The Plight of the Darcy Brothers by Marsha Altman Read Free Book Online Page B

own discretion. I have no intention of telling anyone else the expected outcome.”
    So it was decided. Elizabeth loathed to be separated from Geoffrey, who obviously could not travel with them without slowing them down considerably. Darcy assured her that, at two, Geoffrey was quite old enough to be on his own for a bit, andthat their absence might even do him some good. “We do have a general tendency to spoil him.”
    “And you think Bingley will not?”
    Darcy only smiled at her from behind his desk, where he was gathering the papers he thought he would need.
    “You don't think there's any chance of having Mr. Mastai return to England with us, do you?” she said.
    “No,” he answered. “I will not encourage unreasonable expectations. If we can even locate him in time, he will probably either have taken vows or be so intent on taking them that our best hope is a settlement.”
    “He did offer her something in France.”
    “I imagine now that he is faced with her family, perhaps even willing to throttle his collared neck, he will offer more,” he said. “How much, I have no idea. The point is, we will not let this injustice pass by.”
    Elizabeth seemed satisfied by this answer and left him for the moment to return to her own packing. Darcy had no further intrusions until there was a knock on the open door. “Come.”
    It was Mrs. Reynolds, not an unexpected face in the hurry of packing, as the Master and Mistress of Pemberley were to go on a long and unexpected journey. “Mr. Darcy.”
    “Mrs. Reynolds.”
    “I seem to recall—it's been some time since you've been to the Continent.”
    “Yes,” he said. “I went only once, after college and before my father's death. I was not particularly enamored of it. Why do you ask?”
    “I was just wondering—do you intend to stop at the mansion in Valognes?”
    “The Hôtel des Capuchins?” Generations back, it had been the old d'Arcy estate, or so the history went, and had been held by very distant relatives of his until the Revolution, when they fled their home. Now an imported English family owned the mansion and ran it as a hotel. The head of the family was a military officer who had taken a liking to the mansion while stationed there to fight Napoleon. Darcy had stayed there for a few days in their company during his journey to the Continent, and the family held him in esteem.
    “I suppose we would shelter there for a night or two,” he replied. “I admit to not having a formal itinerary at the moment, but if Valognes is on the way, then yes.” He thought about it. “Why do you ask?”
    “Well—it's probably nothing, Sir, but I do recall your father mentioning to senior Mr. Wickham that he had some financial papers there of some import. They may have been burned in the Revolution… I don't know. I was just askin' if you know anything about them.”
    Darcy stopped his work for a second and looked up at her. “No. I mean, yes, there are piles and piles of old papers there going back centuries, because the mansion itself was not burned when my relatives fled. But I did not peruse them while I was there, nor was I told to do so by my father.” But come to think of it, that had been before his father's illness and death, and young Master Fitzwilliam had been given a year to explore and have fun before settling down to the serious matters of learning to be the real Master of Pemberley and Derbyshire. His father might not have mentioned the need to view the financial papers, or Darcy might have simply forgotten about it and so had his father. “I suppose, if there is time, I will look into it. Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds.”
    She curtseyed and let herself out. It was not until he was returned to his sorting that the oddity of the conversation descended on him.

    “I don't understand,” Elizabeth said later that night in their bedchamber—or, properly, her bedchamber. “Why do you find that so odd?”
    “Despite being the housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds is