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“Almost certainly not.” His mouth moved a little. “There will be something.”

There was, and he knew it. Beyond the dressing-room stood the connecting door he had promised, its new brass plate conspicuous against the older wood. Elizabeth went to it while the maid busied herself with the travelling things.

“May I have the key?” she asked.

The maid glanced towards Darcy. It was a swift, practised movement, and Elizabeth was suddenly tired enough to pity them all.

“It is in the lock, madam.”

Elizabeth turned it. The bolt entered its fastening with an ordinary metallic click. She tried the handle, which held, then turned the key back and opened the door upon an empty room containing Darcy's luggage. There was no second key visible on his side. When she returned to her sitting-room, he was standing where she had left him.

“It works,” she said.

“I had hoped that would be its chief distinction.”

The reply won a laugh before she could decide whether to give him one. He looked pleased, and the pleasure softened his face in a manner she found almost unbearable. It would have been so much easier to live with a man who confined all his attentions to things she disliked.

“And you do not object to being shut out?”

“I gave you my word about your rooms.” He glanced towards the open door. “I can wait until you choose to open it.”

He spoke with the confidence of a man who expected to be admitted eventually. The key was hers; his expectation was his own.

When the maid had withdrawn, Elizabeth asked how letters were sent from the house.

“The servants bring them to my study with the other correspondence,” he said. “Your letters have been included in that instruction.”

“And will continue to be?” She waited beside the small writing-table, where fresh paper had been laid out for her convenience. There was good ink, a new pen and sealing wax of precisely the colour she would have chosen. She could scarcely have been furnished more generously with the means of submitting her thoughts for inspection.

“For the present,” he said.

She put the pen down. “Then I am glad we have established it. I should hate to inconvenience the household by expecting my letters to be posted.”

“Elizabeth.”

She looked at him. He had no correction to offer which would make the arrangement less true, and presently he said only that he would see her at dinner. After he had gone, she locked the connecting door and rang for her maid. Her skin felt dusty, her neck ached, and she would not surrender the comfort of clean linen merely because it had been provided by her husband.

* * *

At dinner they sat near enough to speak without raising their voices. Her husband saw her glance at the footman and waited until the dishes had been changed before dismissing him.

“I should like to visit Charlotte tomorrow at three,” she said.

Darcy laid down his glass. “Tomorrow will suit.”

“Have you asked her?”

“I shall send to Brook Street.”

It was a reasonable response, and she acknowledged it with a small inclination of her head. She would not begin their renewed acquaintance by arriving as an arrangement made between gentlemen. “Ask whether three is convenient. And say that I wish to speak with her alone.”

“You will.”

“You will remain outside the room?”

A little impatience appeared at last. “Would you prefer that I remained outside the house?”

“I should prefer that you did not suppose the distinction frivolous.” She broke a piece of bread and found she had no wish to eat it. “We have not spoken freely for a very long time.”