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Reynolds spoke so plainly that he met her eyes.

“Would you have objected?”

“I should have reminded you that Mrs. Hargreaves knows how to quiet her when she cries, and that Mr. Hargreaves will wonder where she is when he comes through his door. A house may be made ready quite quickly. The people require consideration.”

He rose from the chair.

“Have the rooms inspected. Tell me what ought to be repaired, and what may wait. Nothing more until I have spoken to them.”

“Very well.”

At the door he stopped once more. “Leave the chair uncovered.”

Mrs. Reynolds glanced back into the room and nodded.

He waited in the passage while she made certain the windows were fastened and secured the rooms. The key turned with an ordinary small sound. It did not trouble him as the dream had done. There was nobody waiting on the other side of this door. Reynolds would open it whenever the rooms were wanted.

Downstairs, Charles called to him from the library. A letter from the surveyor had arrived, and he wished to know whether Darcy agreed with the proposed work at Alderbrook.

“In a moment,” Darcy answered.

He asked Reynolds to have the carpenter’s findings brought to his study when they were ready. Then he went to join his friend.

Chapter Twenty-six

ELIZABETH RETURNED FROM church on Sunday to find that her winter had arrived in two large parcels.

Mrs. Mercer had finished the work the previous afternoon. The parcels had waited at her house until one of Pemberley’s servants collected them on the return from church, and Sally carried them upstairs with an air of personal triumph.

“She has put the pelisse on top, miss. Shall I open that first?”

“I fear you will be disappointed in me if I say anything else.”

The maid had unfastened the string before Elizabeth removed her bonnet.

“Only do not let Sir assist you.”

He had followed them upstairs and was already examining the second parcel. At the sound of his name he looked up, wagged his tail, and placed himself more conveniently in Sally’s way.

“Come here,” Elizabeth told him.

He came, dragging the loosened string beneath his foot. Sally rescued it before he could get it entangled about his legs.

Elizabeth took the dog to the window seat and sat beside him while Sally unfolded the brown wool. She had seen the pelisse at Thursday’s second fitting, when Mrs. Mercer corrected the fall of one sleeve and Elizabeth learned that standing still could be more fatiguing than a walk. Finished, with the narrow edge neatly stitched and every pin removed, it looked very different.

“You had better try it,” Sally said.

“I tried it three days ago.”

“It was not finished then.”

Elizabeth submitted. The maid helped her into the sleeves and fastened it, then stood back to examine her work.

The wool lay smoothly over Elizabeth’s gown without drawing at the shoulders. She raised an arm, turned, and took several steps. Nothing caught. She could move as freely as she could wish, and the warmth reached her at once.

“Well?” Sally asked.

“I begin to understand why you were in such haste to open it.”