“Ten tenant farms with different focuses—grain, dairy, some sheep. Nothing too complex for a man of your capabilities.” Matlock consulted a leather portfolio. “Hartford also owns shares in a Manchester woollen mill and maintains a small merchant fleet trading with the West Indies. Diversified interests, which shows good sense.”
“And the family?”
Matlock dipped his head to one side. “Hartford earned his title through valour in the Peninsula War—saved a cousin of the king, I believe. A good man, though perhaps lacking the polish of those born to nobility. His wife…” he paused diplomatically. “Lady Hartford’s nerves have been delicate. He tells me her nerves are his companions as they know one another so very well. Do not take her dramatics to heart.”
The coach hit a rut, jostling them both. Through the windows, Darcy could see the Hertfordshire landscape he would now call home. The responsibility of it settled on his shoulders like a mantle—heavier than he had anticipated.
“Lady Anne would be proud to see you taking this step,” Matlock said. “She always believed you would rise above your circumstances through determination and good sense.”
The mention of Lady Anne brought a familiar ache. Seven years since her death from fever, followed a year later by Mr Havisham from what the physicians called apoplexy but what everyone knew was a broken heart. The estate had been sold to pay mounting debts, leaving Darcy and Georgiana without patronage or protection once more.
Twenty families had been let go by the new owners who would not reside at Pemberley year-round as the Havisham’s had. Mr Wickham had vowed to take them with him wherever he went, though they hadn’t known were that would be. Until Lord Matlock had made good on a promise to his sister—to always look after the Darcy children and the Wickhams. George Wickham had not needed looking after. He’d received the living at Kympton in Mr Havisham’s will, along with enough money to get him through the time it would take to obtain the necessary education.
Darcy had been somewhat sour at the generosity, for it meant he was considered a member of the gentry, and therefore outranked Darcy, a circumstance George never let him forget.
Mr Wickham senior and Darcy had been left a modest sum of money to help them. It had seen them through until they found employment, but the future would not have been as bright had Lord Matlock not stepped in. He’d taken Wickham on as clerk, while Georgiana had continued her training under the titillate of Lady Matlock’s lady’s maid. Darcy, meanwhile, had helped both Mr Jones and Mr Wickham at the estate.
He’d daydreamed at times of taking over from Jones one day, but he was a younger man of four-and-thirty who would not leave the position for many years. The position at Netherfield was better. Even if it took him away from Georgiana and old Mr Wickham.
They travelled on in companionable silence for several minutes. The autumn landscape rolled past—fields of stubble where harvest was complete, others still showing the gold of standing grain. Darcy assessed what he could see through the coach window, the fence conditions, livestock quality, and the general prosperity of the cottages they passed.
Matlock cleared his throat after a while. “Has Wickham mentioned his son to you?”
“Not of late,” Darcy said. George had not called on his father for over a year. He would write on occasion, but never more than a few lines. He knew this hurt his father but it wasn’t his place to comment. Either to Mr Wickham or to Lord Matlcok.
“I hear the younger Wickham has finished his education and was ordained so he could finally settle into the living at Kympton at last, though I confess some concerns about his enthusiasm for worldly pleasures. There are all manner of rumours.”
Darcy chose his words carefully. “George always had a taste for fine things beyond his station.”
“Indeed. I hope the responsibilities of his position will provide proper direction.” Matlock studied Darcy’s face. “I trust there are no lingering difficulties between you?”
“None whatsoever,” Darcy replied, though memories of George’s resentment over Lady Anne’s particular kindness towards the orphaned steward’s son still stung. “We were boys. Such rivalries matter little now.”
“Good. You have more important concerns ahead.”
The coach began to slow, and Darcy felt his heart quicken. Through the window, he caught his first glimpse of Netherfield through a gap in the trees—golden stone manor with mullioned windows, well-maintained grounds, smoke rising from cottage chimneys.
“There it is. Your new home,” Matlock said with a smile.
“I shall miss my old one, and the people there,” Darcy replied. “Though of course, I am grateful.”
“Wickham will be looked after,” he said. “I know he has been unwell, but do not fret. He will be cared for. As for your sister she is well settled at our estate,” Matlock continued as they turned through Netherfield’s gates. “Lady Matlock says her needlework is excellent as is her talent with the pianoforte. She will make an excellent lady’s maid when the time comes.”
Pride and sadness warred in Darcy’s chest. Georgiana’s accomplishments were considerable, but circumstances had limited her opportunities to little more than genteel service. Still, it was honest work and respectable placement—more than many orphaned girls could hope for.
The steward’s cottage came into view. A neat two-story dwelling with its own garden, clean windows, and a freshly painted blue door. Darcy noted the practical details—proximity to the main house, separate entrance for conducting business, space for a small office.
“Well maintained,” he observed approvingly.
“Hartford takes care of his properties. You should find him a reasonable master—neither a penny-pinching miser nor a spendthrift fool.”
The coach drew to a halt in the cottage’s front garden. Through the window, Darcy could see estate workers pausing in their tasks to observe their new steward, maintaining respectful distance but obvious curiosity. A groom approached to tend the horses while a footman prepared to assist with luggage.
This was the moment—the beginning of his independence and responsibility. Lord Matlock would travel on to London totend to parliamentary matters while Darcy would start his new life.
“Remember,” Matlock said as the footman opened the door, “you have earned this through your own efforts. Every recommendation I provided was based on observed competence, not sentiment. Do not doubt yourself unnecessarily.”
Darcy stepped down from the coach, his boots crunching on the gravel path. The air held the scent of wood smoke and turning leaves. Around him, Netherfield’s operations continued—servants about their duties, gardeners tending the grounds, the comfortable bustle of a well-run estate.
