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Elizabeth let him uncover it upon the kitchen table. He lifted the bread with both hands, examined the butter, and looked up at her when he found the cake.

“I did ask him to stay,” he said, as though anxious they should remember that Sir had remained a welcome guest even after the theft.

“And he is very much obliged,” Elizabeth replied. “He has seldom received such generous treatment.”

Darcy stood in the doorway with the dog firmly beside him. Mrs. Bell accepted the preserve, thanked them, and asked whether they would sit. The little stool had been placed near the fire again.

“I fear we cannot remain this morning,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth looked at him. “You must not suppose he takes exception to your furniture.”

“I should never have thought of it if you had not mentioned it,” Darcy replied.

Sam laughed. Darcy was not certain whether the boy understood the answer or merely recognized permission to enjoy the visit. Either was sufficient.

They left the food upon the table and the empty basket beneath Sally’s arm. Mrs. Bell came to the gate to thank them once more, and Elizabeth promised to tell Jane that her good wishes had been received.

Darcy waited until they had passed the orchard before speaking of what had occupied him since waking.

“May I ask whether you have heard the name Nicholas in connection with Pemberley?”

Elizabeth’s step faltered.

“Nicholas?”

“Nicholas Darcy.”

She looked directly at him. He had expected an easy denial or a recollection of something heard from the servants. The care with which she considered him suggested neither.

“Why do you ask?”

“I wondered whether anyone had repeated more of the history since our visit to the inn.”

It was true, though not the whole reason. He disliked hearing himself resort to an answer which concealed more than it offered.

“I have heard the name,” she said at last.

“From Mrs. Reynolds?”

“Yes.”

The admission cost her something. He could see that much without understanding why.

“You need not be alarmed,” he said. “I do not forbid her to speak of the family.”

“I did not suppose you did.”

Her answer was quick enough to make him doubt it. Had Reynolds said something about Georgiana while speaking of the old history? The thought brought him back to the same helpless uncertainty which had followed the visit to Anna. He could not ask what Elizabeth knew without giving her the means to learn it.

“The name occurs in the story,” he said. “I remembered hearing it when I was a boy.”

“Then you know rather more of the story than I do.”

“Enough to have been kept awake by it at an age when I ought to have known better.”

Elizabeth looked down at the path. He wished he had not mentioned being kept awake. She might ask whether he had dreamed of it, and he could not tell her that without approaching the part of the night he most wished to conceal.

“I hope Mrs. Reynolds did not frighten you,” he added.