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Fitzwilliam Darcy watched as Charles Bingley talked with the Netherfield steward. His friend could make anyone feel at ease and share information with him. And the man was glad when Bingley asked about the grain harvests from two years ago rather than the most recent years.

‘Miss Elizabeth was correct, and the harvests were more in line with the neighbour’s harvests.

The last tenant neglected his tenants and did not provide enough labourers for planting or harvest.’ Darcy glanced toward a print on the wall while thinking, ‘An excellent mind in a woman. I must speak with her again about books.’

“Sir, can I put your team into a harness to pull the ploughs this autumn?” asked the steward.

Charles looked confused, and Darcy came to his rescue, “Mr Bingley’s team of carriage horses are not trained to pull the plough, Jackson. The ploughman would have nothing but trouble getting them to obey his commands.”

“That’s too bad,” the steward replied. “Two more teams would have helped a great deal with ploughing.”

“Next harvest, Mr Bingley’s teams will pull wagons to the barns. They can work together to pull big wagons or work separately with regular wagons,” Darcy said.

The steward nodded and said, “Netherfield’s got only regular farm wagons. But I’ll make certain there are two more readied for next harvest.”

Charles asked, “Darcy, do your horses work during the harvest?”

“The carriage horses pull hay wagons in summer at Pemberley when I am present. But they never pull ploughs in the fields.”

“There are so many things that I do not understand and depend upon others for their knowledge and expertise,” Bingley confessed.

“And do you worry about someone taking advantage of you here?”

Charles replied, “Yes, there are many things in managing an estate that are similar to business.”

Motioning toward the journals on the desk, Darcy said, “Then you must read the past records for Netherfield. The books will include the number of labourers, days of ploughing, and the number of fields for each month…each week. And that is another reason why we must survey each farm in person with the steward and tenant–they must understand that you know these numbers. When it rains, we must ride out the next day and look for which fields flood or wash.”

Darcy continued, “And I suggest you keep your own journal of daily questions and decisions.”

“Do all estates use these journals?” asked Charles.

“I believe the successful men do. The land in Britain has been farmed for thousands of years, and each manor house needs to know what crops grow well in the fields, when is the best time to sow seed, and harvest the corn.”

Bingley inquired, “Is this also done in the house? By the lady of the house?”

“In the largest homes, the housekeeper keeps a journal, though the lady has access and input for planning meals and expenses. Here at Netherfield, without an owner in residence, I am certain Mrs Hobbes keeps the household journal. She knows where the dishes are stored, and the silver is hidden.”

“Caroline and Louisa never speak of keeping a journal at Olive Street.”

“Old Mrs Hurst probably has it and works with the housekeeper on matters in Mr Hurst’s home,” explained Mr Darcy.

“I suppose that happens when a mother and daughter-in-law are in residence.”

Darcy did not say more and allowed Bingley to keep his thoughts to himself. However, both men wondered how prepared the Bennet sisters were to manage a house such as Longbourn.

‘Caroline will never enjoy such a task,’ Charles knew. ‘But I shall ask Louisa.’

Darcy told himself, ‘Nothing Miss Elizabeth has seen or read could prepare her to manage my home in Mayfair, let alone Pemberley’s staff of fifty maids, footmen, and gardeners. No, she would never fit as the mistress of my estates.’

Then he admitted, ‘It did take me a year–two years–to truly understand all that I had to manage in my holdings. Even with a lifetime to prepare and my university studies, there was much I had to learn.’

Surprised by his internal argument, the gentleman wondered, ‘Why am I thinking of such?’

~~~

During his next visit to the Bennet home, Mr Bingley asked about the estate books at Longbourn and any journals on the household accounts.

The conversation began in the hallway of Longbourn when the gentlemen came to shoot partridges again.

When the hunters returned from walking over the fields with a brace of birds, Jane had the household books in the parlour and displayed their contents for Mr Bingley’s view while he took tea with the Bennet family.

Unfortunately, Caroline had imposed on Louisa, and the two ladies had travelled to Longbourn to call on Mrs Bennet while the men were shooting. During their visit, Miss Bingley made several cutting remarks about ladies dealing with kitchens, pantries, and receipts.

To counter his sister-in-law’s comments, Mr Hurst confirmed that his mother kept such books at Olive Street and the Hurst home in Suffolk, but the housekeepers made most of the entries into the books.

Mr Bennet shared the journals from ten years in the past and the current year to illustrate how some entries remained the same and others varied.

Mr Darcy added that the housekeeper in every large house he had visited kept such a journal, and each steward and secretary used journals.

Attempting to recover from her faux pas, Miss Bingley asked, “Mr Darcy, how many stewards and secretaries do you have?”

When several people leaned forward to hear the man’s response, Charles interrupted the conversation and asked Miss Mary to play on the instrument in the corner.

There were no invitations to supper for the visitors, and shortly after Mary completed playing a pair of songs, the visitors departed.

Miss Bingley was disappointed when only Mr Hurst chose to ride in the carriage.

Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley raced back, their horses jumping the fences of pastures between Longbourn and Netherfield.

~~~

“Lizzy, how rich is Mr Darcy?” asked Lydia while the family was gathered around the supper table.

Her expression was a scowl when Elizabeth replied, “I do not know, Lydia. It is not a question I should ever ask a gentleman.”

Mary spoke up, “Mr Bingley interrupted his sister when she asked Mr Darcy that rude question.”

Mrs Bennet said, “My sister Phillips reported Mr Phillips saying the man has ten thousand a year. Can you imagine how rich he must be with houses across the kingdoms? Without doubt, he has hundreds of servants.”

From the opposite side of the table, Mr Bennet declared, “My dear, you are gauche to speak of the supposed income of the young men.”

“We must speak of money now that Mr Collins is gone to Charlotte Lucas. Mr Bingley’s five thousand is nothing compared to Mr Darcy’s ten thousand,” insisted Mrs Bennet. “But I believe that Jane and Lizzy must marry them.”

“Mamma, you should not say such things at the table,” said Elizabeth, as she blushed brightly.

Mr Bennet admonished his wife, “And you should never speak of those things with your sister!”

Lydia asked, “Lizzy, might I have Mr Darcy if you do not want him? I should like to be rich.”

“No, you are too young to marry this year, Lydia,” Mrs Bennet declared. “After Jane and Elizabeth are married, their husbands will bring young rich men around for Mary, Kitty and you.”

“Mrs Bennet, cease this talk,” Mr Bennet said with some force.

Not to be denied, Frances added, “But Mr Bennet, the man has ten thousand a year. He is as rich as a duke!”

~~~

On a clear, brisk day early in November, Elizabeth escaped Longbourn for a walk.

She waited until after completing the sewing for the morning but left before time for lunch The young woman tied her bonnet under her chin, threw a woollen cloak around her shoulders and slipped on warm mittens.

Her sturdy boots let her walk across fields and along roads with the sun upon her shoulders, but the autumn wind blew any heat away.

There was no company along the road but for one wagon carrying firewood from the woods to some farmhouse and two farmers moving grain or gourds used for animal feed.

Deciding to return to Longbourn, she turned around and, shortly thereafter, heard the sound of horse hooves approaching behind her.

The woman kept to the side of the road, and the rider went past but stopped.

The man mounted on the horse was Mr Darcy, who dismounted before approaching Elizabeth, leading his horse.

“Good morning, Miss Elizabeth,” he called in greeting. “Are you not cold?”

“I am cold, but then so is everyone not wrapped in a wool blanket while seated next to the fire this cold morning.”

He smiled at the young woman before asking, “Might I walk with you for a mile?”

“A very specific distance, sir,” she replied. “Will you leave me before anyone in Meryton spies us?”

“Most definitely. My experiences in London taught me to be careful when speaking with young ladies. Still, you have a level head and will not run to your mother about an engagement after a simple conversation.”

A second man on horseback approached from behind and rode past without stopping. Once the horse and rider were further up the road, Elizabeth continued their conversation, “Mr Darcy, I must disagree with you.”

“How do we disagree, Miss Elizabeth?”

“I never consider our conversations to be simple. I enjoy them immensely,” she confessed. “And I assure you that I no wish to have such a conversation with my mother.”

Nodding to acknowledge the young woman’s statement, he asked, “What is your purpose in walking today?”

“I wish simply to walk for exercise and escape the noise of my father’s household this morning.”

There was a look of surprise on the gentleman’s usually stoic visage. Elizabeth smiled and explained, “Mr Darcy, remember I have four sisters at home. Surely, you can believe that the conversation level can be loud occasionally.”

“Is there not somewhere you can go for peaceful solitude in the manor?” he asked.

Elizabeth shook her head and replied, “Only the attics, where there is no light or heat, or the cellar, which is equally dark and cold.”

“What of your father’s library? He receives the London newspapers almost every day, I believe.”

Continuing her explanations, Elizabeth said, “It is his refuge, and he refuses to share in the mornings. If I am present, one or more of my sisters will intrude, or my mother will enter the library to argue with me about sewing or some task the maids did not complete. Then my father bans me from his library for the remainder of the day.”

After a moment, the gentleman asked, “And what of the newspapers? Do they provide fresh topics for discussion with your father and sisters?”

“Without doubt, the newspapers generate much talk at Longbourn. My younger sisters and mother devour the gossip and repeat it for days. My father and I discuss the news of the wars with Bonaparte and the embargo on trade with the continent, and we also enjoy the articles on new books and published scientific pamphlets.”

“Was there anything of particular interest lately?”

Yes, Father and I were intrigued by the review of a book by a parson named Gilbert White.

The book is titled The Natural History of Selborne.

The newspaper article stated there was some new controversy about the man’s descriptions of the summer of 1783 filled with meteors and storms. The sun was veiled that year, and the light was reflected strangely.

A learned gentleman in London opined that the reports of that strange summer were caused by a great volcanic eruption in Iceland where many thousands of people were killed. ”

They discussed volcanos, the environs of Selborne in Hampshire, and books they had both read. As their time together ended, Darcy apologised, “Miss Elizabeth, I have interrupted your solitude and quiet.”

“There is no need to apologise, sir,” she assured him. “I enjoyed the conversation greatly, and I was able to exorcise my tension by walking. The truly cold days will arrive shortly, and I shall have several weeks without the opportunity to walk any distance.”

“In the north, we have heavy snow in January and February that restricts movement to just the house and nearby stables. The horses miss the exercise, as do I.”

“And household tasks continue for ladies in winter,” Elizabeth said. “We must mend stockings and help with the laundry.

“Do you do the laundry yourself, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy asked mischievously.

Laughing, she replied, “No. Our housekeeper does the wash, but I help hang the clothes over the lines we use above stairs. Mamma hangs things in the parlour and the dining room, where we have fires, all day when laundry needs to dry. But everything must be down before three of the clock when callers might arrive.”

“Even with snow on the ground?” the gentleman inquired.

“Mamma insists we be prepared for visitors in the afternoon, even when snow flies through the air. Someone might be desperate for shelter at our door, and she dreads the event where my father’s shirts hang on a line in the parlour when a frozen traveller is brought to the fire to warm himself.”

Smiling now, Darcy asked, “Does Mrs Bennet expect a frozen traveller to wait until the proper hour to knock on your door?”

“I am certain a proper Englishman would never dream of knocking on our door until the proper hour, sir, whatever his situation,” she replied in a serious tone that only widened his smile.

They walked on, exchanging remarks as they neared Longbourn. Elizabeth said, “You should smile more, Mr Darcy.”

“Ah, you have found me out, Miss Elizabeth. I am the frozen traveller waiting for the appropriate time to knock on your mother’s front door.”

Before they came within view of Longbourn, Mr Darcy took his leave of Elizabeth, mounted his horse, and rode back toward Netherfield.

She continued along the road and then hurried her steps on the gravel drive that led to the front door.

Even though she was cold, Elizabeth continued around the house to the kitchen door.

There, she found a chair beside the fire where she could remove her muddy boots and avoid her mother’s remarks about bringing dirt into the hallway.

All the time, her thoughts were of Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy and suddenly imagined how pleased she would be if he knocked on the door of her father’s manor and requested to warm himself at their fire. In her heart, she wondered, ‘Do I dare like him? Do I admit to myself that I like him?’

~~~