Page 87 of The Difference of a Darcy
The housekeeper’s room.
He hesitated, heart pounding. The carved nameplate was still affixed to the wood, its lettering a little dulled.
He pushed the door open gently.
The room was small but tidy. A cup sat on the desk, half full of long-cold tea. A list of linen inventories lay on the blotter, alongside a keyring and a small stack of household accounts. The hearth here still held the faintest trace of warmth.
And a woman sat behind the desk, looking down at a ledger.
A flicker of hope surged. He exhaled, tension bleeding from his shoulders, and said softly, with quiet relief—
“Mrs. Reynolds.”
Then froze.
He had spoken without thinking.
He was not Fitzwilliam Darcy. Not here. Not now.
Elizabeth’s head turned toward him sharply, eyes wide.
Darcy’s breath caught.
What have I done?
Chapter 17
The woman behind the desk startled slightly, her brow furrowing as she looked up from the household ledgers.
“Do I know you?”
Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw the look of panic on Darcy’s face. She stepped forward and schooled her expression into a polite apology.
“Forgive us, ma’am. We presumed you were Mrs. Reynolds—someone in Lambton gave us that as the name of the housekeeper here at Pemberley.”
“I see. Yes, I am Mrs. Reynolds.” Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned back slightly in her chair. “Who might you be?”
“My name is Beth Smith, and my husband is William. We arrived in town only yesterday.” Elizabeth offered the lie as smoothly as she could. “We are newly married and traveling through in search of occupation. My husband grew up in this area as a boy, and he wished to show me how beautiful it is.”
The older woman’s sharp gaze shifted to Darcy, who bowed his head respectfully.
Elizabeth continued, “We had heard that Pemberley was once open to visitors, but when we arrived, we saw the state of things... well, we thought perhaps there might be work available instead.”
“Work?” Mrs. Reynolds echoed, folding her hands together. “I am afraid the estate is not what it once was. There is no coin to pay new hands—not even old ones, half the time.”
“That is no trouble,” Darcy said quickly. “We would be willing to work for room and board alone.”
Mrs. Reynolds looked skeptical. “You would work for food and a roof with no questions asked? For a place you have never been? With no assurances of safety or pay?”
Elizabeth offered a rueful smile. “We understand a thing or two about difficult households. And we do not know yet how long we shall remain in one place. We have reasons to move on eventually, but for now…” She lifted one shoulder. “A quiet position, even temporary, would suit us well.”
The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed again. “You are not… fleeinganything, are you?”
“No!” Elizabeth said quickly. “Nothing of the sort. We simply…” She hesitated, then added, “We are waiting to hear about an opportunity. But until then, coin is low, and we would rather earn our keep than drain what little we have left.”
Mrs. Reynolds was quiet a long moment, eyes passing over each of them in turn. Her expression remained wary—but gradually, something in it shifted.
“Well,” she said slowly, “I cannot say why, but I believe you. I would not usually take such a chance, but there is not much left to lose. All the valuables have long been sold off, so it is not as though you can make away with the silver.”
