Page 36

Michael Stretton plucked up a handful of rich, freshly tilled soil. Thanks to his mentor, Mr Edwin Travers, he could tell much about the growing season by simply examining the earth itself.

“Stretton,” a voice called from the hillside.

Smiling, he lifted a hand to his employer—both a greeting and a sign that he would join him up top, with no need to bring his horse and his polished riding boots farther into the dirty field. By the time he reached him, Mr Darcy had dismounted and the steed was grazing. He did not appear, to Michael, much changed from twenty years before when he had first seen the man, other than a hint of grey at his temples and the crinkles surrounding his eyes—for Mr Darcy was one who smiled frequently.

“I thought I would find you here,” Mr Darcy said.

“Only think,” Michael replied enthusiastically. “Last year this was a marshland, useful only for cutting peat. This year, we shall have turnips.”

“The trenching you have enacted is creating fields my father would have found miraculous,” Mr Darcy said, shaking his head in some shared amazement. “I almost wish that we could forgo town this year, so I could watch its progress.”

“I do not believe your ladies would approve of skipping the Season this particular year,” Michael said, grinning. “In fact, you might see shots fired, launching a family rebellion, with General Sophia Darcy at its head, laying siege to any who stand in her way.” His status as a long-time, highly trusted employee—as well as his mother’s position—allowed him a degree of freedom in his speech, and the occasional joke.

“Doubtless so, doubtless so,” Mr Darcy murmured. “In point of fact, however, the gentlemen of town must beware instead. Between my wife and my cousin Mrs Tilney, I give you leave to pity those warriors brave enough to ask for a waltz with Sophia. If, that is, they can even find her within the ever-blooming yards and yards of material I am told is requisite for a young lady of fashion.”

Miss Darcy, the eldest of the five Darcy daughters, was to make her town debut this year. Since she was Mr Darcy’s heiress, she was bound to attract a great deal of attention from the upper-crust male population. Of course, each of the Darcy girls possessed an independent fortune—Mrs Darcy was very particular that no one of them should ever be wholly reliant upon the others. Mr Darcy was a wise investor, Travers had always claimed, and an early supporter of the railways. Still, Michael did not suppose Miss Darcy would be sitting out many of the dances at the grand balls she would attend. Many a gentleman would happily submit to a change of his surname to ‘Darcy’ for the privilege of marrying her, and gaining access to the immense Darcy fortune, with Pemberley at the heart of it.

“The warriors must look after themselves. If they cannot withstand an ambush or two from Miss Darcy’s vanguard, they are not worthy of her. She is a fine custodian for these lands, sir, if you might forgive my saying so. She loves them as you do.”

“I judge she is and she does, Stretton. If anyone ever tells you that having only daughters is a dreadful fate, do not believe them. It is patently untrue, and I am the most fortunate man in the world to have such a family as I do.”

“Yes, sir. I believe you, sir.”

Unlike some men who might be indulging in a bit of hyperbole, he did believe Mr Darcy. One had only to be near their family to see the great love and happy connexion they shared. It extended to their broader circle of relations—all of Mr and Mrs Darcy’s sisters, with their husbands and children, visited often, and Mrs Darcy’s aged parents still made the journey each summer. Mr Darcy’s cousin, Mrs Anne Tilney née de Bourgh, had even declared she would leave her numerous Sheffield charities for friendless girls in the hands of her underlings while she helped oversee Miss Darcy’s coming out. When Michael thought of the word ‘family’ as an ideal, he could not help but think of the Darcys. The daughters might occasionally exchange cross words, as, he supposed, any collection of intelligent women might; Michael’s own mother proudly possessed her strong opinions, and it had taken Travers a good five years to make her his wife.

Michael was unlikely to ever be so happy himself, even though in his position of bailiff he could well afford to marry. He had had the hard luck to fall deeply in love with the vicar’s daughter, the beauteous Miss Lila. And, since her mother was the former Miss Mary Bennet, sister of Mrs Darcy, especially considering the open secret of his birth…well, his chances of winning her hand were slim, to say the least.

If only she had been the type to look down upon him, to ignore him with her nose in the air! But no; she was friendly and as modest as it was possible to be. She was only six months younger than Miss Darcy, and they were great friends. However, according to his mother, when the Darcys had offered to take her to town with them—and probably add a little something to her dowry, for all he knew—she had sweetly, kindly refused. Even so, she was so far above a lowly bailiff of obscure birth as to make asking for her hand an impossible dream.

“I thought you should know,” Mr Darcy said, “that Travers has decided to accompany his wife to town. It is doubtful that he will stay longer than a couple of weeks, but he has a hankering to see some of the sights.”

“Wh-what?” Michael stuttered his response. These were the weeks of planting; there were a thousand tasks to be completed, and to hear that the devoted Travers was leaving them to go sightseeing was…stupefying. That Mr Darcy would allow it was unbelievable.

“Travers has decided to retire, and spend a good deal more time fishing than his duties currently allow. You have served as our bailiff, as his under-steward, for several years now, and are eminently qualified to take on his duties. Your mother is uninterested in retirement, but has allowed that she would like to spend a little time seeing the sights of town herself, and of course, there is always plenty of room for her husband to visit. As you know, my wife will allow Stretton whatever freedom she wishes, but I give leave to doubt that your mother will permit anyone except herself to dress Mrs Darcy’s hair. I leave such matters to the ladies, and stay well out of it. Once you wed, you ought to learn the wisdom of this advice.”

Michael managed to make his tongue work at last. “I cannot thank you enough, sir.”

“I have decided to leave Mr and Mrs Travers where they are, but your current lodgings are neither appropriate nor large enough. We will build new, I think; the budget is there for it. There is a good piece of ground a bit closer to the river, but more convenient to the estate office, if that will suit.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Michael replied, back to stuttering again.

“Good man. We will talk more before I leave for town. I expect you will want to speak with Travers before he begins packing.”

“Yes. Thank you, sir. Again.”

Mr Darcy nodded, and turned back to his horse, while Michael stared, dazed, after him, watching him mount the huge beast as easily as if he had springs in his boots.

“Oh, and Stretton,” Mr Darcy called from atop the stallion.

“Yes, sir?”

“I would not wait overlong to approach Miss Lila and ask your question. When all is said and done, she is half-Bennet, and they are an impatient lot. It would not do to keep your future wife waiting. Besides, almost certainly she will have opinions on that house you mean to build.”

Michael only stared, open-mouthed, as his employer galloped away.

Darcy found his wife in her sitting room, surrounded by a half-dozen lists in progress. She smiled in a distracted sort of way.

“Why is it that we have a completely well-stocked home in London, and yet still must pack half the contents of Pemberley into trunks and carriages before we can leave to go there?”