No matter how he ignored it, the tip of Fitzwilliam Darcy's nose grew colder and colder with each moment he scratched quill to paper. Completing a thought in the letter for his Derbyshire steward, the master leaned back and stretched. Exhaling breath he didn't recognize he had been holding, he rose to attend the dwindling coals in the fireplace of the Rosings library. After a warm winter, this sudden cold snap had come from seemingly nowhere and he was surprised to find himself musing that spring most certainly needed to return to her previous position.
Although the study of the late Sir Lewis was available to him, and much easier to regulate temperature-wise, Darcy preferred the open familiarity of his long time refuge. He poked the coals to illicit a brighter effort on their part before lowering and heaving two large logs from the pile into the fray. A few more pokes and readjustments, he was pleased to see feeble flames lick the new additions. He wasn't surprised Lady Catherine never had the fireplaces upgraded to coal burning.
“Darcy, man, I know the situation is dire, but surely you haven't dismissed all of the housemaids already.”
Darcy, still crouched near the hearth, turned his head to see his brother in heart, but cousin in fact, standing in the doorway with a smirk on his face. Darcy dusted off his hands, despite their earlier ink stains, and stuck one out to Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the second son of the Earl of Matlock, his uncle on his mother's side.
Richard pretended to demure at Darcy's rustic state, before grabbing the man's hand and clasping his forearm in warm greeting. The men silently moved to the sideboard and Darcy poured them each a drink with Richard motioning for just a touch more in his glass. Darcy nodded and obliged.
Settling into the two chairs near the fire, Darcy swirled the thick liquid in his glass and watched the reflection of flames in the glass rim.
“I did not dismiss all of the housemaids, not that Aunt Catherine would sustain such a purge. I merely weighed the consequences of waiting for assistance over the state of my cold nose and decided the strongest course of action was to rectify the situation myself.”
“Hear, hear, the master decided and acted.” Richard gulped a large swig down after raising his glass in mockery.
To those who didn't know the master of Pemberley and Rosings well, his stony expression would appear to be one of censure. But Richard saw the twinkle in his cousin's eye, not that Darcy's reception ever diminished his desire to tease.
Darcy matched Richard with an equally large gulp, just as a maid entered with a curtsy at the door. He motioned with his fingers for her to approach, and she handed him a simple folded note, before curtsying and leaving the room.
Darcy flipped the missive open:
Cousin-
It is not in my habit to make silly requests as a woman on her deathbed, but my friend, Mrs. Collins, has not visited in two days. Please make inquiries if there are any means we could assist her in returning? Her company and reading is a small light in the darkness I am facing.
Anne
Without much interest, Darcy commanded the note to the flames and returned to his chair. He mulled Anne's request and tried to weigh how controlled he would be to visit the parsonage. The Archbishop was to arrive in just three more days and while difficult, he had managed to endure not seeing his Elizabeth in that time.
“You are frowning. A penny for your thoughts?”
“Do you have such penny to pay?” Darcy said dryly, not above his own manner of provoking Richard's ire.
“Two! But come; come what note has you so out of sorts? Has Aunt planned venison pie for dinner?”
That venison pie was the least favorite of Darcy's was a well-known family fact, after a disastrous time of him running from the dinner table at the age of ten when his mother and father attempted to make him eat it. Since that thrashing for poor manners, Darcy no longer ran from any unpalatable meal, but limited such cuisine to three drawn out mouthfuls and no more.
“Anne worries that Mrs. Collins has not been to visit her in a few days and she has requested I inquire into the matter.” Darcy took a final drink from his glass before rising to refill his and take Richard's to do the same.
“So you would deny a dying woman her harmless request?”
“It's not that light of a decision. She is asking me to tell the parson to send his wife for your future wife's comfort.”
“And that is not within the realm of work for a parson?” Richard said more as a statement of irony than as a question.
Darcy frowned further and returned with fresh beverages. He took a deep breath and resolved that as always, he would hold his own control and not let his passionate affections shake him. It would be wonderful to see Elizabeth and inhale her delicate lavender scent.
“Alright Richard, you have persuaded me. Let's saddle our horses and ride to the parsonage.”
“Wait, I must go as well? This sounds to be estate business.” Richard hoped for a private audience with Anne while Darcy was gone.
Darcy finally gave his cousin an elusive smile. “As the chief proponent of the scheme, it seems only fitting you see it through. Unless His Majesty's Finest is fearful of a lowly parson…,” Darcy said, trailing off and collecting his post from the desk to drop off in town. Richard had yet to fully appreciate the idiocy of Mr. Collins since their last visit was cut short.
“Afraid of a parson? I should think not.”
Darcy returned his inkwell and quill to its rightful drawer. “Oh, somehow I think you will find this parson quite extraordinary.”