Page 56 of Companions of Their Youth
Almost.
∞∞∞
As the evening wound down, Darcy found himself walking upstairs beside Mark Bennet towards the guest wing. The younger man carried himself with the kind of quiet steadiness Darcy had come to admire—uncomplicated, sincere, and unobtrusively capable.
It surprised him, the ease with which he conversed with Mark. In truth, he had expected the heir of Longbourn to be brash, perhaps idle or sullen. Instead, Mark Bennet had proven thoughtful and well-informed, particularly in their earlier discussion of agricultural drainage. His priorities seemed simple, but admirable: steward the land, protect his family, and live with integrity.
It spoke well of Mr. Bennet as a father—an idea that lingered in Darcy’s mind with quiet significance.
They spoke little as they ascended, but the silence between them was companionable. At last, they reached the landing and went to go their separate ways.
“I hope Miss Bennet sleeps well,” Darcy said. “I imagine her sister’s presence will be of great comfort for her recovery.”
Mark gave a slight smile. “She always does better with Elizabeth. Jane hates to be fussed over, and there are few people she allows to fuss at all.”
Darcy inclined his head. “It is fortunate you were able to come when you did.”
They paused before turning to separate corridors. For a moment, Darcy hesitated.
“You will make a good master of your estate one day,” he said.
Mark blinked, clearly surprised. “Thank you. I hope so.”
“Your concern for your tenants, your sister, your family—it is not so common as it ought to be.”
Mark smiled faintly. “My father says we serve the land, not the other way around.”
Darcy’s mouth lifted just slightly. “A wise sentiment. My own father was much of the same mind. It is not a common viewpoint among landowners, unfortunately.”
“No, many of my schoolfellows would rather play at being heir than actually learn something about those under them.”
They exchanged a final nod before parting. Darcy turned into his own chamber, where the warmth of the fire and the soft lamplight did little to ease the heaviness in his limbs. It was more than fatigue—it was the deep weariness of responsibility, pressing down behind his eyes and between his shoulders. Hosting guests, deflecting Miss Bingley’s insinuations, watching Elizabeth without letting it show—none of thattrulytired him.
But managing Pemberley from a distance as harvest neared, navigating Georgiana’s restless moods and the slow unraveling of her innocence.
And then there were those letters. Thankfully none had arrived in the week or so he had been at Netherfield.Maybe she lost interest in me now that I am gone from London.
He sat heavily in the chair beside the fire and rubbed a hand across his brow.
What was he supposed to do about Georgiana? She was not the girl she once had been—playful, curious, wide-eyed. She was still clever, still dear, but there was rebelliousness in her now, and he had not the slightest idea on how to help correct her.
And on top of all that, someone—a woman, based on the script—was watching them. Watchinghim. Following. Writing. Knowing things they should not know.
His valet, Bates, knocked quietly before entering with his nightclothes. “Evening, sir. I trust dinner was tolerable.”
Darcy gave a tired nod. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet made it tolerable.”
The valet gave a barely perceptible smirk as he set the items down and began the practiced routine of preparing Darcy for bed.
The valet helped him out of his coat and waistcoat, laying them across the foot of the bed before smoothing the sheets and setting out his robe.
“Would you like the fire kept in, sir?”
Darcy nodded. “Yes. Just for an hour or two.”
As Bates moved to gather the shoes, he paused.
“Oh—one more thing, sir. A letter arrived for you today. Unusual delivery, this one. It was found on the back stoop. The deliveryman must have dropped it.”
