The innkeeper.Darcy felt a curious mixture of relief and something that might have been disappointment, though for what reason he could not say.
“I see,” Darcy said. “Please convey my thanks.”
The man nodded and withdrew, leaving Darcy alone with his improved accommodations.
He closed the door and stood for a moment, considering. It made perfect sense, really. The innkeeper had observed Darcy’s manner, his clothing, the quality of his carriage and horses. A gentleman of evident means, stranded by the storm, deserving of better treatment than a cramped chamber and a sagging mattress.
Or, if he considered it more cynically, the innkeeper might have realized that a wealthy gentleman’s coin spent just as well as a supposed princess’s and had thought it prudent not to offend a potential source of future custom.
Whatever the motivation, Darcy was grateful for it. He sat carefully upon the edge of the bed. His feet would still dangle off the end, but he could lay these mattresses end to end on the floor and, with the blankets and the fire, actually remain warm.
A vast improvement over the previous night.
He began his preparations for bed with considerably more optimism. The fire, when he lit it properly, blazed with satisfying warmth. The room, while still small and shabby, was no longer a torture.
As he removed his coat and began to unwind his cravat, his thoughts drifted, quite against his will, to the supposed princess residing on theentire floor beneath him. Was it possible that she . . . He pushed the thought aside with something approaching violence.
No. She had arrived in that carriage, the one that had nearly run them all down. She had claimed every comfort the inn possessed for herself and her companion. The innkeeper had stripped the establishment bare to satisfy her demands, leaving Darcy to sleep on the floor whilst she luxuriated on multiple mattresses, wrapped herself in warm blankets, and enjoyed a roaring fire.
It could not have been her.
And yet . . .
She hadseemed genuinely dismayed that morning when she had learnt he had spent the previous night upon the floor. He began to build up the fire.
What if ithadbeen her?
For several minutes, he allowed himself to consider it. If ithadbeen Miss Bennet, it painted her in an entirely different light.
But if Miss Bennet had arranged this—and he was by no means certain that she had—then it was more likely just another performance in her elaborate charade. Anonymous charity that everyone somehow discovered. Humble disclaimers that only served to draw more attention. The pattern was clear enough, for was not that how she had convinced the innkeeper and his wife that she was royalty in the first place? A discreet word by her companion, a mild remonstrance, a plea to maintain secrecy, all of it performed with just enough visibility to ensure witnesses while maintaining the fiction of discretion.
And if she had made him specifically the beneficiary of her largesse? That would be even more calculated. Create a sense of obligation in the one person who remained sceptical of her claims. Make him doubt his own judgement. Soften his resistance.
Well, he would not fall for it. Not without evidence. And as the man-of-all-work had named his benefactor as the innkeeper, Darcy would proceed as though he had no doubts on that score.
None at all.
It did not matter in any case. Darcy had a pillow, good blankets, and a proper mattress. He would sleep well.
The common room at midday was a cheerless place. Darcy nursed a cup of coffee whilst attempting to read, though the chill draught from the ill-fitted windows made concentration a challenge. The fire seemed to have been rationed with unusual parsimony, as though the innkeeper feared his supply of wood might not outlast the storm.
Evidently the generosity extended to Darcy’s chamber did not include the common areas.
There were other people in the room, but his attention was drawn consistently to Miss Bennet, who occupied a corner chair. Her companion sat nearby, but Miss Bennet’s attention was absorbed by a book. They had maintained a studied ignorance of one another’s presence since breaking their fast, an arrangement that suited Darcy tolerably well. He had no desire for further conversation with a woman who persisted in her charade.
Another traveller entered, shaking snow from his worn coat and complaining with impressive volume about the cold. The innkeeper hastened to apologise, explaining in tones of obvious distress that they were running low on firewood and must ration what remained.
Darcy observed, with what he told himself was entirely detached interest, as Miss Bennet quietly summoned the innkeeper to her side. They conducted their conversation in hushed tones, but he noted the momentwhen the innkeeper’s expression transformed from worried to gratified, and he bowed with the elaborate deference he reserved for hisroyalguest.
A quarter of an hour later, the same innkeeper was distributing additional firewood to several of the poorer travellers. An elderly man attempted to thank Miss Bennet, who appeared confused by the gesture before colouring when the man insisted upon expressing his gratitude.
Darcy’s eyes narrowed slightly. Miss Bennet was shameless, insisting on so much firewood for her own rooms in order to appear generous in sharing it. No doubt her own rooms were still well heated. A small sacrifice in exchange for the appearance of benevolence.
Soon the other travellers were whispering amongst themselves, casting admiring glances towards the young woman who now appeared to wish that she might disappear.
He watched her colour deepen and observed her hasty retreat from the common room. If this was performance, it was remarkably well executed. Her embarrassment appeared entirely genuine. But then, he supposed that was precisely the point.
The day wore on with excruciating slowness. The snow continued to fall, thick and relentless. Darcy attempted his book, gave it up as hopeless, and spent an uncomfortable period staring into the inadequate fire whilst his thoughts circled endlessly around familiar, frustrating paths.