Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Darcy stepped down the front steps of Netherfield as the first pale light spread across the fields. The air was crisp but not harsh, and the promise of a clear day showed in the brightening sky along the hedgerows.
It was well suited to a long ride. He made his way to the stables and entered Atlas’s stall. The horse lifted his head at the sound of his name and stepped forward, nudging Darcy’s coat pocket with clear intention.
Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. “Yes, I have not forgotten.”
Atlas accepted the carrot with satisfaction while Darcy fastened the saddle and bridle.
When all was ready, he led the horse into the yard and mounted with easy familiarity.
Today he chose a different direction, away from the road to Meryton and toward the open ground beyond.
The land lay quiet at that hour. A thin mist clung to the low ground, lifting slowly as the sun rose.
After some distance, he came upon several men at work in what appeared to be a shallow depression in the earth. Stakes marked out a broad perimeter.
Mr. Wilmot stood nearby in conversation with one of the labourers.
Darcy drew rein and inclined his head. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” Wilmot replied, stepping away from the men. “A fine day for riding.”
“It is indeed.” Darcy gestured toward the excavation. “A pond, I presume?”
“Yes. This ground floods in the wetter months. We determined it better to make use of it than to struggle against it.”
“An entirely sensible approach,” Darcy observed. “For fish?”
“And water plants,” Wilmot said. “It will serve both practical and ornamental purposes.”
Darcy nodded thoughtfully. “A good use of otherwise troublesome ground.”
His gaze shifted toward a modest rise in the distance. “Would it be permitted to ride up that hill?”
Wilmot turned to look. “Oakham Mount. It belongs to Longbourn, but visitors are not discouraged.”
“Thank you.” Darcy urged Atlas forward.
A narrow path wound upward. The ascent was steady but not taxing. At the summit, he reined in and surveyed the landscape. Netherfield lay behind him, orderly and contained. Beyond, Longbourn stretched across its fields, carefully divided and bordered by well-maintained hedgerows.
To one side, on the far edge of Netherfield land and set well apart from the principal stable yard, stood a larger stable block than he had previously noticed.
It faced outward toward the open grazing fields rather than inward toward the house.
Several men were at work there. Two horses were being exercised along a straight stretch of turf.
Another stood saddled while a groom adjusted its bridle.
This was no arrangement for leisure riding.
Darcy studied the placement with quiet interest. The stable’s position was deliberate, set upon Netherfield acreage yet bordering the Longbourn pastures closely enough to serve them with efficiency.
The arrangement was practical. He shifted his gaze toward the orchard.
From this height he could see its orderly spacing and the smaller plantings beneath the trees.
It was no haphazard cultivation, but careful design.
Below, the pond excavation lay in progress.
The operations of the two estates were not separate but thoughtfully aligned.
The sun had climbed higher than he intended. He glanced at the position of the light and gave a small nod to himself. Breakfast would not wait forever. He patted Atlas’s neck and turned back toward Netherfield.
***
The family was gathered in the drawing room, awaiting the arrival of Mr. Collins.
Lydia muttered under her breath that even history lessons would prove more diverting than the visit of a solemn clergyman. Mrs. Tyler inclined her head toward her pupil, and Lydia immediately sat straighter, though her expression remained faintly aggrieved.
Voices sounded in the foyer. A moment later, Mr. Hill appeared in the doorway.
“Mr. Collins.”
The family rose. Mr. Bennet stepped forward. “Welcome to Longbourn, sir. I am Mr. Bennet. This is my wife, Mrs. Bennet, and our daughters, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia. Mrs. Tyler is governess to the younger girls.”
Each lady curtseyed in turn.
Mr. Collins bowed with careful precision. “I thank you for so gracious a reception. I perceive at once that my cousins are most handsome.”
Mr. Bennet’s expression altered almost imperceptibly. “Pray, be seated.”
Mr. Collins complied, his eyes moving about the room in measured survey.
“You possess a very agreeable house,” he said. “Though naturally it cannot rival Rosings Park, the seat of my esteemed patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, still it is remarkably comfortable.”
Mrs. Bennet’s smile wavered. “You are most obliging, sir. Will you take tea, or would you prefer first to see your room?”
“Tea would be most welcome.”
Mrs. Bennet rang for it.
Mr. Collins’s gaze settled upon Mrs. Tyler. “You are engaged as governess here?”
“I am,” Mrs. Tyler replied calmly.
“My late father,” Mr. Collins continued, “was of the opinion that extensive female education is seldom of material consequence.”
The room grew still.
Elizabeth glanced toward the tea tray as Hill entered, then looked back at their cousin.
“Did your father offer reasons for that view?” she asked mildly.
Mr. Collins hesitated. “I cannot say he articulated them in detail. I have no doubt his judgment was sound.”
Elizabeth rose to assist her mother with the tea. She carried a cup to Mr. Collins before returning to her seat.
“You were educated at home, I presume?” she continued.
“My mother instructed me in my earliest studies,” he replied. “My letters and figures.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. "Then your mother’s efforts must have been of consequence indeed.”
A faint flush rose in Mr. Collins’s face.
“I merely repeat what I was taught,” he said, a touch stiffly.
Elizabeth smiled with deliberate sweetness. “One wonders what Lady Catherine might think of such a doctrine.”
Mr. Collins nearly choked upon his tea. “I should never presume to attribute such a notion to her ladyship.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth said. “It would be most unfortunate.”
A brief silence followed.
Mr. Collins set down his cup and stood abruptly. “I believe a short repose would not be ill-advised after my journey.”
“Certainly,” Mrs. Bennet said at once. “I shall show you your chamber.” They departed together.
Mr. Bennet watched the door close behind them. “Well,” he observed, rising, “our cousin promises amusement. I shall retreat to my book-room before I am tempted to improve him.”
***
Elizabeth left Longbourn dressed in her riding habit. Mr. Wilmot stood before the house with his horse and Bramble.
After he assisted her to mount, she reached down to rub Bramble’s neck for a moment. “Let us go on. It would not do to keep the army waiting.”
She laughed lightly, grateful for a reason to be away from the house. A short time in Mr. Collins’s company already felt an endless trial.
They set off across the fields. As they neared Netherfield, Mr. Darcy rode toward them.
“Good afternoon, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Wilmot. May I join you?”
Mr. Wilmot glanced toward Elizabeth, who smiled. “Of course, sir. We are bound for the breeding stable.”
Darcy inclined his head. “If it would not be a trouble, I should be glad to accompany you.”
Elizabeth nodded and urged her horse forward. Darcy fell in beside her, and Mr. Wilmot followed behind.
Darcy gestured toward Oakham Mount. “I rode there earlier. I observed the southern stable. It appears to be well run.”
Elizabeth glanced up at him with a small smile. “My father will be pleased to hear it.”
After a short time, they arrived at the stable yard. Mr. Hawkes, the stable manager, stood with several men.
The six horses stood within the enclosed yard, not restless but alert. Two grooms walked them at an easy pace along the fence line, keeping them warm without sweat. Their coats shone from recent brushing, hooves darkened and clean, tack laid ready upon the rail, though none yet saddled.
Darcy assisted Elizabeth down from her horse.
“Thank you, sir. May I introduce you to Mr. Hawkes, who manages the stable. Mr. Hawkes, this is Mr. Darcy, a friend of Mr. Bingley, who is staying at Netherfield.”
Darcy inclined his head. He gestured toward the horses. "I am much impressed by what I see.”
Elizabeth glanced toward them. “Those have already been promised.”
“This is our first full remount lot,” Mr. Wilmot said quietly, almost as an aside. “They were satisfied with the pair we sent last year.”
Darcy’s brows lifted slightly. “Indeed.”
Before further comment could be made, the sound of approaching horses carried across the yard. A small mounted party rode in at a steady pace. One officer, straight-backed in uniform, accompanied by a sergeant and several troopers. No flourish. No delay. They dismounted with efficient precision.
“These are the six contracted animals?” the officer asked.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Wilmot replied. “Five rising five. One rising six. All sound. Accustomed to formation riding.”
The officer stepped forward and began his inspection. Teeth checked. Legs run over with practiced hands. One bay shifted at the unfamiliar touch but settled at a quiet word from the groom.
Elizabeth became aware of Mr. Darcy’s gaze upon her, steady and intent. She did not move to interfere. She stood calm, observant, entirely at ease amid the transaction. There was nothing tentative in it.
This was no experiment. It was established trade.
When approval was given, the officer turned to Mr. Wilmot. “You shall have the draft within the fortnight.”
The sergeant nodded, and the troopers stepped forward to take the reins. Within minutes, the yard re-ordered itself. The Longbourn horses fell into line beside the soldiers’ mounts, steady and responsive.
There was no spectacle in their departure.
Only competence.
***