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He looked at her. This time she allowed herself to smile.

Darcy moved the coal order aside. He had purchased Georgiana’s clothes for years without knowing more of the business than the sum at the bottom of the account. A governess, a companion, a housekeeper—somebody had always stood between his instruction and his sister’s requirements. He had thought that arrangement sufficient until there was no longer a sister to ask.

Miss Bennet was not Georgiana. She was neither his relation nor his dependent, and he could imagine very well the manner in which she would receive a command to dress more warmly at his expense.

“I must write to her father first.”

“That would be proper.”

“If he agrees, ask whether she would care to see Mrs. Mercer. She is to choose what she needs. Give her no reason to suppose that anything has already been ordered.”

“Very good, sir.”

“And no account is to be sent to Longbourn.”

Mrs. Reynolds closed her book. “I shall wait until we have heard.”

When she had gone, Darcy drew a fresh sheet toward him and wrote Mr. Bennet’s name. He began with Alderbrook.

The explanation occupied half a page before he had reached Miss Bennet. He read it over, heard himself describing joists to her father, and laid the sheet aside.

By the time Charles knocked, two discarded beginnings lay beside the inkstand.

“Am I interrupting something serious?” Bingley asked.

“A letter.”

“To your aunt?”

“No.”

“Then you cannot have been at it long. There are only two failures.”

Darcy covered the unfinished sheet with the first attempt. “Have you heard from the surveyor?”

“Nothing since yesterday. I came to ask whether you wished to ride before lunch.”

“I have this to finish.”

Charles sat down instead of leaving. “If it concerns Alderbrook, I am perfectly willing to be told again that I must wait. Jane has made me promise not to ask the carpenter how long the work will take until he has actually agreed to do it.”

“A useful restraint.”

“She says I cannot complain of a false promise if I insist upon having one.”

Darcy smiled despite himself. He had heard very similar reasoning from Jane’s sister, delivered with rather less gentleness.

“I am writing to Mr. Bennet,” he said.

Charles’s expression altered at once. “There is no difficulty about their staying?”

“None whatever. I mean to assure him of that. And to ask whether I may arrange what Miss Bennet requires for the winter.”

“Her clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Jane would have seen to it.”