Incredibly, Claude had sent over three trunks of Darcy’s dresses the night before, and she’d had her sapphire-blue velvet dress, Edward’s favorite, pressed by Marie’s maid in preparation for her visit. But Edward sent a message that he had caught a terrible cold and could not receive her for Sunday dinner. Disappointed, Darcy spent a quiet day with Lemuel and Marie. She skipped church, unwilling to face everyone there; there was no sense pushing her new-found courage. Strangely, she did not think of how she would fare the next day with Claude. She had made her decision: she would go to the house in midmorning, after he’d left for his office. If she could not gain access to his private office or his files, she would wait for him to return. And then she would see. If she could get the key from his watch, she could perhaps slip upstairs in the early-morning hours. Anything was possible, anything could be attempted. She would find a way, she told herself as she fell asleep to the sound of the pattering rain, which had finally arrived in full force.
