Page 74

Mr. Darcy was in a dither. He had very nearly kissed Elizabeth. While that event in itself would not have been a bad thing (indeed, he had fantasized about it for months), he was not at all certain that she would not have flayed him alive had he done so without first gaining her permission.

She had not moved away from him, but was that merely a symptom of her passionate nature?

He did not want to seduce her (honestly, he was not exactly certain that he could).

He wanted her love. He wanted to marry her.

And then he wanted to lock them both in his bed chamber for several weeks together, alone.

Preferably all in that order, although the ungentlemanly part of his brain that seemed to control his nether regions would occasionally argue that the order of the last two items was not necessarily set in stone.

Of course, the educated, civilized part of his mind that had spent the last two decades desperately trying to stamp out any behavior bearing similarity to George Wickham would immediately dismiss such a suggestion (though not quite as successfully in his dreams as in his conscious mind).

Regardless, he was absolutely certain that something needed to be done. Immediately .

The morning after the ceiling fell in the rose sitting room, Fitzwilliam rose early, hoping to catch Miss Bennet at breakfast and perhaps entice her out for a walk in the park so that he might discover her feelings.

However, it seemed as if everything was conspiring against him.

No sooner had Elizabeth set foot in the breakfast room than a footman arrived with a message that the steward needed the master urgently.

With an apologetic look to the lady, Darcy dutifully left for his study but it took only a brief conversation with Timmons to quash any hope for a quick solution.

A driver trying to reach the Manchester road had attempted a shortcut by crossing on a narrow bridge close to the Pemberley’s boundary.

The cart had come too close to the edge and now the whole rig was teetering on the brink with one wheel resting on nothing but air and a mule team that could do no more than keep it from slipping further.

“I apologize for calling you away from your guests, sir, but when Jack O’Meara came across him, the driver positively refused any help— said his boy was running to a cousin’s but then wouldn’t say who the cousin was. O’Meara thinks there’s something dodgy about him.”

Knowing Pemberley’s old gamekeeper had good instincts about people, Darcy grimaced. “Very well, Timmons. Gather some men and let’s see what he’s about. Have my horse saddled and brought around— I’ll just tell Mrs. Reynolds what’s happening.”

When Darcy and his men reached the bridge, he was not impressed by the man who stepped forward and immediately began to harangue Pemberley’s gamekeeper. “I told you there was no need to go to the big house, you old fool! My boy’s gone to fetch my cousin’s team— I don’t need no other help!”

Darcy eyed the two mules straining in their harness and the cart which, to his eye, was slung rather low for the load of hay it appeared to carry. He spoke quietly to his steward before stepping forward to address teamster.

“Sir,” he interrupted. “We have not been introduced. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, owner of this estate.

The man turned to him, having not yet noticed the gentleman and Darcy caught a flicker of fear in his expression.

With a strained smile, he bowed, tugging his forelock.

“Mr. Darcy, of course. I didn’t realize that the family was at home, sir.

I’m surprised you’d bother coming out for such a minor concern. ”

“Everything at Pemberley is my concern, Mr.…?”

“Errr… Black, sir. Name’s John Black. Not from these parts, sir. Just been visiting some relations and now we’re headed back home.”

“Indeed, that does not surprise me at all, Mr. Black. This road is rarely used by anyone who isn’t local, and we all know the bridge isn’t wide enough for most vehicles.” Darcy gestured to a well-worn track leading down to a ford less than ten yards downstream.

Mr. Black looked as if he had been forced to suck on a lemon. Before he could answer, however, John Timmons called to his master from the cart. The driver’s face flushed with anger and not a little alarm. “How dare you! You’ve no right to go poking around my property!”

When Darcy looked over the side, he was not greatly surprised to see bags of coal that had been hidden under the hay.

With a nod of approval to his man, Pemberley’s master turned back to the driver with a stern look.

“Mr. Black (or whatever your name is): I shall ask you this only once before I have you bound and sent off to the magistrate in Kympton. Where is the coal from, sir? ”

All the man’s bravado collapsed and he looked as if he was about to fall on his knees.

Before he might begin his confession, however, two things happened in rapid succession.

First, Darcy’s men managed to shift the wagon’s weight enough that the mule team were able to pull it back onto the bridge.

Second, a man and a boy came cantering up the road on a second pair of mules.

The rider began bellowing even before he had his feet on the ground. “What the devil have you done now, Johnny Blake? I swear to God, I’ll not be bailing you out of any more scrapes, married to my wife’s poor sister or not!”

“You said I could have a bit of coal as well as the hay, Pete,” protested Mr. Blake (formerly known as Black) weakly.

“Aye, a bit I said! Not my whole store!” Suddenly Pete recognized the gentleman standing by the wagon.

“Oh, God blind me— Mr. Darcy, sir. I didn’t see you, sir.

” Shutting his eyes in mortification, the man bowed low.

“I’m Harris, sir. Pete Harris. I work in the Fernilee colliery, sir; my family rents one of your cottages in Horwich by the Goyt. ”

Darcy was beginning to feel a bit better about the situation. “I am glad to see you, Mr. Harris. This is your brother-in-law?”

“Well, I guess we are that, sir. Our families are close so we’ve always called each other cousins, even before we married the Barker sisters.

He’s not a bad one, Mr. Darcy, just going through a rough patch.

He lost his job when the mill at Ashbourne burned and came to see if I knew of any work.

He’s got three boys as well as the lad there, and his wife’s been real sick, like. ”

“As far as I’m concerned, Mr. Harris, this matter is between you and Mr. Blake. I assume you don’t want to call the magistrate?”

“Oh stars no, Mr. Darcy. I’ll show him the rough side of my tongue on the way back to Horwich, right enough, and watch him like a hawk to see he doesn’t run off with something else that’s not his, but I don’t want him locked up or nothing.

He’s a good worker, sir, just needs someone to keep him on the straight and narrow, like. ”

Darcy nodded, satisfied that the matter was well in hand. “Very good, Mr. Harris. Mr. Timmons?” He looked over to catch his steward’s eye. “Do we know of any work that Mr. Blake might qualify for?”

Timmons rubbed his chin and considered the matter. “As a matter of fact, I’d advise he try the canal office at Whaley— I heard they’re looking to hire on more muleskinners for the locks.”

Harris thanked him sincerely, looking relieved and slapping his cousin’s shoulder with a little more force than necessary, but even Blake looked a little less frightened.

The extra mules hitched up and the cart turned around, this time using the ford.

Timmons sent the Pemberley workmen on their way while Darcy thanked O’Meara for his diligence .

Although Fitzwilliam would have returned directly to the house (and Elizabeth) had he only himself to please, they were near the Greene’s farm and it seemed only right that they should check on progress clearing the burnt cottage.

Once there, Darcy was drawn into a discussion about whether it might be better to build the new cottage on a different site, slightly uphill from the original.

By the time he was able to get away, he returned to Pemberley House with barely enough time to wash and change for luncheon.

The midday meal was a pleasant affair. Elizabeth and Mr. Gardiner had taken advantage of the fine weather to explore the gardens with the children.

Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner had many stories to tell after spending several hours poking around in the attics; Miss Darcy had become quite fascinated by all the relics of her ancestors that were stored there and the older woman was clearly happy to spend time with the daughter of her mother’s friend.

Best of all, they had discovered a trunk tucked away years before with things salvaged from the parsonage before Mr. Jessop had moved in.

Much had been burnt for fear of contagion but the few mementos which remained brought tears to Mrs. Gardiner’s eyes; several books (including her father’s bible), a pendant of her mother’s inherited from that lady’s grandmother, and Rebecca Churchill’s notebooks, filled with mathematical derivations and notes on their publication.

However, all of these had faded in importance when Jonathan and Rebecca’s daughter discovered a flat, rectangular object carefully wrapped in clean rags.

When she had freed it from its covering, the normally calm mother of four had sat down on the floor and wept, for it contained a painting of her parents and the four children, posed before the parsonage on a sunny day with roses blooming on the arbor; a painting by Lady Anne Darcy.