Page 38 of An Accidental Meeting
Darcy stared at the flowers in his hand. He had lost some of the petals by launching the scissors at the stems too roughly and one rose bud bobbed precariously. He must have broken that one.
Never mind. The bouquet he was assembling was not as finely done as the others assembled for the guest rooms, but he wanted to do this for Elizabeth himself. Perhaps she would not notice much, since she had not actually seen the petals fall.
He frowned at it, picked the broken bud out from the rest, as carefully as possible snipped a deep red rose and as gently as he was able, slid it into the middle of the collection. When it did not snap or bend, but instead stood straight and tall, he thought perhaps he ought not attempt to do anything more.
He set his gift down on a wrought iron table under the little shelter in the corner of the garden and dug in his coat pocket for the ribbon Georgiana had given him. Bless the girl for not inquiring why her much older brother would be in need of such a thing. It was a pale yellow ribbon he thought would look marvellous in Elizabeth’s hair, but he would not presume so far. He could not, for he had not yet earned it.
“Mr. Darcy?”
It was one of the footmen. What was he doing out here? “Yes, Holden? Is there anything the matter?”
“No sir. But Mrs. Reynolds has something she wishes to discuss with you. About the frame, she says.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. What would Mrs. Reynolds have to impart to him about the frame? He had better not hear she had been upstairs to tend to it.
While he was grousing to himself, Holden’s eyes had widened a bit. When he followed the direction of the man’s gaze, he saw that the footman was looking at the flowers.
“I will be there shortly,” he said pointedly.
Holden snapped back to attention. “Very good, sir.” He turned and nearly fled back to the house. Darcy had no doubt the flowers would be the topic of conversation at dinner below stairs tonight. No matter. Mrs. Reynolds would keep them all well in hand, even as she convalesced. They could have their laughs, he supposed, as long as he never had to hear them.
He grunted. Being the object of anyone’s pity or laughter was something he had always been at pains to avoid, and it had brought him some success. But now he understood that such astance had the consequence of making him averse to risk, even in his chess game.
Thanks to his superior education and the tutelage of his excellent father, Darcy was a proud man. He flattered himself that he had some right to be. While he was aware that not everyone had the privilege of wealth, he had made the most of the many opportunities provided to him. He had worked hard to make life better for all those under his care. Yet his experiences and his expectation of easy victories had left him rather unprepared for failure.
He held up the bouquet and rubbed his thumb lightly against the ribbon.
Then he strode for the house.
The moment he was inside, he found Elizabeth’s maid and handed her the flowers. Darcy ignored the fleeting wrinkle of her nose as he bid her to take them to Miss Bennet. She hurried away, and he headed downstairs.
He knocked and was invited into Mrs. Reynolds’s room.
“What is this I hear about you and the frame?” he asked bluntly as he entered. “I thought you were going to rest.”
“I am resting,” Mrs. Reynolds said, indicating the chair where she sat. “I do not believe I have been seated so many hours together in the twenty-four years I have been employed here, and I must say I do not enjoy it.”
“Only you would be out of your bed a day after such an injury,” Darcy admonished her. “Mrs. Hurst or Miss Bingley would have remained supine for a week and been demanding the attention of ten servants to wait on them all that time.” He disliked fine ladies who played at being delicate. He detested artifice in all its forms.
Mrs. Reynolds only smiled compassionately at him.
Darcy took a breath. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Reynolds. You never send for me unless there is something of great import to discuss.”
“I would say that it is,” she said. “Master Fitzwilliam, there is a reason that frame was so heavy.”
“Other than the obvious?”
She chuckled and nodded behind him. He turned to see the picture’s frame had been broken into four parts, each of which was leaning against the wall in the corner.
“That one on the right, the shorter one,” she said as he stood to examine them.
Darcy hefted the length of frame, finding it heavier than he expected. The next piece of intricately carved wood was longer, and the weight he would expect for a frame of this size. He frowned.
“I have not noticed it before,” he said, tracing his finger along the wood, “but the carvings here are not English, are they?”
“No,” Mrs. Reynolds said, shaking her head. “That frame was sent in the shipment of goods from your father’s family still in Normandy.”
“During the revolution? You mean the Phillipe D’Arcy family?” That rather distant branch of the family had been members of thenoblesse de robe, rising in fortune through appointments to government and judicial posts. They had plied their wealth for the betterment of the country. But they had lost all their friends by championing reform and had been likewise mistrusted by the people they meant to help.
