Chapter 9

Darcy was a particularly early riser, and so it was more common than not that Elizabeth woke to find herself alone in his bed. On this morning, however, she found he had not gone far, for he was standing before the window, gazing outside. The greyness of the morning could immediately be told by the light within the room, but even if it could not, a distinct pattering on the window informed Elizabeth that they were experiencing more sleet. This, clearly, was the cause for Darcy's current attitude, for everything about him, from the set of his shoulders to his silence – even after Elizabeth rose from the bed – indicated a tremendous worry.

This worry of his pulled at her heart, and she approached him and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her cheek against his shoulder and hoping her presence was a comfort. The weather worried her, too – it had been so poor as to require her parents to curtail their visit, so Mr. Bennet could look in on his own estate – but she felt she must not contribute to Darcy's worries by adding her own.

"I have never known an April such as this," he said, softly.

"It is only the eighth of April. This may delay the spring planting, but there is still time."

"There is still time for the spring planting, but the winter wheat sits in mud, and I am not certain it can take much more of this. I cannot believe it is hardly spring and I am already thinking on what we should do about a bad harvest."

"Even if we do have a bad harvest, we shall be fine," Elizabeth said, soothingly. "We do not spend anything near our income, and if it is necessary, we shall cut back on our entertainments and expenditures."

"It is not us I am worried about. I appreciate that you have always been willing to make do with less income, my darling Elizabeth, but if our income is reduced, it is because my farmers cannot make their rents. They are, perhaps, in better situations than those on other estates, but some of them cannot afford a failed harvest, even if their rents are forgiven."

"Then we will do whatever we can for them, although perhaps in a few days, the weather will clear and our concerns will be entirely forgotten."

"There is nothing I hope for more," he said, although it was not in an hopeful tone.

Elizabeth had not been entirely understanding of the state of the winter wheat, but a few days after that morning, when the weather was finally clear enough to ride, they went out – Darcy on Kingfisher and Elizabeth on Spartan. Darcy set out as though to meet the road to Kympton, and soon enough it became clear they were to join that road.

Thus far, Elizabeth had not possessed the skill to take anything beyond the numerous private paths that crossed Pemberley's grounds, and she might have held some enthusiasm at this indication of confidence in her progress as an equestrienne, if it did not become rapidly clear to her that their purpose for taking the road was one of necessity. Darcy was both a highly accomplished horseman and a conscientious landowner, and he often went out on long rides across his grounds – usually with his steward, Richardson – to assess the state of his fields. This seemed to be one of the routes he took on these rides, and any pleasure Elizabeth might have felt in finally being qualified to ride it was rapidly eliminated by the state of the fields on either side of the road, which were wholly waterlogged in places. He did glance at her quite often, to ensure she was comfortable, but upon seeing his wife was still well in control of her cob, he was free to return his mind to what clearly occupied it, which was the state of the fields.

At one point, he reined Kingfisher to a halt beside one of the fields, comprised mostly of patches of mud and standing water, and looked upon it with a grim face, saying, "This was planted with winter wheat, and look at it. How are we to expect anything to grow in such a state?"

"Darcy," she said, laying one hand upon his thigh, for that was all she trusted herself to do upon horseback, and even this was an action she would not have undertaken until recently, "I hardly know how I could ever have regarded you as selfish. Even now, when you are out for a ride with your wife, you cannot stop worrying over the winter wheat."

"I am sorry, Elizabeth, it is just that this presses upon my mind – "

"I understand that it does, and it does you much honour that it is so, but I believe you must put it behind you for now – for there is nothing you can do to change the weather – and focus on more positive things. Your sons, for example – they are a subject upon which nothing but positive thoughts may be focused."

"They are indeed," he said, "and yet it is in part for James that I worry so over the estate. It is to be his legacy, and I wish it to be a good one."

"Darcy, it shall be a wonderful legacy, regardless of whatever happens in the course of this year."

"Next you shall be reminding me of how George has no such legacy."

"It appears I need not do so, for it is already at the top of your mind."

"Only because you have made it so."

"Perhaps George shall be a clergyman or a barrister, and have no worries beyond his next sermon or case," Elizabeth said, hopefully.

"I suspect clergymen and barristers have their own things to worry over."

"Then perhaps that is what we should keep in mind, Darcy – we all have things to worry us. The question is whether we allow them to dominate our lives. Why do we not return home, and see our sons? I am hopeful they may cheer us."

Changed from their riding clothes, they found James and George both awake and very amenable to a visit from their parents. Darcy took up George, and Elizabeth James, and they sat quietly until James emitted a squeal of laughter that seemed designed to make at least his mama forget about all the day's worries. He was followed, almost immediately, by a coo of laughter from his brother. They continued in this manner for some time, and Elizabeth felt certain they were laughing together, that they must each be pleased to have someone else who understood what they wished to communicate.

She found herself hoping they should always remain so close despite the difference in their expectations, but was utterly distracted from this thought when she looked over at Darcy and found his countenance bore the signs – for the first time in quite a while – of being pleased.

"You were right, Elizabeth, to make me focus on a future beyond this harvest," he said, when he caught that her attention was on him. "These boys are the true legacy of Pemberley."

"Indeed they are, and we shall have far better influence on them than we do the weather, although at present they seem to have the best influence on each other."

"So they do – I wonder what they could be laughing over."

"Perhaps they are not laughing over anything – perhaps they are simply pleased to be in existence with each other," Elizabeth said. "Or perhaps they are pleased that there appears to be silence from Bess's quarter. I would wonder that she can sleep through our presence, but she does seem to prefer rather a lot of noise in her life. I suppose we are quiet by comparison."

For this, she was rewarded with a chuckle from Darcy, which was rather more a relief than the pleasure she got from the continuing laughter between the boys. They were interrupted, eventually, by Henry, a footman, who entered and informed them of the day's post – several letters of business for Darcy, which had been left in his study, and one from Mr. Bennet, which Henry held in his hand, asking if Mrs. Darcy wished to read it now or have it placed in her chamber. Elizabeth did not wish to interrupt her time with her husband and sons, and indicated her preference for the latter.

She was particularly glad she did so when she went thither a little before it was time to dress for dinner, so she could read the letter. Mr. Bennet wrote of the weather in Hertfordshire, which appeared to be just as bad as that of Derbyshire, and Elizabeth could detect in her father's writing a true concern over Longbourn's harvest. That Mr. Bennet was actually worried enough to write of it told her it must be truly bad. While Elizabeth knew she must now add a measure of worry for Longbourn to her thoughts, she was glad she had not read the letter in Darcy's presence, where she would have been asked of its contents and felt compelled to relate her father's concerns. As she read on, she found these concerns had been enough for him to halt her mother's plans to re-furnish the drawing-room, at least until they had a better sense of how the harvest was to come through.

She determined if she was asked about the letter, she would share only that her mother desired to re-furnish the drawing room, and her father was hesitant. This sounded wholly typical of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet – Mr. Bennet's hesitation over the updating of the room might just as easily have been over his desire to avoid hearing of the fabric involved in upholstery as it was over concern about his income for the year. There was no reason to add to Darcy's worries when she had only just managed to distract him from them. Yet she wondered what should happen to Longbourn if the poor weather was to continue through the spring, for that estate could never have been said to be as well-maintained as Pemberley, and yet even Pemberley was suffering.