Derbyshire, December 1806
Fitzwilliam Darcy was cold.
At least it's not hot, he thought wryly as he looked into the ballroom from his place on the balcony. He had been back in Derbyshire for six months, and this was the first time any of the landowners had held a ball during that time.
The hosts were a new family who had taken residence and who had only recently come into their inheritance in the last year or so. They were a young couple, without children, and they seemed eager to take their place amongst their neighbors.
Their inexperience, however, was clear based on the number of fireplaces that were lit for the occasion. Although they had the proper number of couples for the size of the room, the heat from the fire made it more uncomfortable than Lady M_'s crowded ball had been all those months ago.
"There you are, Darcy!" he heard Bingley exclaim. Darcy sighed; his moment of quiet was over.
Bingley called again from the ballroom door. "Darcy, why are you out in the cold? Come inside, man! You've been missed!"
Darcy let out another sigh. By that, he knew Bingley had been repeatedly asked by the local country misses where the handsome master of Pemberley had disappeared to. Even at home, there was no rest for the wealthy.
Darcy entered the ballroom and looked around. Bingley had rejoined their host and was asking his wife for the next set. She acquiesced and allowed herself to be escorted to the floor.
Hesitant to cross the ballroom and speak to the man to whom he'd only met one other time, Darcy veered towards the punch table instead. He accepted a glass from the servant and winced at the warmth. Clearly the mistress was unaccustomed to planning events of such magnitude.
Darcy watched the dancers absentmindedly. Balls and dancing were one of the activities that he least liked about being a member of society. There was very little time to actually engage in more than pleasantries with your partner, which was not conducive to deciding if they would make for a proper wife.
He took another sip of his drink and winced again, forgetting for a moment just how warm it was. He flagged down a passing servant and sent them away with his full cup on an otherwise empty tray. A moment later he watched in horror as the servant collided with a dancing lady who had turned the wrong way.
It was a disaster.
Darcy's nearly-full cup dumped directly down the front of the lady's dress. She let out a shriek and threw her arms in the air. One of her hands came in sharp contact with the servant, who slipped and fell directly onto the goblet. The sound of glass shattering was nearly drowned out by said lady's hysterics.
The room seemed frozen in time for a few seconds as the guests turned as one to see the commotion. Darcy, the first to react, rushed to unmoving servant on the floor. He spared a brief glance for the lady, but saw that she was unharmed. But her maid will never be able to save that dress, he noted.
Darcy gently rolled the servant onto his back and assessed the damage. While the majority of the glass had been crushed between the floor and the tray, there was one large shard of glass that had embedded itself into the servant's arm.
"Easy there, lad," Darcy said to the servant who had groaned in pain upon being moved. "Try not to move."
"Cartwright!" Darcy bellowed to his host. "Send a servant for Dr. Porter. Quickly!" Cartwright gave a quick nod and signaled to a footman. He then joined Darcy on the floor by the servant.
"Well," said Cartwright with a tight smile. "This wasn't quite how I planned this night to go."
Darcy gave him a look of commiseration and then refocused his attention to the servant. He opened his mouth to address the wounded man when he was interrupted with a loud shriek, followed by a thud. He looked up and saw the lady with the stained dress in a heap on the floor, having had a fit of the vapors at the sight of blood.
Darcy raised an eyebrow and said in a low voice, "It may be best if you had your wife direct the guests to another room until their carriages can be called for."
Cartwright hesitated, then nodded in agreement. He snapped his fingers and his wife scurried over, causing Darcy to raise both eyebrows. Cartwright stood to whisper in her ear while smiling at the guests. While Darcy could not make out the words, the tone of voice was at odds with his facial expression.
As Mrs. Cartwright directed the guests from the ballroom, Cartwright snapped his fingers again and beckoned two footmen over to join Darcy and the injured servant.
"What's his name?" Darcy asked Cartwright. Noting Cartwright's surprise at the question, Darcy turned to the footmen who had just joined them. "What's his name?" he repeated.
"Stevens, sir," answered one of the footmen, who had knelt down next to Darcy and was elevating Stevens's head.
"Alright, Stevens, how do you feel?" Darcy asked. When no response came, Darcy frowned in concern. "Fetch the housekeeper," he ordered the second footman. The man hesitated and looked at Cartwright, who nodded. He then dashed off and returned a moment later with the out-of-breath housekeeper.
"Ah, Mrs. Brown!" Darcy exclaimed in surprise. "I didn't know you were working here now."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Darcy, sir," said Mrs. Brown, blushing and glancing at Mr. Cartwright.
"Excellent," he responded. Turning to a bewildered Cartwright, Darcy said, "Mrs. Brown is sister to my own housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds. You'll never find a finer pair of women." Mrs. Brown blushed further and looked down.
"What do you recommend?" Darcy asked Mrs. Brown.
"What?" interjected Cartwright. "Do you mean to ask a housekeeper how to take care of an injury? Why not wait for the doctor to arrive? Not only will he be able to remain calm as opposed to a woman, he will also have the proper training that no servant could hope to attain."
Any warmth Darcy had been feeling towards his new neighbor disappeared in an instant. Ignoring the comment, Darcy repeated his question.
Mrs. Brown glanced fearfully at Mr. Cartwright, then said, "We should move him as little as possible. Mr. Cartwright is correct, we should wait for the doctor before attempting to move the glass." At Cartwright's smirk, she faltered but determinedly continued, "However, we should attempt to clear the area around him and remove any loose glass, as well as place towels around the wound."
Darcy looked to Cartwright, who was glaring slightly at Mrs. Brown. "Cartwright, what are you waiting for, man? Do what she said!"
A sneer covered Cartwright's face for only an instant. Had Darcy not been looking directly at the man, he would have missed the flash of anger and only seen the smooth façade that was set in its place. "Certainly!" he said. He send the second footman back out again to collect towels and a broom.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Porter arrived on the scene, breathless. He took one moment to observe the situation, then said, "Well done, Mr. Cartwright. Excellent work in caring for the man."
Darcy waited for Mr. Cartwright to correct the doctor, but no such statement was issued. Instead, Cartwright merely bowed in acknowledgement. Darcy's distaste for the man increased.
Dr. Porter spent several minutes poking the wound where the glass lay embedded, then said, "I will need some men to hold him down while I remove the glass." Darcy held the man's injured arm, while a footman took each leg. Dr. Porter waited for a hesitant Mr. Cartwright to hold the man's remaining limb. Once everyone was settled, he quickly pulled the glass loose.
Stevens arched his back in pain, his eyes flying open. All had a firm grip on him except Mr. Cartwright, who scrambled back as soon as Stevens had moved. "Cartwright!" Darcy yelled. Another flash of anger covered Cartwright's face before he scrambled back into the melee and grabbed Stevens's flailing arm. Once held still, Cartwright again lost consciousness from the pain.
Dr. Porter frowned at the men. "It appears the glass has missed a main artery, which is very fortunate. However, it has cut one of the muscles. I will need to stitch it closed, but even if it heals without infection, he will be unable to use his arm for many months, if ever at all."
The first footman who had provided Darcy with Stevens's name let out a small groan of despair. As Dr. Porter began the stitching, Darcy looked at Cartwright. "What will you do?" Darcy asked.
Cartwright took a moment to consider. "I guess I will have to allow him to remain here tonight. After that, I believe I can give him a fortnight to heal before we determine whether or not he will be allowed to stay on. After all, a servant who cannot work cannot be kept."
Darcy bit back a sigh of disappointment. When he had first met Cartwright, he had appreciated the man's demeanor and apparent uprightness. What he had seen tonight, however, reminded him too much of his old friend George Wickham – a smooth front that quickly disappeared whenever he was thrown off-balance or amongst those he considered below him.
Darcy knew that Cartwright's reactions were no worse than what any other gentleman would do. Indeed, even allowing him a fortnight to recuperate in the manor house itself was generous, but Darcy knew it would not be enough for Stevens.
Dr. Porter completed the stitches and directed the two footmen to carry him out of the room. Cartwright followed, and Darcy heard Cartwright direct them to the servants' quarters. As Mrs. Brown began to clean the shattered glass and blood, Darcy said, "Mrs. Brown, will you please update Mrs. Reynolds regularly with Stevens?" At her nod, he continued, "And Mrs. Brown, if you or one of your subordinates is ever in need of any help, please let her know."
Mrs. Brown stood and dropped a curtsy. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy." She hesitated, then pressed on, "If only all masters were as kind as you, sir."
Darcy nodded his head in acceptance of her gratitude, then left to fetch his coat and to find Bingley so they could head home.
As the carriage began the journey towards Pemberley, a light snow began to fall. Bingley carried on about the accident, expressing his astonishment at how Cartwright appeared to have masterfully handled the entire situation. Darcy kept his thoughts to himself, not wanting to speak poorly of the man. After all, Darcy thought. Not all of us are at our best during an emergency.
Three weeks later, Darcy and Bingley were ensconced in the study, pouring over the most recent ledgers. Bingley was considering fulfilling his father's wish by purchasing an estate in three years after he graduated from Oxford as a way to gain entrance into landed gentry. When Bingley had joined Darcy at Pemberley after the Cheapside debacle and his narrow escape, he began to speak about finding somewhere to settle down when he finished school.
Darcy agreed that Bingley should let an estate before he actually made the purchase. Before he did that, however, Darcy had impressed upon him the important of knowing how to run and maintain an estate. "It's not like moving into a new house," Darcy had said. "The running of an estate is a tremendous responsibility – you hold the wellbeing of many people in your hands."
Bingley determined that he should live at Pemberley with Darcy during each break to see firsthand all the work that went into running an estate. Although Darcy frequently returned to London for the Season, he was to forego the visit this year so Bingley could experience a full year on an estate. And to get a break from the matchmaking mothers of London, he often thought privately.
At the conclusion of his schooling, Bingley would then to find an estate to let. Darcy would come for the beginning of the process and continue offering advice through letters.
A knock on the door interrupted Darcy explaining some finer points of crop rotation. "Enter," he said, as Bingley made another notation on a pad of paper.
"Sir, might you have a moment?" Darcy looked up in surprised to see Mrs. Reynolds enter the room. Mrs. Reynolds had been working at Pemberley since Darcy was five years old. She had the entire household in smooth order, and it was rare for her to come to his study outside of their regular daily meeting.
"Is everything alright, Mrs. Reynolds?" asked Darcy.
She hesitated, then glanced briefly at Bingley. Darcy's eyes narrowed in concern. "Is it about Georgiana?" His younger sister had begun finishing school earlier that year, and she was home on holiday for a week. When Mrs. Reynolds shook her head, Darcy replied, "If it pertains to household matters, best allow Bingley to hear as well. He will need to deal with such matters once he lets his estate."
"Ah, you forget!" cried Bingley, "that I will have a sister to be my hostess. She can handle those duties!"
Darcy smiled at Bingley's naivete and Mrs. Reynolds's exasperated face that was quickly hidden behind a blank expression. "No, Bingley," he answered, "it is you who forgets that your sister will have only just left finishing school. While Miss Bingley has attended one of the more prestigious academies, there are many parts of running a country household that differ from a house in town. She is, I grant you, a superb hostess in the city, but there is much more to the duties of an estate's mistress than simply keeping the servants on task."
Bingley's face fell slightly, but he quickly regained his cheerful expression. "It is a good thing, then, that you will be joining me for the beginning!"
Darcy smiled indulgently and turned his attention back to Mrs. Reynolds. "What can I do for you, then, Mrs. Reynolds?"
"Begging your pardon, sir, but I understand you asked Mrs. Brown to inform me about Stevens's progress?"
"Yes, I did," Darcy answered. "How is the young man healing?"
Mrs. Reynolds shook her head sadly. "Well, sir, that's just the trouble. His healing is going much slower than Dr. Porter would like. Unfortunately, with Stevens being in the servants' quarters, he is left alone to tend to his own needs for the majority of the day. This allowed a small infection to settle in the wound. But," she hurried at seeing Darcy's look of alarm, "that has all been resolved."
"What seems to be the trouble, then?" asked Darcy.
"It appears, sir, that Mr. Cartwright will no longer allow Stevens to reside at the estate since he cannot work to earn his keep. Further, Mr. Cartwright refuses to pay for the doctor's services, insisting that it was Stevens's own clumsiness that brought about the trouble."
Darcy's lips tightened in anger, and Bingley let out an oath. He blushed bright red and muttered, "My apologies, Mrs. Reynolds."
"Of course, sir," she curtsied to Bingley. "You expressed my sentiments precisely."
"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds, for informing me," said Darcy. "Where is Stevens now?"
"Well, sir," Mrs. Reynolds said hesitantly, "I've put him up in the kitchen right now. You see, Mr. Cartwright demanded he leave early this morning. It put quite some strain on his arm to make it from there to the public road, where he collapsed and was found by one of the Pemberley tenants, who brought him here."
Darcy almost uttered an oath himself, and Bingley let out a low whistle. "I say," Bingley stated, "that was not very well done at all."
"One of the most important things you will learn about being master of an estate," said Darcy to Bingley, "is that accident of birth in no way determines a man's character. Instead, his actions will demonstrate if he is a gentleman with honor or in name only."
Bingley nodded. "It's just like being back at school."
"Quite right," said Darcy. He focused his attention again on Mrs. Reynolds. "Please set up a small chamber in the guest quarters that Stevens can use. Assign a maid to be on call should he ring for anything. Send for Dr. Porter and assure Stevens that we will settle the bill for the doctor."
Mrs. Reynolds allowed a rare smile to show. "Very good, sir." She dipped a curtsy, far deeper than was usual, and exited the room.
A slow applause filled the air. Darcy looked over to see Bingley standing and clapping his hands together in a dramatic fashion, a long pause between each clap. "Darcy, old boy, I've always known that you were a good man, but this is beyond compare."
Darcy's lips twisted in wry amusement. "Bingley, the most important thing you could learn about being master of an estate is that it is a solemn responsibility. Far too many of the ton seem to feel that their birth and fortune are to support their excesses."
Darcy paused and stared off into space for a minute. "It is part of why I so despise town and fortune hunters. They spend more time looking for ways to lift themselves as opposed to using what they have to lift others. Often their attempts to rise only pushes others down."
Bingley nodded, his face uncharacteristically solemn. "Like Miss Bennet."
Darcy looked at Bingley with confusion. Bingley explained, "The young woman from Cheapside. I thought she would be the making of me, but instead she merely used me as a stepping stone to rise higher – to you."
"Precisely," agreed Darcy. "although she wasn't the first, if you'll recall. There was Miss Templeton, Miss Downs, Miss Scott…"
"You forgot Miss Reed!" cried Bingley with a laugh. "I'll never forget your face, Darcy, when we overheard her say to her mother that while she preferred your income to mine, I had the more congenial personality and she did not know which of us to go for."
Darcy chuckled. "Most members of society, from peers down to trade, are looking for ways to elevate their position. They are content with marriages to strangers in order to increase their status. You, however, with your genuine nature, deserve to marry someone who cares for you as a person and not as a price to pay for pin money."
Bingley looked down sorrowfully. "I appreciate your friendship, Darcy. I would be unable to navigate these treacherous waters without you."
Darcy bowed his head in acknowledgment. After a moment of silence, he said, "Now, where were we? Ah, yes, looking back to last year's crops…."