Page 91 of The Difference of a Darcy
Warmth and light spilled from the kitchen windows, a welcome contrast to the chilled dusk.
Inside, Elizabeth turned at once. Her expression softened with visible relief and she motioned him to a chair at the servants’ table.
“It is not much,” she said, brushing a loose curl from her cheek as she set a plate before him. “But it is warm.”
It was more than he expected.
The meat pie was plain, the crust uneven, but the scent made his mouth water. A thick slice of bread, a bit of crumbly cheese, and an apple completed the meal.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
She gave him a small smile and returned to the hearth, where she was wiping a low shelf near the stove. The cook looked up from peeling onions and gave him a sharp nod.
“So. You are the husband, then.”
Darcy straightened slightly. “I am.”
“When you have finished eating, fetch some water. There’s a pail in the corner.”
Darcy bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment and dug into his meal, savoring each bite. The food was simple but nourishing, and the presence of Elizabeth in the same warm room made it feel more than sufficient. As he worked through the pie, she came to sit beside him, her sleeves still rolled.
“Mrs. Wells is not half as frightening as she first appears,” she said in a low voice. “But she does not suffer laziness. I suspect I shall not have much time for sitting for quite a while.”
He gave a dry smile. “Have you met anyone else?”
She shook her head. “Only Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Reynolds, though I have seen signs of a few more maids. It is remarkably empty here.”
At that moment, the kitchen door opened, and Mrs. Reynolds entered with her ledger tucked under one arm.
Darcy rose at once. The housekeeper gave him a brief nod, then turned to Elizabeth.
“I have spoken with the mistress,” she said. “She would be glad of assistance in the morning. You are to help her dress and bring up a tray for breakfast. If she does not answer when you knock—which is likely—you are to try again after ten.”
Elizabeth curtsied. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Reynolds gave a satisfied nod and swept back out the door without another word.
The silence she left behind did not last long.
Mrs. Wells snorted from her place by the hearth. “That tray will do no good. Hasn’t eaten proper since she fell with child.”
Elizabeth stilled. Darcy froze, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
The cook noticed. “Aye. Poor thing. Scarcely more than a girl, and no mother to guide her. Left all alone with a husband not worth the name.”
She clicked her tongue and returned to her onions, as though she had not just delivered a blow to both their hearts.
Darcy could not breathe.
Pregnant. Georgiana.
His sister was to bear a child.
He met Elizabeth’s gaze across the table. Her eyes were wide, stricken.
Neither spoke. They finished their meal and completed their remaining tasks in silence. The air was heavy with unexpressed thoughts.
Elizabeth washed the dishes while Darcy fetched the pail and carried water in from the pump. Mrs. Wells directed them with gruff efficiency, setting oats to soak for the morning and barking orders about wiping down the table legs before bed.
