Page 15 of The Shades of Pemberley

The estate itself was well managed, orderly, and the tenants were at peace aside from a few spats that cropped up occasionally.

His cousin, the previous Darcy master of the estate, had claimed the respect of those whose livelihood depended on his industry, and Darcy determined to earn their trust and loyalty.

When they were out on the estate, they visited tenants, introducing Darcy and listening to their concerns, met the other denizens, such as the parson in Kympton who was under Pemberley’s patronage, and visited the local market town, Darcy introducing himself to the merchants with whom he would share a mutual dependence.

In time, Darcy grew comfortable with his new position, though he knew true understanding of the estate would take years to learn.

“It is far more diverse than what I am accustomed to,” said Darcy as they rode back to the house in the distance on a fine February day.

The time for Elizabeth’s visit was approaching, such that Darcy found he needed more concentration to focus on the matters at hand.

“The principles are the same, but Pemberley is further above Netherfield Park than Netherfield is above Longbourn, my neighbor to the west.”

“Longbourn is the home of your betrothed, is it not?” asked Fitzwilliam.

“It is,” said Darcy. “The estate is much smaller, perhaps about two thousand pounds per annum. My father-in-law is not the most diligent master, and the estate is entailed to a distant cousin, but for all that, he does not suffer incompetence or disorder. Yet it cannot compare with Pemberley.”

“Few can. Pemberley is a greater estate than even my father’s property at Snowlock in southern Derbyshire. The earldom boasts far greater assets than just the family estate, but I suspect you are as wealthy as my father, for all that his is the greater consequence in society.”

Darcy was interested to hear it. “Has your father told you his opinion of my inheritance?”

“Little enough,” said Fitzwilliam with a shrug.

“I know him well enough to guess. The earl is not an especially proud man, though he is well aware of his position in society. His primary concern is the organized succession of the estate and the protection of his niece. When I informed him of your willingness to allow Georgiana to remain here, he was effusive in his praise of your liberality.”

There was little reason to bask in the earl’s approbation; to Darcy, his stance was the correct one. “Do you suppose he will visit at some point?”

“Yes, I suspect he will,” said Fitzwilliam. “If for no other reason, he will wish to confirm for himself the health of the estate and Georgiana’s wellbeing.”

“Then please inform him that he is welcome to join us at any time convenient.”

Soon thereafter, they arrived at the stables and consigned their mounts into the care of the stable hands, then made their way toward the house. There, a surprise of an unpleasant nature awaited them, for the butler addressed them the moment they entered the house.

“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Wickham has come to Pemberley.”

Fitzwilliam scowled and eyed Gates, the butler, while Darcy looked on with interest. “Where is he?” demanded Fitzwilliam.

“Mr. Wickham is in the sitting-room with Miss Darcy; Mrs. Younge is attending them. I have also stationed Mr. Thompson just outside the door in case he is needed.”

With a curt nod, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “I shall explain later, Darcy, but I strongly suggest you deny Wickham entrance to the estate from this point forward. The man was a boy here, but he is a debtor, a wastrel, and a seducer of women.”

Trusting Fitzwilliam’s judgment, he nodded to the butler. “Please see to it, Gates. In the future, do not admit this Mr. Wickham to the house, and if he should dare show his face here, you may employ any means necessary to see him from the property.”

The butler’s relief was palpable. “I shall do so, Mr. Darcy.”

“Then I suppose we must beard him and rescind any welcome he still presumes,” said Fitzwilliam. “To own the truth, I am surprised my cousin did not deny him access before.”

Mr. Gates offered a slight shrug. “I suspect he did not think it was necessary. Mr. Wickham visited after the death of Mr. Darcy’s father. When Mr. Darcy concluded that meeting, Mr. Wickham left and has returned but once since. That meeting concluded in only a few minutes.”

“Very well,” said Fitzwilliam.

Together they strode toward the sitting-room close to the entrance, where Pemberley received visitors to the estate.

Long before they arrived, they espied the hulking form of Mr. Thompson, Pemberley’s mountainous footman, who was situated outside the door listening to everything that happened in the room.

He turned at their approach, the scowl he sported fearsome to behold.

“Has he said anything he should not?” asked Fitzwilliam in a soft voice.

The footman’s response was a snort, his deep voice increasing the menace of his not insubstantial ability to intimidate. “If he had, I would have grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him from the house. I still owe him another beating for Sally.”

Sally, Darcy knew, was Mr. Thompson’s wife, the footman’s inference explaining his antipathy for the interloper. Fitzwilliam acknowledged him with a nod.

“There may be a chance to have a go at him yet, Mr. Thompson. Please wait here; we shall summon you if needed.”

Mr. Thompson grinned and cracked his knuckles, an ominous sign of his intent.

There was no cessation in the conversation in the room, a man’s voice from what Darcy could determine, which was a wonder; the sounds created by Thompson’s knuckles were loud and intimidating enough to put a man of courage to flight.

Together, Darcy and Fitzwilliam entered the room to the sight of a man sitting with Georgiana, speaking in a manner that seemed pleasant.

Georgiana, it appeared, knew no harm of him, for if she did not take pleasure in his company, she seemed to at least accept him.

Mrs. Younge, Darcy noted, sat nearby, though Darcy could not see from her expression what she thought of Mr. Wickham’s visit.

When he caught sight of them, Mr. Wickham rose and donned a wide grin, saying: “Fitzwilliam, old chap, it is excellent to see you again. And this must be Pemberley’s new master.”

Mr. Wickham regarded him with interest, and after a time, his lip curled in amusement.

“I hope you will forgive me if I observe he is not nearly so intimidating as your cousin was. I can see the potential for Darcy’s implacable mask of displeasure, but I suspect he will need to practice it for many months to perfect it. Perhaps a mirror would be an asset?”

“Georgiana,” said Fitzwilliam, saying nothing to the man, “it appears we must speak with Wickham in private. Please retire to your chambers or the music room. We shall send for you when he departs.”

Though it was clear Georgiana knew nothing ill of Mr. Wickham, she sensed her cousin’s anger at once and did not hesitate to obey.

For her part, Mrs. Younge followed her at once, but not without a distasteful sneer for Mr. Wickham.

In moments, they were gone, allowing Darcy to take stock of the man before him.

Mr. Wickham was a handsome man, his features what young ladies with nothing but a man’s looks in mind might swoon over.

He stood a little shorter than Darcy, though his height was not insubstantial, boasted a full head of wavy, deep blond hair, blue eyes, and an open smile that Darcy at once labeled as cocksure.

Darcy at once branded him smooth and self-assured, a man who talked much but said little, and with little attention to truth.

Even if Darcy did not have Fitzwilliam’s assurances on the subject, Darcy did not think he would have trusted the man given his appearance.

“Well, Fitzwilliam, will you say nothing?” There was a hint of mocking in Mr. Wickham’s tone. “Perhaps you should introduce me to the new master of Pemberley, for it appears I must deal with him.”

“Glib to a fault, as always,” said Fitzwilliam, the mocking in his voice not hidden at all. “I shall do so, but only to ensure Darcy knows the snake in the grass before it strikes. As for any dealings you reference, they shall be of a short duration.”

Fitzwilliam performed the honors with an economy of words, though when he spoke of Wickham, he added: “Wickham is the son of Pemberley’s previous steward; if you recall, I spoke of Mr. Moore’s predecessor not long after you arrived.”

“Yes, I remember,” said Darcy.

“My connection to the Darcy family is much deeper than that,” said Wickham. “I was the protégé of Darcy’s father, the best man who ever breathed. He loved me better than his son to own the truth.”

“Do not make me laugh, Wickham,” snapped Fitzwilliam. “You and I both know that you were not dearer to my uncle than his son, and the only reason he continued to count you as a friend is that my cousin did not see fit to inform his father of your depravity.

“Now, why have you come?”

“Why, to pay my respects to my patron’s son, of course,” said Wickham, affecting confusion. “After all, I was the favorite of his father.”

“You should have stayed away,” rejoined Fitzwilliam. “Darcy made it quite clear that you are not welcome at Pemberley.”

“Yes, I well understand Darcy’s betrayal,” said Wickham, keeping his infuriating calmness, infused with scorn.

“The betrayal was all on your side. Now, state your reason for your presence before we have you thrown from the estate.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Wickham, his tone uncaring. “I came because Darcy owes me, and I intend to collect.”

“Your audacity is breathtaking.” Fitzwilliam glared at him. “Tell me, Wickham, what do you suppose my cousin owes you?”