Chapter Eleven #3
“I do not think I will sleep much tonight, and may as well use my time to good effect.” Darcy tilted the papers to the light for a few moments.
“Are you wishing to retire yet? I have boxes of old drawings of the house and lands in my study, and we might consider them against the improvements you are planning.” He glanced up and smiled.
“Consider my inability to sleep this night! If anything is be a soporific, poring over two-hundred-year-old draughtsman’s plans covered in crabbed writing and archaic spelling ought to do the trick. ”
Reid had no objection, and they repaired to the study, down the hallway from the library.
The fire was low but, while Darcy lit the candles in their sconces and candelabra, Reid gave it a few more coals from the scuttle.
Darcy pulled the plans and drawings from their boxes in the bookcases, and spread them over the wide desk.
He poured them each a glass of brandy, and they studied the old, hand-drawn schemes showing the original Elizabethan house and all the changes made to it a century before when the north wing was added.
After their second glass of brandy, Darcy yawned. Curiously tired and out of sorts, he sat back and brooded, staring at the drawings and papers without truly seeing them.
“I am likely going beyond my bounds, but what really troubles you?” Reid pushed aside the plans. “Your brother?”
Darcy stared, a rebuke trembling on the tip of his tongue.
He bit it back. Reid might indeed be stepping beyond the boundary between master and servant, but why else had he so eagerly offered Reid the post of steward?
If he could not trust the man who had served him so well for the last six years, whom else?
He said, mildly enough, “It is the talk of the servants’ hall, I assume. ”
“Oh, aye. There’s much talk of the young master, as many call him, losing his place. And sympathy for him, too.”
“They know him. They do not know me. I spent a month here every summer, and that is the sum of it. Hugh was the son of the house, and I was most often with my uncle at Ashbourne.”
“It will mend itself in time. They will come to know you. Those that do not accept the change will eventually leave, and you can put your own people in their place. Pemberley is yours, and one day you will be easy here.”
Darcy doubted it, but said nothing. Reid’s calm was comforting. Perhaps with Reid and George on his side, he would prevail.
“I heard Mr Hugh flounced out of here this night.” Reid gave him a slight smile.
“He did, indeed. I happened to meet Miss Elizabeth’s elder sister, you see, the day they visited. I suspect Hugh has a tendre in that direction.”
“She’s a very bonny girl.”
“Yes. Hugh evidently thinks so. It sours his already unstable temper. It worries Mr Wickham, that Hugh might do anything when he is in such an ill humour, even tend to violence.” Darcy offered the brandy, though Reid shook his head, and in the end Darcy put the bottle down again unused.
“I am bereft of ideas to remedy the situation. Although, I do not understand either why I am confiding in you! I never before used you as my confessor.”
Reid merely watched him. “I’m hoping it’s because you have some trust in me, though”—and he rubbed the back of his neck and winced, visibly swallowing a yawn of his own—“I left my father’s farm when my brother took it on, because I didna mesh too well with Jamie.
We were always different, him and me, and more than once I was tempted to hurl him down the nearest well.
I am no’ a man who can give sound advice on brothers. ”
“I do trust you. You would not be at Pemberley if I did not.”
“Then I will endeavour to deserve it, and stay as long as I am needed. I would miss that library of yours.” Reid paused. “Word is that Mr Hugh inherited an estate of his own.”
“Shireoaks, in Nottinghamshire. Around thirty miles away.”
“Well, mayhap it’s time he took up the management of his own place.”
“If I send him away from Pemberley, there will be no mending the breach between us.”
“Some things are not for mending. Think on it, and think what is needed for peace in the house.” Reid stretched and shook his head. “I’m for my bed, if you’ll excuse me. I’m more weary than I knew. It’s past midnight, and tomorrow I am bid to a Michaelmas feast.”
Darcy nodded, settling into his chair. Mostly glowing embers now, the fire still gave off a cheerful warmth. He was too lazy to move.
“You should go to bed yourself.” Reid stood, gathered his papers and the architects’ drawings into a sheaf, rolled them, and tucked the roll under his arm.
“Soon. Thank you, Reid. Good night.”
“Good night, sir.” And Reid softly closed the door as he left.
Reid might be right, and he and Hugh were past all mending.
It was a sad thing to contemplate. In fact, no man should contemplate it without something to sustain him through the mental trial.
Darcy eyed the brandy bottle, but he had had two glasses already.
That was his limit, and he was already a touch bosky, if the sleepiness and lethargy creeping over him were any sign. Better not drink more.
He settled back into his chair. The study was warm, and the chair remarkably comfortable. He allowed himself to slump down into its embrace, and closed his eyes.
Only for a moment.