The remainder of the afternoon was spent riding at an easy, measured pace, the question of Thornhaugh's health answered in the positive as no complaints and very few coughs were heard inside of four hours. Their stops were frequent, each novelty of the estate accompanied with Darcy's descriptive lecture on its history and purpose, his firstborn often interjecting one extra piece of trivia or another, the boy vigilant in assuring no detail was overlooked. The marquess took in everything with a certain diligence, his senses highly attuned to their surrounding environment in a manner most impressively displayed to his companions. He was always the first to spot a rabbit, a tortoise, or some other point of intrigue before anyone else, a talent which gradually evolved into a game as the children were challenged along their journey to seek out whatever it was his Lordship had just spied, each discovery both exciting and unique. Even Elizabeth was impelled to join in, and on Thornhaugh's hints managed to win a few times, an uncommonly seen red squirrel among her most interesting finds.
At a crystal clear pond the children sought to suspend the tour for a spot of recreation to accompany a light repast of tea and various treats under a large tree, the marquess consuming not a morsel to Darcy's outspoken disapproval; thus ensued a brief quarrel between them until Thornhaugh's casual threat to toss the entire basket into the pond put a grudging end to it. Just a few minutes later Malcolm, who had been skipping rocks with the others during their squabble, ran to the basket and extracted two macarons. The boy then placed one at Thornhaugh's side, neither a word nor look between them exchanged, before taking the other one back to the pond "for the ducks."
When the Darcys had expected to hear another sharp objection, Thornhaugh instead took up the confection, popped it into his mouth, and fell back into a reclined position against the great oak, closing his eyes to the lulling song of the blackbirds overhead. Darcy followed suit by lying flat upon one end of the massive blanket, taking Elizabeth with him as she snuggled cozy as a kitten. For a good, long spell they all three basked in the warmth and beauty of nature while the children played, the couple talking of plans for their gardens as Darcy toyed absently with his wife's hair.
"Orchids," said Thornhaugh quite suddenly, still resting his eyes, the rest of him perfectly relaxed. "A garden can never have too many orchids, of every size and color, interspersed with bells of Ireland for the perfect contrast. But that is my own opinion, of course."
"I shall keep that in mind," said Darcy without irony. Elizabeth chose to take advantage of this rare moment of goodwill between them by raising a subject of lingering interest to her.
"Do you still draw, my Lord?" asked she.
"Not for years, Mrs. Darcy," he answered drowsily.
"That is a pity, for William and I so admired your sketches of swirling, intricate patterns. Most of them were seized by London officials after you…"
"Died?" he finished drolly.
"Went missing," she amended, "but we did manage to stow away one for ourselves. I later applied that sketch, Lord Thornhaugh, as a model for William's hedge maze."
The man quirked a smile, but otherwise did not flinch. "How emblematic! that it is now burned beyond recognition."
"It turned out beautifully," she went on, ignoring his sarcasm, "and was a favorite attraction for years among travelers, visitors, family, friends—everyone! The children played there every day. It meant a good deal to us all."
"And its reconstruction," added Darcy, "shall be modeled after the very same pattern."
This proclamation, to the couple's dismay, was given all the attention of a deep yawn before the subject was changed as if out of boredom. "I suppose," said Thornhaugh, "you will be sending your boys off to school soon."
After his assumption was confirmed the marquess opened his eyes and fixed on the couple a sober gaze. "Not London, not Sussex, and not Winchester."
"Eton," said Darcy, adding that Ben and George were enrolled already for this coming autumn.
"I never went there, so I cannot speak to its conditions or...administration. But if your memory serves, Darcy, I should think your heir shall get on just as well."
"How did you know I…never mind. Perceptive as usual. Yes, my memories of the place are indeed happy ones; and I find the sort of tutorage and discipline that can only be experienced at a structured institution most beneficial to a young gentleman's education and development."
"And what need, pray tell, has Mr. Wickham for so beneficial an education? What sort of living is he to be groomed for as your eldest prepares to take ownership of his pre-destined prospects?"
Answered Darcy, "George is to carry on his own family legacy from Longbourn Estate in Hertfordshire. Do you know the region?"
"Passed through there once or twice." He then murmured, "Bumpkin-filled country towns."
"'Twas the home of my youth," said Elizabeth, trying and failing to hide her umbrage, "entailed upon George after my father's death, and remembered fondly."
Thornhaugh expressed not a word of remorse to her censure, not that it was expected, his eyes still closed as the two boys approached, neither Ben nor George at all cognizant of the discourse as they plopped themselves down for a little shade and refreshment.
Said Thornhaugh, "We were discussing the gardens, Mr. Wickham, particularly the hydrophobic effects on soil after a fire. What are your thoughts on replenishing the ground for restoration?"
George had no answer, and after half a minute of contemplation was forced to ask what the word hydrophobic meant, to which Ben answered:
"That is when the soil repels water due to erosion from the heat."
"Indeed," replied Thornhaugh, "and what must be done about it, Master Ben?"
"Compost material must be laid out over the land to allow for rain absorption, restoring the soil's vitality so that replanting may commence."
Ben's well-studied response was duly commended before the marquess when on to say, "Now tell me, Master Ben, what does 'takhi' mean?"
The boy wrinkled his brow. "I've…not heard that word before, sir."
Cried George, "I know the answer, my Lord! It means 'spirit.'"
"Are you certain, Mr. Wickham? How do you know this?"
"I read it in a book, sir. There was a chapter on the wild horses of Mongolia. That is their common name."
"Ah, so it is, sir. And now tell me, what was the original name of the Queen Anne's Revenge before it was seized by the dreaded Blackbeard and his crew of marauders?"
George answered swiftly, "La Concorde, sir."
"Well done." The marquess smiled faintly. "I had a ship once, you know. And not a merchant ship for the doing of business, but a passenger vessel of my very own; an old whaler bought, paid for, and refurbished with no expense spared."
"With your very own crew, my Lord?" asked George with eager interest.
Thornhaugh nodded. "And she was glorious, Mr. Wickham, before she caught fire and burned away like your beloved botanicals. Bad bit of luck that was. Have you ever sailed before?"
"No, sir," the boy answered. "What is it like?"
"Well, it depends. A sea voyage is much different to a free man than one seized, shackled, and then stowed away in steerage. I have sailed as master, passenger and prisoner, constrained as a youth not in iron but rather in luxury, my destination determined by a warden bent on maneuvering me in his preferred direction. By your age I had crossed the sea no less than half a dozen times, from this school to that one, from one country to the next. Such is the penalty for the decidedly ill-behaved."
"A warden, sir?" said Ben. "I don't understand."
"Nor would you, Master Ben," said the marquess, "which is an enviable quality. You, sir, have a very bright future ahead of you. Of that I am certain. You shall make your father very proud."
"He already does," said Darcy, then with inference to the other children, "They all do."
This assured declaration was met with a knowing smirk before the marquess went on, "I gather you have toured a ship before, Mr. Wickham?"
"Yes, sir. In Brighton."
"And you remember that feeling, I'll wager. The enchantment, the invigoration…"
"I think we had better press on," said Darcy, helping Elizabeth to her feet as he stood. Janie and Malcolm were called away from their collecting of tadpoles, Ben and George tasked with gathering the kit, and Darcy taking Thornhaugh aside for a private and earnest conversation.
"Mind your own business," he cautioned.
"I know not what you mean, sir."
"You know exactly what I mean. You would never stand for my interference, and I'll not stand for yours."
Thornhaugh winced before replying, in a sneering tone, "Point well taken, sir. Indeed, a man's commodities are his own—"
"This is not a debate!"
"—and I should be damned to pose a disruption to your design. Build your garden and all its blossoms just to your liking; I'll not impede you. Just know that hubris, Mr. Darcy, is not flame-resistant." And with that, Thornhaugh walked away, tasking himself to prepare the horses.
The next hour was stiffer than the last, Darcy resuming his educational tour with but a fraction of the feeling as before, his wife's whispered question if all was well met with his fair and accurate complaint of a sudden attack by a most troublesome headache. Further inquiry was dismissed, she let the matter rest, and the ride continued. As the children appeared more and more confused by this strange tension in the air, Thornhaugh finally took it upon himself to rattle off a joke which served its purpose in making all four of them laugh. Another was told, then another and another until the whole party was in hysterics; even Darcy, who was unfortunately ill-equipped to tell one of his own, his talent for humor self-acknowledged as incomparable to that of his company, a match for neither his wittier wife nor the worldlier marquess.
After a line of jests came more stories masterfully told, Thornhaugh illustrating with sweeping gestures and vibrant language America's vast plains full of roaming bison called buffalo, and his exploration of the frontiers inhabited by indigenous natives, which prompted many questions from the children about their ways said to be very different from their own.
"Some tribes were peaceful; others savage," Thornhaugh included in his comprehensive account, and on Malcolm's puzzled look he then clarified, with an edge to his voice, "Murderous."
"Murderous!" cried the eight-year-old. "You mean on purpose? But why, my Lord?"
"It is perhaps a bit much for you to process, young Malcolm, but I shall make the endeavor. Purposeful savagery I should attribute to a fundamental cultural disagreement melded with very human characteristics: hatred, vengeance, pride," (he cut a glance at Darcy) "all felt collectively within a fiercely united commune fixed on survival and propagation. Humankind apart from their own is thus devalued, perceived as sworn enemies no better than insects, and with strength in numbers and weapons the storm builds, intensifies, and then hell is unleashed upon their neighbors, or just about anyone they come across."
"You talk of evil," said Darcy, "and tyranny. Like our war with Bonaparte."
"We are their Bonaparte," Thornhaugh rejoined. "Most countries sprout a tyrant every so often, some of whom are later deposed by a mob of tyrants. Luckily, I'm able to see every side with relative impartiality, and thus may view with little judgment the very worst of people so passionately convinced they know what is best. The natives are no different, only simpler."
Asked Janie, "How, my Lord, were you able tell the difference between civilized natives and uncivilized? The pictures we've seen show no distinctions between the two."
"Because pictures are in two dimensions, Miss Janie. One tells by a face-to-face encounter, by their looks and manner, that of either aggression or curiosity. And their actions, that of either observation or confrontation."
Asked Elizabeth, "And how did you survive the savage?"
"By showing no fear, Mrs. Darcy, and fighting back when necessary. Of course, you are wildly outnumbered, likely to be killed on sight, if not worse. I learned early on that, while the white man is their enemy, they likewise honor no one so much as a warrior." He then unwound and removed his cravat, and to his enthralled companions moved aside the collar of his shirt to reveal a deep scar along his right pectoral. "At a cost, you see."
"Oh, dear," said Janie. "America sounds very dangerous."
"Some parts, indeed," said the marquess, "and very primitive, too, while others are making great strides, all with the aim to live up to an incredibly ambitious ideal, one I fear shall take much longer than I had once thought. Again, at a cost, and a very high one. But I truly believe, Miss Janie, that it will have all been worth it in the end. If only I still had my copy of their great document, then I would show you just what I mean."
"I know it already!" the girl happily proclaimed. "The Declaration of Independence."
"The very one, Miss," Thornhaugh commended, then asking with much interest, "Have you a copy, Mr. Darcy?"
"My father would not have it in his home. He believed the colonies traitorous to the Empire."
"And so they were." Thornhaugh grinned.
"Miss Baxter teaches us about the Americans from books," said Ben. "They are not complimentary, neither to their principles in general nor their Declaration."
"That is unsurprising. Barely half their own citizenry, never mind an English governess, can appreciate a doctrine so radical, so perfect, and so frightening all at once. And do you know how close I came to meeting its author, Mr. Jefferson?" The marquess narrowed his thumb and forefinger to leave a sliver of space between.
"What prevented you, sir?" asked Elizabeth.
"Myself, unfortunately, when I allowed other matters to take precedence. To this day I consider that failure to be the profoundest of my life, one I shall always regret." There was a brief but heavy silence before he suddenly changed the subject with, "Well! It would seem our tour is ending, and with hours to think on it, Mr. Darcy, I now know what prize I should like to claim for my win."
"And what is that, Thornhaugh?"
"This magnificent beast here." The marquess gave a firm pat to the neck of his mighty bay Thoroughbred. "I wish to have him for my own. When my travels recommence, Cronus will make an excellent transport."
George's response—a soft, "But"—prompted Thornhaugh to meet his eye. "Have you an objection, Mr. Wickham? Speak out then."
The boy answered sheepishly, "I only wondered how you would care for him, my Lord."
"What do you mean, how?" said Ben. "His Lordship is a marquess, higher born than almost anyone—even Uncle Richard!"
Thornhaugh looked at George pointedly. "What say you to that, Mr. Wickham?"
George carefully considered before answering, "Rank is not fortune."
"And both can be pissed away, Master Ben," subjoined Thornhaugh, earning a sharp reproof from Mr. and Mrs. Darcy for such language before readdressing the young master. "I beg your pardon, sir. That was terribly coarse and common of me." Then affecting a posher demeanor, "Right-O, Mr. Darcy, my good man! I hereby pledge my dedication to acquiring the funds needed for the horse's upkeep, and my own."
"And how are you to manage that, pray?"
"Thank you for asking. Your doubt is all the inspiration I need."
"You have it then. And should you raise so substantial a sum, I shall never doubt you again, and you may have Cronus with my blessing."
"Excellent!" cried the marquess as if he had already won.
The party proceeded, right fatigued but in good spirits as they reached the manor house at around dusk. The livery staff were there to meet them at the stables, where Hodges furtively informed the master that Lord Matlock had just arrived on horseback. "I am to tell you he wishes to meet with both you and his Lordship, sir."
"What's that, Mr. Hodges?" said Thornhaugh as he came just within earshot, the others busy handing their mounts off to be stabled. "Lord Matlock? As in, Richard Fitzwilliam? How marvelous!"
Hodges was excused and the men were left to themselves as Darcy said, "You knew Richard ascended?"
"You forget, Darcy, I've been back in England for some time. I know plenty. Well, let us not keep the earl waiting, shall we?"
"Not so hasty," Darcy warned. "I really ought to meet with him first. Alone."
"Oh, Jesus wept! Must you be so blastedly overcautious?"
"You are so quick to disparage without cause. It was I who wrote to him and divulged everything. This call is well anticipated."
"Well, then—"
"But he also represents the Crown, Thornhaugh."
"As do I, Darcy—all the nasty bits, of course. Ol' Richard was the polished side of the noble coin, as I recall, which should make for an interesting, indeed irresistible conversation. You feel no differently, else you would not have written him in the first place."
"A risk was taken out of my rather desperate need for reinforcements and counsel. His visit is an amicable one, I am sure. I only ask that you let me gauge his temper before you—"
"I care not his temper, understand? nor Society's scrutiny, nor the King's wrath. A man cannot be killed twice."
Elizabeth was then seen staring at the two men from a distance, implicitly asking if something was amiss.
Thornhaugh motioned towards her, saying to Darcy, "Take leave of your family, and I shall meet you inside."
Darcy made to respond, but Thornhaugh had already turned away, making a slow but determined march to the house with the aid of his trusty alpenstock.
Not five minutes after returning home, William and Thornhaugh had taken themselves off to meet with Richard, leaving Elizabeth to take charge of the children on her husband's promise to recount everything upon this conference's conclusion.
The foursome was ushered indoors and upstairs on the instruction they wash and change for dinner, Elizabeth veering towards her own bedchamber to lie down for a while after such a long day which had been, for the most part, agreeable and entertaining. Thornhaugh, despite his petulant nature and penchant for derision, had such a natural way with the children that she felt it a right shame he had never sired one of his own, at least not to her knowledge, or his. She supposed it possible, though highly improbable, that he might have married again in his time abroad, but saw no use in making so intimate an inquiry; for he seemed quite fixed on leaving the past behind, guarding his most personal memories almost as a diary confined under lock and key. Far more than himself was a keen interest in the children's future, a matter William took very seriously and looked to with unyielding resolve. Elizabeth might have warned the marquess not to toy with the subject, were warnings not seen to him as an open door to new and interesting trials he was happy to embark upon, regardless of the consequences. It seemed a hopeless business to reason with either of them, pig-headed as they were. One could only hope they may find common ground before the end of Thornhaugh's…visit.
Elizabeth decided not to allow such thoughts disturb her rest as she curled up in bed, having nearly succeeded in falling asleep when a gentle knock at the door promptly marred the objective. "Who is it?" she asked with some annoyance.
"Miss Baxter, ma'am," answered the governess in an uncommonly somber tone, Elizabeth's allowance for entry confirming a rather nervous, indeed fretful look in the woman's countenance as she made her apologies for the disturbance.
Elizabeth bade Miss Baxter to be seated, rather alarmed by her manner which seemed to suggest she had suffered a trauma from which she knew not how to recover, or quite how to explain it.
The two women sat across from one another at the fireplace, Miss Baxter beginning her narrative tentatively, and ending it with the passing of a crumpled note into Elizabeth's extended hand.
