiting.”
“Mother, I am sure Mrs Darcy has a good reason,” Anne put in. To Darcy’s surprise, Lady Catherine did not argue the point and even looked a little chastened.
“I shall send a servant to inquire if she is coming down,” Darcy remarked, looking at his guests.
“Oh, how thoughtless of me!” Georgiana exclaimed. “I ought to have recalled before. She is in her room resting from a headache, poor thing. I am sure she will be well again for supper, as long as we give her the time she needs to recover. All the festivities of the past weeks have probably left her exhausted.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right,” he said.
As the shadows lengthened and nothing was heard from Elizabeth, Darcy wondered if her headache had not turned to something more serious. Though chiding himself for being overanxious, Darcy could not seem to stop himself from worrying over her. A half-hour before the gong was due to ring to announce it was time to dress for supper, he went to Elizabeth’s room.
He wasnotbeing irrational, Darcy told himself. There were two excellent reasons for him to check on Elizabeth, quite unconnected to the strange unease that had seized him. First, he wanted to assure himself that she was being looked after as she should be. Second, he wanted to see if she would join them for one of the last suppers that Georgiana and Mr Wickham would attend before their scheduled departure.
Dutiful as ever, Stephans opened the door almost as soon as he had knocked on it. She gave a respectful curtsey. “Yes, sir? Can I be of service?”
“I should like to inquire after Mrs Darcy’s health,” Darcy began. “Is her headache any better? I shall come in and speak to her myself, if my wife feels equal to it.”
Stephans looked up at him, clearly surprised and concerned. “Mrs Darcy is not here, sir. I thought she was downstairs.” She frowned and joined him in the hallway, looking this way and that, as if Elizabeth would appear out of thin air. “I have not seen her in some hours.”
Darcy’s stomach sank. Where was Elizabeth? What did any of this mean? He could not say; he only knew that something felt terribly wrong. “Come with me, Stephans. We shall look into this directly.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I did not know —”
“It is not your fault, Stephans.”
