His initial inspection had revealed competent stewardship during the years of distant ownership. The tenants weregenerally prosperous, the land well-drained and fertile, and the home farm operating at respectable efficiency. Mrs Kane ran the household with firm capability and the few repairs required were minor rather than catastrophic. Darcy had spent his first three days riding the boundaries, consulting with the land steward, and reviewing ledgers. All of it suggested that Glenmont Hall would prove a valuable addition to his holdings with only modest attention required.
The social obligations, however, were proving more complicated. Invitations had flooded in within hours of his arrival, and Mrs Kane had warned him repeatedly about the local marriage market.
“How formidable can they be? I have successfully navigated three London seasons without acquiring a wife. Surely that demonstrates adequate defensive capabilities.”
Thom’s mouth twitched, the closest approximation to a smile the man ever permitted himself. “As you say, sir. However, Mrs Kane seemed to think the Irish approach these matters more directly than their English counterparts.”
“Noted.” Darcy collected his gloves. “Shall we proceed, then, to face whatever Mrs Ahearn’s garden party presents?”
He had accepted the invitation to Castlewood Manor partly from social obligation and partly due to curiosity about local society. Mrs Ahearn’s note had been appropriately formal, and the event seemed as good an opportunity as any to gauge the neighbourhood whilst fulfilling his duties as the new master of Glenmont Hall.
The carriage approached Castlewood through tree-lined lanes, the manor revealing itself as a handsome structure of moderate size. Guests already dotted the gardens in clusters. As Darcy descended from the carriage, he noted the heads turning in his direction, the whispered exchanges that followed his progress across the lawn.
Mrs Ahearn met him near the entrance, her greeting effusive in a manner that suggested nervousness. She was a woman of perhaps five-and-forty, with anxious eyes and hands that fluttered as she spoke.
“Mr Darcy! Such an honour to receive you at Castlewood. I trust your journey from Glenmont was pleasant. I must introduce you to several persons of consequence. Lady O’Brien is here, and Sir Cormac Kennedy, and the O’Connells, who have the estate adjoining yours…”
The introductions commenced, one blurring into another. Darcy bowed, exchanged pleasantries and made appropriate observations about the weather and the beauty of the countryside. He noted with some amusement that many of these introductions were unnecessary. The guests already knew precisely who he was, their gazes assessing him with an intensity that confirmed every one of Mrs Kane’s warnings.
“Mr Darcy,” Lady O’Brien approached with a young woman at her side. “May I present my niece, Miss Caroline O’Brien? She has recently completed her education in Dublin.
Miss O’Brien curtseyed prettily, her smile calculated to display both dimples and an excellent set of teeth. “I understand you own Pemberley in Derbyshire, Mr Darcy. A magnificent estate, by all accounts.”
“You are well-informed, Miss O’Brien.”
“Caroline has always taken particular interest in estate management,” Lady O’Brien interjected. “She is well-versed in household matters.”
The implication could not have been clearer had Lady O’Brien produced a marriage contract on the spot. Darcy maintained his courteous demeanour, responded with vague pleasantries, and excused himself at the earliest opportunity.
This pattern repeated itself with remarkable consistency over the next hour. He was introduced to Miss Midge Donovan, whose mother assured him that her daughter excelled at the pianoforte and sang like an angel. Then came Miss Brigid O’Connell, whose father owned the neighbouring estate and made pointed remarks about the advantages of uniting their properties through matrimonial alliance. Miss Siobhan Murphy was presented as the most accomplished needlewoman in three counties.
Each introduction came laden with matrimonial suggestion, delivered with a boldness that exceeded anything Darcy had encountered in London. There, at least, such machinations were conducted with some veneer of subtlety.
A Miss Fitzgerald appeared at his elbow, steering him towards a table where two young ladies waited with expectant expressions. “Mr Darcy, you must try the seed cake.”
Darcy consumed a piece of seed cake, adequate at best, and deflected yet another volley of marital suggestions. By the time tea concluded, his patience had worn perilously thin, even as his countenance betrayed nothing of his mounting fatigue.
The afternoon dragged onward. Darcy positioned himself near a hedge, hoping for a moment’s respite, when a small orchestra began assembling near the terrace. The younger guests responded with enthusiasm, calling eagerly for country dancing. Mrs Ahearn appeared uncertain, wringing her hands as she glanced between the musicians and her assembled attendees.
“Perhaps just a few dances,” she conceded, her voice barely audible over the excited chatter.
Within moments, couples were forming on the lawn. Darcy retreated further into the shadow of the hedge, calculating whether he could reasonably depart without giving offence, when Mrs Ahearn materialised before him with a young lady in tow. He supressed a groan. Not another one.
“Mr Darcy, may I present Miss Elizabeth Bennet? She is my niece, visiting from Hertfordshire with her family.” Mrs Ahearn’s introduction lacked the desperate quality that had characterised her previous efforts. “Elizabeth, this is Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley.”
Darcy bowed. Miss Bennet curtseyed, and he took his first proper measure of her.
She possessed fine eyes, dark and expressive, set in a face that was pleasing without adhering too strongly to conventional standards. Her figure was light and attractive, and there was something in her bearing that suggested both liveliness and restraint.
“Miss Bennet. Are you enjoying your visit to Ireland?”
“Very much, sir. The countryside here is quite beautiful, and my aunt has been most hospitable.”
Several young ladies nearby were watching this exchange with visible dismay, their hopes of securing Darcy for the first dance thwarted.
“Would you do me the honour, Miss Bennet?”
Her surprise was fleeting, quickly replaced by a bright smile. “Certainly, Mr Darcy.”
