His uncle’s presumption in offering him a barony he had no wish to accept. Georgiana’s melancholy, which he was powerless to address while trapped here. The storm that showed no signs of abating. And Miss Bennet, with her charitable gestures and blushing humility.
Darcy pushed himself up. He could sit still no longer. Perhaps he would fetch his coat and see about the horses. Anders and Johnson would have an idea of when they might be able to remove from this place.
He walked into the hall and made for the stairs, when a most animated dispute reached his ears. He halted just short of the turn in the passage.
Mrs. Hobart’s voice rang out in tones of righteous authority.
“Absolutely not! Do you wish my mistress to perish of a chill, sir? Another armful of wood, at once! And mind you choose the stoutest logs, not those pitiful scraps you foisted on us last night.”
The innkeeper muttered something inaudible, to which Mrs. Hobart replied with fresh vigour.
“I care nothing for the complaints of the other guests. Her Highness cannot be expected to freeze for the sake of merchants and rustics. Why, she has already endured the catastrophe of lukewarm tea this morning, an ordeal from which her constitution may never recover!”
Darcy pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh.
The innkeeper’s voice rose in protest. “Madam, I’ve near run through the last of the store.”
“Then fetch more!” Mrs. Hobart snapped. “Chop down a tree if you must. Is there not a forest just beyond your stable yard? How difficult can it be?”
“A mile from my stable yard, and those are not my trees, madam. I must pay for the wood and someone to chop and deliver it. Unfortunately, in this weather . . .”
“The princess will pay for his trouble. Arrange for it.”
There came the sound of heavy footsteps retreating in defeat, followed by Mrs. Hobart’s satisfied sniff.
Darcy shook his head, continuing to his chamber. He had been correct, then. A morning spent orchestrating charitable gestures, and an evening devoted to wringing every comfort from their beleaguered host. Who would he find to cut wood in a storm?
The stable yard was an expanse of snow and ice, but his greatcoat had at least been cleaned. Darcy pulled it on as he crossed from the inn’s rear entrance, his boots crunching through the fresh powder that had fallen since morning. The wind had diminished, though the sky remained a sullen grey, and the flakes still floated down around him.
He found Anders in the stable, examining one of the carriage horses. Johnson stood nearby, brushing down Darcy’s mount with steady, practised strokes.
“Sir,” Anders said, straightening at Darcy’s approach. “Did not expect to see you venture out in this weather.”
“I have been confined indoors quite long enough,” Darcy replied. “How do the horses fare?”
“Well enough, sir. They have had proper feed and shelter, which is more than can be said for many caught out in this storm.” Anders patted the carriage horse’s flank with evident satisfaction.
“And the roads?”
Anders exchanged a look with Johnson before answering. “The snow is finally slowing, sir. If that holds, we ought to be able to remove the day after tomorrow. Slow going, to be sure, but passable.”
One more full day trapped at the inn. Darcy supposed he had endured worse, though at present he struggled to recall when. “I see. That is something, at least.”
“Aye, sir. Could be worse.” Anders hesitated, then added, “Begging your pardon, sir, but are you comfortable enough? The inn seems a modest establishment for a gentleman of your standing.”
“I am tolerably well,” Darcy said. “My chamber was much improved. And you, are your rooms warm?”
“The innkeeper’s wife’s been good to us. The rooms have no fireplace, so she’s set us up on pallets in the kitchen near the hearth once the cookingis done for the night. Warm as toast, we are, and the cook slips us extra portions.”
Darcy smiled. “I am glad to hear it.”
“Better than some have it, that is certain,” Anders said. “There are folk sleeping three and four to a room upstairs, and not enough blankets to go round for all of them. Though things have improved today, I will say that much.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “How so?”
Anders leaned against the stable wall, crossing his arms. “That princess, sir. Or lady, or whatever she may be. She has been making arrangements, quiet-like. Extra firewood for the chambers. Blankets distributed to those who needed them most. The innkeeper’s wife was telling the cook just this morning that she had never seen the like, a fine lady taking notice of every wayfarer’s comfort without making a great show of it.”
“Without making a show of it?” Darcy repeated, unable to keep the scepticism from his voice. “I believe her companion makes rather a great deal of noise on her behalf.”