Page 78 of The Difference of a Darcy
He trailed off, then cleared his throat and gestured toward the door. “Come in, sir. Ma’am. You will find the hearth warm while you wait for the maid to assure the room is in readiness.”
Elizabeth murmured her thanks as they stepped inside. The inn’s main room was clean but dim, the scent of smoke and stewed meat lingering in the air. Darcy brushed off the chill from his coat and looked around.
“It is… quieter than I remember,” he said after a moment.
Samuel nodded, busying himself with the registry. “It is that. Lambton is not what she was.”
He did not elaborate.
Darcy signed the book and passed it back. “We have come to see the area. My wife has never been this far north before. I grew up nearby.”
“Ah,” Samuel said, glancing up. “So, you are local?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Samuel hesitated. “You would not have family at… Pemberley, would you?”
Darcy’s heart beat once, hard. “I did.”
The man’s eyes flicked between him and Elizabeth. “Well,” he said carefully, “you will find things… changed. Since old Mr. Darcy passed, it has been different. Village too.”
Darcy waited, letting the silence stretch. Eventually, Samuel exhaled and leaned on the desk.
“Folk used to depend on that estate, you know. For trade. Employment. There was always a coach or cart in the street. Always coin changing hands. But after the funeral… nothing. The young lady—Miss Darcy—was sent off, and the house sat empty. Staff left one by one. Took goods on credit, promised payment once the will was settled.”
Darcy’s stomach turned as Samuel looked down at his hands.
“But many of the stewards and housemaids all disappeared. Left their tabs unpaid and no answers to be had. Then came word that Pemberley would close up altogether. Mr. Darcy had no son, you know, and folk said he never recovered from the loss of his wife.”
Darcy’s throat constricted.
“But what about his daughter?” he managed.
The innkeeper gave a sad shake of his head. “Too young to manage such a house. And when she went to live with her mother’s kin—the Matlocks.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Poor girl. Never looked happy. Then… well, they tried to marry her to some doddering old duke, if gossip is true.”
Elizabeth stiffened beside him.
“She ran off instead. Eloped to Gretna with the steward’s son. Whole thing caused a scandal.” He paused, eyes scanning the room as though to ensure they were not overheard. “Now the house is open again, but not many dare go near it. The young master drinks too much, and they say the young miss is often seen weeping in the garden. Wearing the same gown every day. A bad business, that.”
Elizabeth gasped softly, and Darcy swallowed hard, his hand clenched behind his back. “Thank you, Mr. Whitlow. You have been very helpful.”
The man looked at him curiously, then softened. “I did not mean to cast gloom over your visit, sir. We do not see many travelers these days. But if you knew the old master… I daresay he would be glad to know someone remembered Pemberley in its glory days.”
Darcy nodded once, then took Elizabeth’s arm as the man said, “I reckon that the room is fit now. If you will follow me.”
The couple followed the innkeeper upstairs in silence. Darcy could feel Elizabeth giving him glances beneath her eyes, but he kept his gaze focused on the steps.
“Here you go, sir, madam,” he said, opening the door and gesturing into the room. “I will send a maid up when supper is ready.”
“Thank you, Mr. Whitlow,” Elizabeth said when Darcy did not speak. “We are grateful for your hospitality… and for the information.”
Darcy wordlessly pressed a coin into the man’s hand. Mr. Whitlow bowed in gratitude, then left the room, closing the door behind him.
Looking around, Darcy was relieved to discover that the room was clean, albeit modest and worn at the edges. The fire had been laid but not lit, so he wordlessly set about striking the flint. Once his task was complete, he crossed the room to the narrow bed in the corner. It creaked under his weight as Darcy sat down heavily upon it, staring at the bare, plank floor.
Elizabeth hung her cloak neatly over the chair near the hearth. When she turned and saw him still sitting there, his back bowed, his eyes cast low, she came to stand beside him.
Darcy had not yet removed his gloves. He was not entirely certain he could even move his fingers.
