For a moment no one spoke.
At length Mr. Gardiner set down his cup. “Your concern does you credit, Mr. Darcy. Yet we may all be building upon an uncertain foundation. There may be some link wanting in the chain which only further papers can supply. Until then it is vain to distress ourselves. Besides, this tea was arranged for another purpose.”
“Quite right,” said Darcy. “You refer to the matter of capital.”
Darcy's expression grew grave. He hesitated, then said with measured candour, “I am aware of what is generally supposed of me. Ten thousand a year is sufficient for Pemberley and its obligations, yet it does not explain what I pledged. The truth, sir, is that I have done more than most of my station are willing to avow. I have invested privately, not in town where such ventures are most observed, but in the north, where discretion is easier kept.”
Elizabeth looked up, startled. He met her eyes only briefly before turning back to her uncle.
“My uncle Henry urged me more than once to place my confidence with certain correspondents in London. At the time I was newly master of my estate, cautious of every step, and unwilling to expose my name to the risk of censure. I began instead with a man I knew through a good friend, Mr. Goodwin, who had taken much of an old mercantile concern when its owner retired. It was, I thought, the safer course. The returns have been sound. More than sound.”
Mr. Gardiner’s brow lifted in recognition. “Ah, I know of Goodwin. I met him when a northern gentleman named Bingley was selling out of trade to fix himself in the landed class. Goodwin took the greater share of his business, though not all ofit; I myself bought my first vessel in that season. We spoke only briefly, but I found him shrewd.”
“That accords with my own experience,” said Darcy. “It was Bingley’s son who introduced us. He retains some interest still, though his sisters prefer to forget it. The connection has served me well.”
Madeline replenished his cup.
Mr. Gardiner regarded him steadily. “That is more openness than most would have given me, Mr. Darcy, and I thank you for it. You were wise to move with caution, yet I think you will find in me as much plain dealing as in any man.”
“I do not doubt it,” said Darcy.
“It must be a satisfaction, sir,” said Elizabeth, “to see wealth serve more than splendour. To make it useful for families and trade, as well as for one's own household.”
Darcy turned to her. “It is the only use of fortune worth the name.”
“A principle I have always admired,” said Mr. Gardiner, “though not every gentleman is willing to avow it.”
“Then we are agreed, I think. Prudence, capital, and a fair measure of trust may carry us through. Even the most cautious investors will be reassured.”
“I hope so,” said Darcy. “For myself, I am reassured by the company I keep.”
“Then we may proceed in earnest,” said Mr. Gardiner. “The weeks ahead will not be idle ones. There are designs to review, contracts to approve, and legal instruments to be settled before the autumn trade begins. Six weeks may scarcely suffice.”
“I had intended no more than a short stay in Brinmouth,” said Darcy, “but if there is work of such substance to be done, it would be ill judged to withdraw at once. I have long wished to see this side of the business more closely. It is not often one may observe a venture from its foundation.”
“You will find my husband no sparing tutor in such matters,” said Madeline. “His plans are laid with as much care as his ships.”
“I shall consider myself fortunate to profit by his experience,” replied Darcy.
“Then we shall count you among us for the season, Mr. Darcy. I am glad of it.”
Chapter Twelve
The lively discussions of the previous day had left little time for private thought, yet now her mind returned to the letters with a sharper unease. What she had set aside lightly the evening before pressed upon her more heavily in the morning air. With the tide rolling in and the clouds drifting high above, the words of her mother and sister returned with unwelcome force. She had read Jane's letter with pleasure at first; her sister's hand never failed to breathe tenderness. Yet beneath the graceful phrases lay a studied brightness, as though intended to conceal more than it expressed. Elizabeth could not name what was withheld, only that something was absent, and the absence left her restless.
Her mother's letter had offered the usual account of neighbours, servants, gowns, and lace. Such familiar subjects ought to have comforted her, yet when she laid both letters aside that morning she found herself unwilling to read either again. Taking only her bonnet, she left the house and wandereddown to the shore. James followed at his customary distance. Presently she climbed to a jutting rock overlooking the sea and seated herself there, while her servant remained a little way behind.
The horizon stretched wide, and a curious loneliness stirred within her, the kind that no society could quite remove. She clasped her hands together and drew a long breath, as if the sea air itself might steady her spirit.
It was in that posture that the sound of another step reached her ear. She turned slightly, expecting James, and instead saw a taller figure advancing along the sand below. Mr. Darcy paused at the foot of the rock, hat in hand.
“I trust I do not disturb you, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth started, then recollected herself. “Not at all, sir. I had thought myself alone, but I should have remembered that the sea is a friend to more than one.”
“When I was a boy, I thought no place could rival the Derbyshire hills,” said Darcy. “Yet here one finds a different sort of grandeur. The air clears the mind.”
Elizabeth rose, brushing the sand from her gown, and curtsied. He offered his hand to assist her descent from the rock, and they soon found themselves walking together, James following at his accustomed distance. A gull cried overhead and wheeled out across the water.
