Page 32

Several days into the new year, Mr. Darcy was laboring away at the estate accounts, calculating the taxes and trying to ignore a growing ache in his head.

It was an excessively busy time of year, for, although the harvest was in, the spring’s planting and breeding schedules had to be planned, not to mention the various concerns associated with the mines, quarries, and mills which operated year-round.

Resting his pen in the inkwell, Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes for a moment. He could vaguely recall his mother warning him that his father was likely to be irritable at this time of year, and as an adult, he found that he understood the sentiment all too well.

Darcy was aware that a portion of his foul temper also resulted from his waning patience over hosting a houseful of guests; even Charles and Jane’s constant cheerfulness had begun to grate on his nerves.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out some stiffness and reminded himself that the Bennets and Gardiners would be leaving in two days, quieting the house considerably.

The Bingleys would remain, but they were generally undemanding guests, and even Caroline had been relatively well-behaved (an observation that vaguely worried him but which he chose not to dwell upon).

Something else was bothering him, but Darcy couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

He felt as if something was missing, despite the stacks of ledgers littering his desk.

He shifted some so that they formed a neater pile and a note from his steward regarding repairs in the kitchens caught his eye.

The household accounts! Elizabeth had taken over their day-to-day management, as well as various other matters related to the home farm and tenant cottages.

In past years, Darcy had always reviewed those records at the same time (there being no mistress to look after the responsibility).

Without further thought, Fitzwilliam arose from his desk and headed to his wife’s study.

After knocking on the door, he entered upon hearing the soft murmur of voices.

The sight he was met with—his wife seated at her desk with a ledger while his sister stood to the side, looking intently over her shoulder— should have filled him with pride and contentment.

However, in his present mood, he jumped to a conclusion that he would later regret.

“Elizabeth, when you need help on the accounts you must simply ask me. There’s no need to go behind my back to Georgiana—she knows very little about it, after all.”

Lizzy looked up at her husband blankly; she had been deeply immersed in calculations and it took a minute to process what her husband had just said.

Georgiana, however, understood instantly and, eyes wide, she attempted to correct her brother, stammering, “But Wills…”

Before she might explain, however, Darcy spoke over her; “Don’t concern yourselves—I’m certain I can sort it all out in no time.

” As he was speaking, he moved to his wife’s elbow and guided her out of the chair.

Seating himself with a bit of a flourish, he began shifting the papers around while Elizabeth stared at him in disbelief.

Georgiana cringed when her sister-in-law stepped forward to drop the pen she still held into its stand and spoke in a mild tone that belied the angry sparks shooting from her eyes.

“Well. Thank you, sir, for your kind assistance. If you will excuse me, there is something to which I must attend.” After bobbing a curtsey of which Lady Catherine would have approved, Mrs. Darcy swept out of the room.

Georgiana turned to stare at her brother.

Although she still looked up to him as a father-figure, the increased openness that he had encouraged over the past year had allowed her to know him better as a sibling.

And yet, even with his stories of how he had acted in Hertfordshire and Kent, she had never imagined that he might treat his wife in such a high-handed, condescending manner.

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Poppet, in the future, if Elizabeth is struggling at her duties, you must inform me. I will do everything possible to safeguard her pride, but there are too many people depending on us to allow her to make a muddle out of it just because she’s too proud to admit to me that she needs help. Now, what was she asking you?”

“But Brother, she was showing me how the household expenses are tracked.”

This tickled Darcy’s conscience, for he himself had done little to educate his sister on a mistresses’ duties—at first she had been too young and then it had seemed simpler to continue doing all the work himself.

In truth, there were few questions that she could have answered.

However, despite these niggling doubts, he continued along the current trajectory of his assumptions.

“Well, these ledgers certainly are not as they should be. I showed her how they were set up months ago.”

“Elizabeth is using the method she introduced at Longbourn, after helping her Uncle Gardiner with his business finances,” responded his sister softly.

Darcy had enough experience with accounting that he was quickly coming to understand the format, and just as rapidly developing an ill feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“Brother?” Fitzwilliam finally looked up, for his sister’s tone was much more determined than he had ever heard it.

“Have you really no clue how arrogant you sounded? Elizabeth has been doing an excellent job managing the household—ask Mrs. Reynolds if you don’t believe me.

After all, why would you believe me—you’ve never bothered to teach me any of this! ”

Her own eyes now bright with anger and tears, Georgiana actually kicked the desk in frustration before turning on her heel and leaving her alarmed brother quite alone in his wife’s study. It was not for long, however, as Mrs. Reynolds had been about to enter just as Miss Darcy ran from the room.

By now, Mr. Darcy’s stomach was roiling like a kettle of snakes.

He felt much as he once had when, having recently taken the reins of Pemberley, he had come down hard on the steward for a perceived error in the harvest totals.

He could still remember the hideous embarrassment he had felt when the steward was shown to be correct.

That the current altercation included Elizabeth worsened the feeling exponentially.

“Mr. Darcy?”

Will tried to maintain his composure and turned to the housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds?”

“I was to meet with Mrs. Darcy, but she just informed me that you would be taking her place?” She did not add that she had followed the mistress to the front door and assisted her in putting on her coat and wraps.

The lady had been furious but had remained polite to the servants, even as she was jamming her feet into her walking boots.

If that wasn’t enough, the unusual signs of anger on Miss Darcy’s face as she passed the doorway were more than enough evidence that something wrong.

Mrs. Reynolds had been the housekeeper at Pemberley since the young master was but ten years old and knew with absolute certainty that he was a good man. However, she was not blind to his faults—she too remembered the incident with the steward.

Susan Reynolds gritted her teeth. Anything that upset the equilibrium of the Darcy family would upset the household, and that was her responsibility. She would do whatever she could to do to sort out the problem, and she suspected that she was facing its root.

“Shall I review the annual accounts with you then, sir? ”

Mr. Darcy sighed. “Yes, please. I see that Mrs. Darcy has modified the bookkeeping from what my parents used. I’m afraid that I… misspoke… before she could properly explain the changes to me.”

It took only a quarter of an hour, but even with the briefest of explanations Fitzwilliam could see clearly that Elizabeth’s alterations were improvements, making it significantly easier to calculate a weekly check on the balances rather than leaving it all to the end of the quarter as he had been accustomed to doing.

“What is this new purchasing line in the kitchen budget?” He pointed at a column of numbers.

Mrs. Reynolds couldn’t help but show her pride.

“The mistress set that up. Whenever the tenant’s wives have something to sell, they can bring it up to the Pemberley kitchens on Saturday afternoons.

” She smiled. “Those blackberry preserves you liked so much at breakfast last week came to us that way.”

Darcy was not quite satisfied with the explanation. “But why do they not just sell it on market day in the village?”

“Mrs. Darcy’s experience was that some women would be more comfortable bringing things to the big house, and we are more often able to give them copper rather than barter.” Mrs. Reynolds’ lips thinned. “She suggested the idea to me after visiting young Mr. Jones’ poor wife.”

Darcy understood instantly. Like his father before him, Mr. Jones had a great love of whiskey, although it did not appear to return the favor.

He was a good farmer and generally met his rents, but his wife and children tended to look hungry and their clothes were more patched than most, as any extra money (and some that was not) went to quench the man’s thirst.

“Whenever Mrs. Jones or the children need something she can’t trade for, she comes up on Saturday and sells some preserves or spinning to us and then takes the money straight into Lambton to make her purchases before her husband can drink it up,” said Mrs. Reynolds bluntly.

The housekeeper’s pride in her new mistress was obvious, making Darcy feel even more the clodpate. “That’s an excellent idea.” He sighed and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes. “And I have been an arrogant ass to my wife.”