Free Duty and Desire by Pamela Aidan Page A

disappointed her in some fashion? Perhaps she was merely fatigued. In truth, he had been so caught up with the business of Pemberley that he had not seen to her ease or enjoyment. Rather, she had spent herself in entertaining him! He continued to his chambers and pulled at the bell, deep in self-excoriation. The morrow would be spent at Georgiana’s command, Darcy vowed as he awaited Fletcher. And as tomorrow would be Sunday, the business of Pemberley could damn well wait!
    Zealous to put into action his resolution to be at his sister’s service, Darcy awoke earlier than was his habit the following morning. Lying there among his night-tossed pillows and quilts, he wondered that sleep had ever claimed him. The half-dreams he had experienced during Georgiana’s music had re-animated and, worse, exposed that portion of his heart that he had thought successfully packed away. In truth, he had reconciled himself to the fact of his admiration for Elizabeth Bennet. Its veracity was attested to by the silken keepsake resting within the pages of his book. But the dream of her at home in his home and the degree of satisfaction that vision had brought to him in his unguarded state were appallingly dangerous to his future peace.
    “Very dangerous,” he spoke aloud, lecturing his errant whimsy, for Georgiana had been more correct than he had acknowledged. The source of at least some of his distraction
had
been fancies of Elizabeth, as he had begun looking at all that was familiar to him — all that was Pemberley — with what he imagined to be her critical eye. “It will not do, sir!”
    The sounds of drawers opening and shutting from behind his dressing room door broke upon his consciousness.
What? Why is Fletcher about so early?
The question of arising thus decided for him, Darcy flung back the quilts; and rising smoothly from his bed, he quietly moved across the room. Pulling open the door to his dressing room, he found his valet already within arranging his clothes, a ewer of steaming sandalwood-scented water standing at the ready.
    “Fletcher!” he growled, pulling his dressing gown about him. “You are early this morning!” He stopped to stifle a yawn. “You have ever been mindful of your duties, but this is more than scrupulous attention!”
    “Ahem.” Fletcher cleared his throat and flushed an alarming shade of red. “Yes, sir. It is my…ah…pleasure, Mr. Darcy.”
    “Your pleasure! Are you ill, man? Tell me if you are ill at once! I will not have you attending me if you should be in bed. One of the other servants can assist me.”
    As red as Fletcher’s face had been, it now turned quite pale. “Oh no, sir! I am very well!”
    Darcy examined him skeptically. “You do not look it! Come, man, physic yourself and be done with it!”
    If possible, Darcy’s advice caused Fletcher to blanch even further. “I assure you, sir, I am not ill, and the last woman I want to see is Molly!”
    This information caused Darcy’s brow to shoot skyward. “I thought you and the herb woman had an understanding of sorts, Fletcher.”
    Fletcher sniffed. “Molly is of the same opinion, sir, but I never gave her my promise.” He turned to his barbering instruments, plunging them into the hot, scented water. “Nor have I done wrong by her!” he added emphatically. “We were never alone, sir!”
    “But things have changed, have they?” Darcy crossed his arms over his chest, dismayed that this sort of unpleasantness was occurring among his staff. Lovers’ quarrels between servants caused tensions to percolate throughout a household.
    “Yes, sir, they have.”
    “And this excessive attention to your duties?”
    “It’s the ‘green-eyed monster,’ sir.” Fletcher sighed. “Everywhere I go, it’s either Molly’s anger, or her friends giving me a piece of their mind, or it’s another woman suggesting we keep company now I’m ‘free.’ You have no idea, Mr. Darcy!”
    “I believe I may have an inkling.” Darcy