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Charles amended the sentence. “Anything else?”
“Tell her you missed her.”
He looked up, smiling a little foolishly. “She knows that.”
“Yes. Tell her anyway.”
He bent over the paper again, then offered her the finished note.
The King’s Stag, September 1, 1813
My dearest Jane,
The beds are comfortable and dinner promises well. We shall be home tomorrow. The house will not do, but I shall give you our reasons when I see you. Lizzy is a little tired and otherwise very well. We hope you have enjoyed your quiet day. I have thought several times that you would like something we have seen, and then been sorry I could not show it to you. I miss you, my dear.
Your affectionate husband,
Charles
Elizabeth returned the note with a smile. She turned toward the window and found Mr. Darcy standing beside it. She had not realized he was near enough to hear.
His expression was serious, but not disapproving. She wished, quite unreasonably, that she had given Charles the advice before their host entered.
Dinner proved better than the room’s modest appearance had led Caroline to expect. Mrs. Neale took an interest in seeing the dishes placed properly, and Charles praised a pie so enthusiastically that the landlady promised to have a smaller one ready for him to carry home.
“My wife will be very much obliged to you,” he said.
“Then I shall put it where it cannot be crushed, sir. Are you traveling far tomorrow?”
“Only to Pemberley.”
Mrs. Neale glanced toward Darcy. “So you are staying with Mr. Darcy. I thought perhaps you were going on beyond.”
“For some time yet,” Charles replied. “My wife is expecting a child in November. Darcy has been good enough to spare us the inconvenience of moving while I find a house.”
The landlady’s hand paused upon a dish.
Elizabeth noticed because she was nearest to her. It was no more than a small hesitation, followed by an unnecessarily careful placement of the dish upon the sideboard.
“Your lady will find every comfort there,” Mrs. Neale said.
“We have just spent a day discovering how difficult it is to improve upon them,” Charles replied.
Mrs. Neale smiled, but the smile did not quite restore her former ease. Elizabeth might have let the matter pass if Mr. Darcy had not set down his glass and looked at the landlady.
“There is no occasion for concern, Mrs. Neale.”
“No, sir. Certainly not.”
“What concern?” Charles asked.
“An old story,” Darcy said. “Nothing to trouble your wife.”
Caroline reached for the dish before her. “These potatoes are excellent.”
Elizabeth knew that tone. It had been employed at Longbourn whenever somebody had mentioned the entail in the hearing of a visitor who might be induced to forget it.
“What old story?” she asked.
