It was excellent advice, and Darcy had no trouble accepting it. Though he appreciated the letters as a substitute for Elizabeth’s presence, Darcy missed her terribly, especially since had matters been otherwise, their marriage would already have taken place. Darcy did not know how soon the wedding could be arranged after his return, but he hoped it would not be long—he had no desire to wait.
“As I have settled into the estate,” mused Darcy, “I think it is time to invite my betrothed for the promised visit.”
Fitzwilliam eyed him and nodded his agreement. “That would be for the best. As it is now February, I cannot imagine we will be here for longer than the middle of March before we go to the south. If you wish her to see the place before you return, the time is now.”
Agreeing, Darcy put his plan into motion, writing to both Elizabeth and his mother at once, offering an invitation for them to join him before the end of February. If Elizabeth stayed for a week, she could learn what she could of the place, return to Longbourn thereafter, and Darcy could join her in Hertfordshire perhaps two weeks later. The thought of Elizabeth walking the halls of Pemberley put a spring in his step.
The estate itself was well managed, orderly, and the tenants were at peace aside from a few spats that cropped up occasionally. His cousin, the previous Darcy master of the estate, had claimed the respect of those whose livelihood depended on his industry, and Darcy determined to earn their trust and loyalty. When they were out on the estate, they visited tenants, introducing Darcy and listening to their concerns, met the other denizens, such as the parson in Kympton who was under Pemberley’s patronage, and visited the local market town, Darcy introducing himself to the merchants with whom he would share a mutual dependence. In time, Darcy grew comfortable with his new position, though he knew true understanding of the estate would take years to learn.
“It is far more diverse than what I am accustomed to,” said Darcy as they rode back to the house in the distance on a fine February day. The time for Elizabeth’s visit was approaching, such that Darcy found he needed more concentration to focus on the matters at hand. “The principles are the same, but Pemberley is further above Netherfield Park than Netherfield is above Longbourn, my neighbor to the west.”
“Longbourn is the home of your betrothed, is it not?” asked Fitzwilliam.
“It is,” said Darcy. “The estate is much smaller, perhaps about two thousand pounds per annum. My father-in-law is not the most diligent master, and the estate is entailed to a distant cousin, but for all that, he does not suffer incompetence or disorder. Yet it cannot compare with Pemberley.”
“Few can. Pemberley is a greater estate than even my father’s property at Snowlock in southern Derbyshire. The earldom boasts far greater assets than just the family estate, but I suspect you are as wealthy as my father, for all that his is the greater consequence in society.”
Darcy was interested to hear it. “Has your father told you his opinion of my inheritance?”
“Little enough,” said Fitzwilliam with a shrug. “I know him well enough to guess. The earl is not an especially proud man, though he is well aware of his position in society. His primary concern is the organized succession of the estate and the protection of his niece. When I informed him of your willingness to allow Georgiana to remain here, he was effusive in his praise of your liberality.”
There was little reason to bask in the earl’s approbation; to Darcy, his stance was the correct one. “Do you suppose he will visit at some point?”
“Yes, I suspect he will,” said Fitzwilliam. “If for no other reason, he will wish to confirm for himself the health of the estate and Georgiana’s wellbeing.”
“Then please inform him that he is welcome to join us at any time convenient.”
Soon thereafter, they arrived at the stables and consigned their mounts into the care of the stable hands, then made their way toward the house. There, a surprise of an unpleasant natureawaited them, for the butler addressed them the moment they entered the house.
“Mr. Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Wickham has come to Pemberley.”
Fitzwilliam scowled and eyed Gates, the butler, while Darcy looked on with interest. “Where is he?” demanded Fitzwilliam.
“Mr. Wickham is in the sitting-room with Miss Darcy; Mrs. Younge is attending them. I have also stationed Mr. Thompson just outside the door in case he is needed.”
With a curt nod, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “I shall explain later, Darcy, but I strongly suggest you deny Wickham entrance to the estate from this point forward. The man was a boy here, but he is a debtor, a wastrel, and a seducer of women.”
Trusting Fitzwilliam’s judgment, he nodded to the butler. “Please see to it, Gates. In the future, do not admit this Mr. Wickham to the house, and if he should dare show his face here, you may employ any means necessary to see him from the property.”
The butler’s relief was palpable. “I shall do so, Mr. Darcy.”
“Then I suppose we must beard him and rescind any welcome he still presumes,” said Fitzwilliam. “To own the truth, I am surprised my cousin did not deny him access before.”
Mr. Gates offered a slight shrug. “I suspect he did not think it was necessary. Mr. Wickham visited after the death of Mr. Darcy’s father. When Mr. Darcy concluded that meeting, Mr. Wickham left and has returned but once since. That meeting concluded in only a few minutes.”
“Very well,” said Fitzwilliam.
Together they strode toward the sitting-room close to the entrance, where Pemberley received visitors to the estate. Long before they arrived, they espied the hulking form of Mr. Thompson, Pemberley’s mountainous footman, who was situated outside the door listening to everything that happenedin the room. He turned at their approach, the scowl he sported fearsome to behold.
“Has he said anything he should not?” asked Fitzwilliam in a soft voice.
The footman’s response was a snort, his deep voice increasing the menace of his not insubstantial ability to intimidate. “If he had, I would have grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him from the house. I still owe him another beating for Sally.”
Sally, Darcy knew, was Mr. Thompson’s wife, the footman’s inference explaining his antipathy for the interloper. Fitzwilliam acknowledged him with a nod.
“There may be a chance to have a go at him yet, Mr. Thompson. Please wait here; we shall summon you if needed.”
Mr. Thompson grinned and cracked his knuckles, an ominous sign of his intent. There was no cessation in the conversation in the room, a man’s voice from what Darcy could determine, which was a wonder; the sounds created by Thompson’s knuckles were loud and intimidating enough to put a man of courage to flight.
