These Three Remain Read Online Free PDF

He had never slept well at Rosings. Elizabeth. The conflictions of the previous autumn were returned now tenfold with her reentry into his life. The torments of his imaginings of her would be nothing compared with her actual presence. He shifted uncomfortably and unbuttoned his coat as he considered his dilemma. Were his desires merely manifestations of selfish willfulness, a lack of self-control? Or was it his duty and his beliefs, the code of conduct in which he had been raised, being shown inadequate? In four months he had not discovered the answer, but above the confusion, he did know this: beginning with the visit to the parsonage tomorrow and for the length of this reacquaintance, he must be careful — very, very careful.
    The sound of hurried footsteps from the other side of the dressing room door brought Darcy up off the bed with a jerk. Fletcher! Quickly, he composed his features and turned to face the door as it swung smartly open.
    “Your pardon, sir!” The valet bowed from the doorway. Darcy could see that he was panting slightly from his run. But from where?
    “Fletcher!” Darcy’s voice was more stern than he intended, but there was no other means of concealing his true state. “Where have you been while I have cooled my heels awaiting your attention? I would not have thought that you would find anything of overpowering interest at Rosings to cause such negligence!”
    “That is true, Mr. Darcy. Nothing
precisely
at Rosings, sir, nothing at all. Precisely.” Fletcher paused only a heartbeat before continuing. “May I help you with your coat, sir? Shall I have water for the bath sent up? It is ready and waiting.” He pulled the kitchen bellrope then advanced upon his master. In a trice, Darcy’s coat was down his arms and flung uncharacteristically upon the bed. “There. Your waistcoat now, sir?”
    “Fletcher, where were you…
precisely
?” Darcy’s brow lowered at the valet’s busyness.
    “Just now, sir?”
    Darcy nodded.
    “Why, in the kitchen, sir, testing the water that it —”
    “Before that.” Darcy cut him off.
    Fletcher’s mouth shut with a snap, and a curious look washed over his features. Then, lowering his eyes, he confessed. “I was at the parsonage, sir. But it was on your behalf, Mr. Darcy.”
    “On
my
behalf! At the parsonage?” Darcy sputtered in surprise and no little alarm.
    “Yes, sir.” Fletcher took a deep breath. “I heard that a lady you met and had much discourse with while we were in Hertfordshire was a guest there. Not content to hold with an idle rumor, I went to assure myself that it was, indeed, the same lady.” He then raised his eyes and informed Darcy triumphantly. “I am happy to apprise you, sir, that it is the very same female, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
    Darcy regarded him darkly. “ ‘If this were play’d upon a stage — ’ ”
    “You would ‘condemn it as an improbable fiction.’ ” Fletcher finished for him. “I assure you, sir, I was at the parsonage on just that errand — to determine if the lady was indeed Miss
Elizabeth
Bennet or no.”
    “Humph,” Darcy responded, longing to know more, but to ask was impossible.
    “The lady is in good health, sir,” Fletcher murmured as he pulled Darcy’s waistcoat from his shoulders.
    “How do you know?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking the question.
    Fletcher bent to the task of dislodging Darcy’s shirt buttons from the close-stitched holes. “The lady was just returned from one of her rambles when I arrived, and she looked very well. Mrs. Collins’s housekeeper says she has never seen a young lady as often out and about the groves and pathways of Rosings Park as is Miss Elizabeth.” The shirt joined the coat and waistcoat on the bed. The sound of water splashing into the bath in the dressing room distracted them both for a moment. “Unless the weather prevents her,” Fletcher continued quietly, “it is her daily habit and delight.”
    “And you believed so strongly