Chapter Four
“The harvest yields should be excellent this year,” Darcy observed, running his finger down the column of figures in the estate ledger.
Lord Hartford leaned back in his chair, a satisfied expression crossing his weathered features. “Percival always said the soil here was amongst the finest in Hertfordshire. I’m pleased to see his judgement validated.”
They had been working through the accounts for the better part of two hours, and Darcy felt a growing confidence in his ability to manage Netherfield’s affairs.
The estate was well-organised, the tenants industrious, and Lord Hartford proved to be exactly the sort of reasonable master he had hoped for—involved enough to understand the business, but trusting enough to allow his steward proper authority.
“There is one matter I wished to discuss with you,” Lord Hartford said, closing another ledger and setting it aside. “Mr Bingley at Longbourn has expressed interest in purchasing the property, but I confess myself uncertain.”
Darcy looked up from his calculations. “How so, my lord?”
“He is a young man, unattached, and has been residing there for several weeks now without making any definitive commitment. I begin to wonder if he is merely playing at being a country gentleman for his own amusement.” Hartford’s expression grew more troubled.
“Lady Hartford has grown somewhat uneasy about the situation.”
“The uncertainty about the sale?”
“That, and…” Hartford paused. “Mr Bingley has shown particular attention to my daughter Lady Jane. Lady Hartford does not care for the attachment, given the difference in their stations.”
Darcy nodded slowly. “I understand the concern about the disparity in rank. He is not titled, I assume?”
“No. He comes from trade. He does well for himself. Quite wealthy. Five thousand pound a year, Lady Hartford tells me. But he is a commoner. You see the trouble?”
“I do.”
“If Bingley has no serious intention of settling permanently in the neighbourhood, it would be cruel to allow Jane’s feelings to develop further.
Not to mention Lady Hartford’s nerves. “Hartford rubbed his temple wearily.
“Yet I cannot simply forbid the acquaintance without seeming churlish to a potential buyer.”
“Perhaps I might speak with him?” Darcy suggested. “As steward it is well within my duties to call on those letting your properties. I could gauge his true thoughts about remaining in Hertfordshire. If his interest in the property is genuine, I might be able to nudge an offer along.”
“That would be most helpful,” Hartford agreed. “Bingley is an affable fellow, a little gullible if you ask me, but good hearted. If he were to become a gentleman and if Jane were to care for him, I might be able to convince my wife, but as it stands—” he turned his palms up.
Darcy made a note to call upon Bingley within the next day or two. The conversation would require delicacy, but it was exactly the sort of service he could provide his employer whilst helping to resolve a delicate family situation.
“Speaking of my daughters,” Hartford continued, “have you had occasion to meet them yet? I meant to introduce you but I think thus far, you have only met my wife. I do hope the basket she brought was satisfactory.”
He blinked. The basket? Lady Hartford had sent a maid with that. Why would he think his wife had brought it? Not wanting to embarrass his employer, he nodded.
“A lovely lady indeed. As for your daughters, I met Lady Catherine and Lady Lydia in the gardens. Very spirited.” Darcy replied diplomatically.
The two youngest Bennet sisters had accosted him near the rose garden, full of questions about his horse, his travels, and whether he intended to attend any local social events.
Their enthusiasm had been rather overwhelming.
“And silly,” he said with a sigh.
“And the others?”
“I have not yet had the pleasure.”
Lord Hartford’s face brightened. “Well then, tonight provides the perfect opportunity! Why do you not come to the Meryton Assembly? You can meet my daughters properly and become acquainted with the rest of the neighbourhood.”
“My lord, I hardly think it appropriate for a steward to attend such an event. The assembly is meant for local gentry, not those of my station.”
“Nonsense!” Hartford waved away his objection. “The whole town attends—merchants, farmers, professionals. Apart from myself, the only other ranking gentleman in the area is Sir William Lucas, who received his knighthood some years ago. You certainly won’t stand out as being beneath your station.”
“But surely the local families would find it presumptuous.”
“Not at all. In fact, I insist upon it. How else are you to become properly acquainted with the people whose lands border ours?” Hartford’s tone brooked no argument.
Darcy felt cornered by his employer’s unexpected insistence. To refuse too strongly would seem ungrateful, yet the idea of attending a social gathering where he might be seen as overstepping his position made him deeply uncomfortable.
“I confess I had not packed appropriate attire for such occasions,” he tried.
“Your Sunday coat will serve perfectly well. This isn’t Almack’s, my dear fellow—it’s a country assembly in a small market town.
” Hartford stood and moved towards the window, clearly considering the matter settled.
“The dancing begins at eight o’clock. I shall introduce you properly to my daughters and whoever else you haven’t met. ”
Looking at his employer’s expectant face, Darcy realised he had little choice but to accept gracefully. “Very well, my lord. I should be honoured to attend.”
“Excellent! You’ll find it quite enjoyable, I’m sure. Nothing like a bit of country dancing to help one settle into a new place.”
As Darcy returned to his ledgers, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the evening ahead would prove more eventful than Lord Hartford anticipated.
***
The assembly rooms at Meryton droned with conversation and laughter, but Darcy felt every bit as out of place as he had feared.
Despite Lord Hartford’s reassurances, he was acutely aware of the curious glances and whispered conversations that followed his progress through the room.
His Sunday coat, whilst well-made, marked him clearly as someone of modest means amongst families who had dressed in their finest silks and satins. Even if they were not titled.
“That must be the new steward,” he heard one matron murmur to her companion. “Rather handsome for a working man. He would do.”
“Worked for an earl, I hear,” another voice said. “Wonder why the earl did not hire him directly.”
“I care none. He will make a fine husband for my Marjorie. Working at that fine house he is bound to have a handsome salary and comfortable home for life.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure as Lord Hartford approached with a jovial smile.
“Darcy! There you are. Come, let me introduce you properly to our neighbours.” Hartford guided him towards a group near the refreshment table.
“Sir William Lucas, may I present Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, our new steward. Darcy, Sir William received his knighthood for services to the crown some years ago.”
Sir William, a portly gentleman with a cheerful expression, bowed with evident pleasure. “Delighted, Mr Darcy! Any man trusted by Lord Hartford is most welcome in our neighbourhood. May I present my daughters, Miss Charlotte Lucas and Miss Maria Lucas?”
“Ah, Bingley!” Lord Hartford called, and Darcy turned to see his neighbour approaching with his characteristic easy smile.
“Hartford, what a pleasure to see you this evening.” Bingley’s greeting was warm, though Darcy noticed how his eyes immediately began scanning the room. “I don’t suppose Lady Jane has arrived yet?”
“Indeed she has, along with all my daughters. But first, let me introduce you properly to Mr Darcy. Bingley, this is our new steward. Darcy, Mr Charles Bingley of Longbourn.”
“Good to meet you, Bingley,” Darcy said, eyeing the man.
He was young, perhaps Darcy’s age if not younger.
Blond hair, cropped into the popular style.
His suit was of fine material, speaking of wealth.
He was not bad looking, no wonder Lady Jane had taken a fancy to him.
Darcy vowed to do his best to extract the man’s intentions from him this evening.
Two elegantly dressed ladies approached their group, and Bingley’s expression grew more formal. “Allow me to present my sisters. Miss Caroline Bingley and Mrs Hurst. My brother-in-law had to return to town yesterday, but we expect him back.”
Both women curtsied with practiced grace, though Darcy caught the slight tightening around Miss Bingley’s eyes as she assessed his modest attire. Mrs Hurst merely nodded politely before turning her attention elsewhere.
“Now then,” Lord Hartford announced, “let me take you to meet my daughters properly.”
Darcy followed his employer across the room, his stomach tightening with nervous anticipation.
He spotted the familiar figures of Lydia and Catherine first, both dressed in white muslin and animated in conversation with a group of young officers.
But it was the trio of ladies standing near the windows that drew his attention.
And there, amongst them, stood the young woman who had delivered the basket to his cottage.
“Good God,” he murmured, stopping short.
“Is something amiss?” Lord Hartford enquired.
Darcy stared at the graceful figure in blue silk, her hair arranged fashionably and adorned with pearls. “That young lady there—the one in blue. She was at my cottage the other day.”
Hartford followed his gaze and began to chuckle. “Ah, now I understand! Elizabeth was quite out of sorts the other day, muttering about rude men and presumptuous behaviour. She mentioned being mistaken for a maid, but I couldn’t fathom what she meant.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.
Horror washed over Darcy in waves. “That was Lady Elizabeth? Your daughter?”