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Darcy woke with his hand closed tightly upon the edge of his pillow.

He was in his own bed. The curtain beside him stirred in the draught, and the faint light of his banked fire reached the chair where his dressing gown lay. There was no candle in his hand and no voice beyond a door.

He released the pillow.

For a few moments he could not bring himself to move. The dream had left him with the sick conviction that somebody was waiting for an answer he had already refused to give.

He knew why. Elizabeth had spoken to him of Georgiana and Anna; he had gone to sleep thinking of what a man might permit himself in the name of protecting them. His mind had found an old story in which to clothe the thought. The first dream had used the same name. There was no reason to imagine a more extraordinary explanation merely because this one afforded him little comfort.

He got out of bed and went to the window.

It was not yet dawn. The glass showed him only a dim reflection and a few pale shapes in the court below. He remembered telling Elizabeth that he did not forbid Reynolds to speak of the family history. He had thought her defensive then. Perhaps she had merely disliked being questioned about what she read or heard.

He certainly disliked being questioned about his own conduct.

Darcy rested his hand upon the window ledge. No mark crossed his palm. The fingers were his own, and he was awake, in a house where he could give whatever orders he pleased.

He remained there until the cold drove him back to bed. He did not sleep again.

After breakfast on Tuesday, he asked Mrs. Reynolds to show him the old nursery.

She did not ask why. That made the request at once easier and more difficult than he had expected.

“The rooms are aired regularly, sir. I shall fetch the key.”

They went upstairs by the nearer staircase, passing the turning to the Bingleys’ apartments. Jane’s chosen nursery lay in another part of the house. These rooms had served the Darcy children before the newer apartments were built, and the passage was quieter, with a window at its end which admitted the morning light.

Mrs. Reynolds unlocked the first door and stood aside.

Darcy entered a room he remembered as much larger.

The broad windows accounted for much of its cheerfulness. Even with the curtains tied back and the furniture under covers, it did not have the appearance of a place abandoned. A small table stood against the inner wall, and there was a cupboard beside the fireplace. He remembered Georgiana seated upon that table while a nurse fastened her shoes. His father had once found her there and pronounced the arrangement unsafe. Georgiana had promptly asked him to lift her down, and then to put her up again.

Darcy touched the edge of the table. One leg had been repaired; the join showed beneath the polish.

“This was here when I was a boy.”

“Yes, sir. It has been useful for folding linen.”

Of course it had. He had been absent much of each year. The house had continued to use its rooms without preserving every object for his recollection.

“And through there?” He indicated the second door.

“The sleeping room. The smaller chamber beyond would serve a nurse, as it did before.”

Reynolds opened both doors. Darcy looked into the sleeping room first. A bedstead stood against the wall, larger than anything Anna yet required. The empty space near the hearth would take a cot, though not so near that the child might reach the fire when she grew older.

He found himself judging distances with an eagerness which embarrassed him. Nothing had been settled. Anna remained at the cottage, and he was already rearranging her nights.

“What would be required to make these rooms fit for use?” he asked.

“The chimney should be examined before a fire is laid. I would have the carpenter look at the window fastenings. The catches answer well enough for airing, but one does not close as closely as I should like.”

She went to the window and showed him the small gap. He held his hand near it and felt the draught.

“That must be mended.”

“Yes, sir. The curtains are sound, though I should wash and rehang them. We have sufficient bed linen. I would prefer a fresh rug before the hearth.”