Ten pounds helped.
At present, even a single pound seemed worthy of consideration.
The butler, who had moved through the past weeks with increasing gratitude for every sign of order restored, entered and bowed, then extended his hand with a card. “Mr. Edward Gardiner, sir.”
Darcy closed his eyes for one brief moment before schooling his features. Another creditor. There could be no other reason for a tradesman to call upon the morning of his departure, and though Darcy had believed all urgent accounts settled or arranged, the discovery of one more did not surprise him. Nothing surprised him any longer.
“Show him into the study.”
Mr. Gardiner proved to be younger than Darcy expected and was fashionably dressed. “Mr. Darcy, I must apologize for not calling sooner,” he said after the first bows. “I was recently married and have only just returned from my wedding journey. Business, I am afraid, has been waiting for me with rather less sentiment than my wife.”
Darcy gave a faint smile at that, but it faded when the invoices were laid before him. The sum was only a little more than one hundred pounds. A year earlier, such an amount would scarcely have troubled him. Now it felt impossible. He looked down at the figures, then at the neat columns in his ledger, and said with quiet honesty, “Mr. Gardiner, the account is just, but I cannot pay the whole of it today. I can offer a portion now and the remainder in installments, with interest.”
Gardiner did not answer immediately. He glanced over the open ledger with the practical eye of a man accustomed to accounts, and Darcy saw the moment he understood the pattern of payments. The servants had been paid. Smaller tradesmen had been paid before larger ones. Those most likely to suffer from delay had received what was owed as soon as Darcy could manage it.
“You have been paying everyone you can,” Gardiner said at last.
“I am trying.”
“No,” the other man replied, closing the ledger. “You have. I know the difference between a gentleman who cannot pay at once and one who never intended to pay at all.”
The remark struck Darcy more deeply than he expected. He had endured anger, desperation, accusation, and relief from creditors over the past weeks, but very little understanding. “I still owe the money.”
“And I am willing to wait for it.” Gardiner leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful rather than indulgent. “There is one thing, however, which may be of use to me. I have been seeking an introduction at White’s. An introduction from a patron such as yourself would be useful.”
Darcy understood the kindness of the offer at once. Gardiner had given him a transaction instead of charity. “I leave for Derbyshire today, so I cannot make the introduction in person. But I will write the letters before I go.”
“That will do very well.”
“It is not worth more than one hundred pounds.”
Gardiner smiled. “Perhaps not. But I have heard of you before, Mr. Darcy. Charles Bingley’s father is an acquaintance of mine, and his son speaks very highly of your friendship at Cambridge. Let us say I am willing to extend trust where trust has already been earned.”
Darcy was silent a moment. He had never defended Bingley for reward, and the notion that such a thing had traveled beyond Cambridge made him uncomfortable. Still, he accepted Gardiner’s hand when it was offered.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
Gardiner placed a card upon the desk before leaving. “Should you require anything in London, you may find me there.”
After the man departed, Darcy looked down at the card longer than necessary. Edward Gardiner. Gracechurch Street. A tradesman, yes—but a generous and honorable one. Darcyplaced the card carefully among his private papers before sealing the letters he had promised.
Three days later, he reached Pemberley. The house rose above the valley as it always had, steady and beautiful in the pale Derbyshire light, but this arrival felt different from every one before it. He was not coming home as a son now. He was returning as master, with too little money, too many debts, and more responsibility than any man of one-and-twenty ought to bear.
The carriage had scarcely stopped before Georgiana came running down the steps. She threw herself at him without regard for decorum, and Darcy caught her tightly. For several moments, she said nothing, merely clung to him as though she feared he might vanish again.
“You were gone forever,” she said at last.
“It was only six months.”
“That is forever when one is waiting.”
Darcy looked down at her and felt the tightness in his chest ease for the first time in weeks. She had grown while he was away, and the resemblance to their mother became stronger each year.
“I am here now,” he said.
It was not quite a promise that he would never leave again, but it was the most truthful comfort he could give, especially when he would be sending her to Matlock in a fortnight.
The next day was spent in accounts, repairs, and household reductions. Darcy met with the steward, reviewed tenant lists, and walked through the house with Mrs. Reynolds to determine which rooms could be closed. Every shuttered wing meant fewer fires, fewer servants, and less expense. It was unpleasant work, but it was work with purpose, and that alone made it easier than the endless London debts.
