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“There is no need to replace that one,” he said.

Martha smiled. “I shall mend it when it requires mending.”

Ruth took Anna for her supper, and Darcy withdrew to the passage. He asked Reynolds whether Martha had all she needed. The housekeeper assured him that she had a bed, a fire, and no requirement to apologize for using either.

“She will be comfortable, sir.”

“And if the child is troubled in the night?”

“Ruth will attend to her. Mrs. Hargreaves will be close by. If either wishes to return to the cottage, somebody will come for me.”

“Come for me as well.”

Reynolds regarded him.

“I do not expect them to remain merely to spare me disappointment,” he said. “But I should like to know what is happening.”

“I shall make certain they know.”

A maid passed with a small tray for Martha and Ruth. Darcy stood aside and realized, after she had gone in, that he had been blocking the nursery doorway while giving instructions about making it comfortable.

He went downstairs.

After dinner he went upstairs again.

Martha stood just inside the sleeping room. She put a finger to her lips when he approached. Anna lay in the cot, the blanket over her legs and one hand beside her cheek.

Darcy remained in the doorway.

“Shall I see you before you leave in the morning?” he asked softly.

“We shall have breakfast first,” Martha whispered. “Thomas knows not to expect us early. I told him he might enjoy a quiet cup of tea before we brought everything home again.”

“He will be glad to see you.”

“Yes, sir.”

The simple answer reminded Darcy that Anna’s coming here altered more than the child’s nights. Martha would go back to a cottage which had held another person for more than seven months. Thomas would look toward the place beside the hearth before remembering that Anna would sleep at Pemberley.

“You will come as often as you wish,” he said.

“I know.” She looked at him. “And we shall be glad when you bring her to us.”

He nodded.

He wished her good night and went to his own room.

For some time he lay awake. The house sounded as it always did after the last servants had gone below: a door closing at a distance, the faint movement of wind about the windows, his fire settling. He had expected Anna’s presence to alter all of it.

At last he slept.

He woke to footsteps passing in the corridor. Light moved beneath his door, then disappeared. Darcy sat up and listened. From farther along the passage came a child’s cry, followed by Ruth’s voice.

He put on his dressing gown and went out.

The maid he had heard was returning from the linen cupboard with a folded sheet. She stopped when she saw him.

“Is anything wrong?”