Page 11 of The Shades of Pemberley

P emberley’s massive portico loomed before Darcy as the carriage rolled to a stop, allowing him to escape its confines, much to his relief.

Whatever benefits he would now possess from his new position as the estate’s master, he now knew with no doubt that he would not enjoy the three-day journey to London and his previous home.

Before him on the steps stood the two people he had noted as he approached, a man and a young woman.

The man was familiar to Darcy, as he had met Colonel Anthony Fitzwilliam several times over the years and found him to be an excellent sort.

The young woman he knew to be Miss Georgiana Darcy, the previous master’s much younger sister.

While the colonel appeared stoic, Miss Darcy’s pale complexion bore the signs of grief, if not recent weeping.

The moment Darcy alighted, the colonel stepped forward, hand extended.

“Darcy—” said he before he faltered and fell silent.

A moment later, he offered Darcy a wan smile. “I apologize, for it is odd to use that moniker when I have addressed my cousin with it for so many years.”

“That is understandable,” replied Darcy. “If it would be easier for you, I have no objection to you using my first name, though I will note it is the same as your surname.”

The man, whom Darcy knew to possess a jovial character when not grieving the loss of a beloved cousin, responded with a grin, though it did not erase the lines from his face.

“There is no reason, Darcy, though I thank you for the sentiment. You are Darcy by blood and descent, and you are now the Darcy of Pemberley. The awkwardness will fade in time, I am sure, and more expeditiously if I do not avoid the truth.”

There was little reason for a lengthy response to the colonel’s comment, so Darcy contented himself with a nod.

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned at once to his young cousin, performing the introduction to her, confirming Darcy’s speculation about her identity.

Miss Darcy offered a curtsey in greeting to his bow, but other than a few soft words, she said nothing, unsurprising given the circumstances.

“Come,” said Fitzwilliam, gesturing toward the house. “Having made the journey myself many times, I expect you are tired and in need of refreshing yourself. I shall have Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, show you to your room. Thereafter, you and I may speak before dinner.”

Fitzwilliam turned to Georgiana. “Georgiana, my dear, there is no reason for you to involve yourself in those discussions. If you wish, you are more than welcome to retire to your room or the music room as you choose.”

The girl shot her cousin a look of gratitude. “Thank you, Anthony. Then I shall play the pianoforte until dinner.”

The house was even more massive than Darcy had thought when viewed from the inside, rendering it likely he would need a guide for at least the first few days of his residence there.

The room to which the housekeeper, a matronly woman similar—though not in face and form—to Mrs. Hill of Longbourn, was situated in the family wing, yet was not the master’s chambers.

Darcy knew he would move into those rooms at some point, but for the moment, he was grateful for Fitzwilliam’s forbearance, knowing he still needed time to accustom himself to his new situation.

The appointments were excellent as befitted a house of Pemberley’s obvious quality and stature; the bedroom Darcy would inhabit was even finer than the master’s chambers at Netherfield.

It took only a few moments for Darcy to put his appearance to rights with the assistance of his trusty manservant, Snell, and after he felt himself ready, he accepted a footman’s guidance to the master’s study, where he found Fitzwilliam.

“Though my sudden introspection disrupted my thoughts,” said Fitzwilliam when Darcy entered the room, “I shall say what I intended before. I thank you for your timely attendance on us here at Pemberley, for I know it must have been an imposition.”

“Not at all,” returned Darcy. “Given the seriousness of the situation and the implications for my future, there was no choice but to drop everything in Hertfordshire and journey here at once.”

Fitzwilliam nodded, but the deliberate lightness in Darcy’s tone must have pricked his interest. “I hope my letter did not interrupt anything serious.”

“Nothing at all,” said Darcy, reflecting on this man’s obvious observant nature. “My wedding, scheduled for less than two weeks from now, must give way to the needs of the moment, but other than that, I was at my leisure.”

It was no surprise when Fitzwilliam gaped at Darcy, given the unceremonious way he had dropped the information. His shock lasted only a moment before he burst into laughter.

“While I apologize for interrupting your impending nuptials, I am heartened at your diligence and your ability to summon humor. I hope when I make your fiancée’s acquaintance, there is some hope of escaping her displeasure.”

“Elizabeth is no shrinking violet,” said Darcy, the softening of his tone audible in his ears.

“While more than one unwary man has felt the rough side of her tongue when she felt it warranted, she understands the necessity of our current separation. It is on my mind that she might visit during my stay, though my thoughts on the subject are yet rudimentary. I know she cannot stay at Pemberley, but if the inn in the nearby town is sufficient, they could stay there.”

“Lambton is an excellent town of which my cousin often spoke at length,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “The inn there is of superior quality.”

“Then I shall ponder the matter further. In truth, I have some knowledge of the town, for my betrothed’s aunt lived there for some years when she was a girl.”

At Fitzwilliam’s gesture, they sat in a pair of chairs before the fire, his host for the moment providing them both with glasses of fine brandy.

The difference between Pemberley and Netherfield Park was evident at once, for the brandy was far more expensive and of excellent quality than Darcy indulged in at home.

Darcy was not much for hard spirits and never imbibed to excess, but he appreciated the superiority of the vintage at once.

“As you might apprehend,” said Darcy, opening the distasteful subject he knew they must discuss, “I was shocked to receive your letter. The notion that my cousin might perish before siring an heir never occurred to me, though I knew that it was possible.”

“I cannot say I am surprised,” said Fitzwilliam, his prior humor giving way to solemnity. “It was a shock to us all.”

The colonel sighed. “Though I would not speak of it at all if I could avoid it, I know you must wish to know what happened. My cousin was out riding on the estate when his horse threw him—he did not survive the impact.”

“That is shocking,” said Darcy, not having expected something of this nature.

“Even more so,” said Fitzwilliam, “as he had an excellent seat.”

“Did something spook the beast?”

“That is a mystery,” replied Fitzwilliam. “As he was leaving for a visit to a tenant on the distant part of the estate and was alone, he was not discovered until the horse carrying him returned to the stables alone.”

“A combination of unfortunate circumstances, then,” murmured Darcy.

“It was,” agreed Fitzwilliam. “My father’s estate is a few hours south of here on the border with Staffordshire. As I was there at the time on leave, my father deemed me the logical choice to oversee Pemberley until you arrived.”

Fitzwilliam fixed him with an apologetic smile and added: “As you know, I am in the army. While I can stay for a time, a recall from my general is inevitable. I shall stay so long as I am able and offer my support, but I cannot manage Pemberley forever.”

“That is understandable,” said Darcy. “I thank you for whatever guidance you can offer. As you know, my property in Hertfordshire is not half as extensive as Pemberley—I am afraid that what I know will be insufficient.”

“While I cannot claim to be an old hand in estate management,” agreed Fitzwilliam, “my father taught me something of the craft. It will not be necessary to return to my duties for perhaps some weeks yet, so we shall learn what we must together.”

Sensible as he was to this man giving of his time, especially at a time he expected to be at leisure, Darcy gave him as sincere thanks as anyone could muster on such an occasion.

The colonel assured him it was no trouble and offered to send for the steward to speak to Darcy and begin educating him on the specifics of the property.

The steward, Mr. Moore, arrived a few moments later, and within half an hour, the man’s depth of knowledge and his dedication to the estate impressed Darcy.

Mr. Moore spoke at length, informing Darcy of the crops they grew, the rotation they used, and something of the other sources of income, which included sheep in the rockier northern reaches, a herd of cattle to the extreme south, and a variety of other industries such as timber and a large rock quarry.

Soon, Darcy had a better picture of the diversity of his new property, which was far greater than what he had known at Netherfield.

Darcy attempted to ask intelligent questions of the man, which Mr. Moore answered without hesitation.

When he felt he had absorbed as much information as he supposed he could, they dismissed the steward, who promised to introduce them to the tenants and other important residents on the estate.

“It appears your cousin understood the importance of hiring excellent people to manage his property,” observed he when the steward departed.

“That is a truth he learned from his father,” replied Fitzwilliam. “Morgan Darcy also had an excellent steward by the name of Mr. Wickham. Old Mr. Wickham died about the same time as my Uncle Darcy, but my cousin searched for some time before he hired Moore to assume control over the property.”