It was shortly after dinner, when Darcy and Georgiana had retreated to the library together, that their quiet seclusion was disturbed by a rather urgent knock on the door.

"Come," Darcy called.

And in came Mr Wickham, with a worried frown on his face. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but we've got a bit of an emergency. The Dawsons' cottage has been hit by a toppling tree, and half the roof has caved in."

Georgiana looked up from the illustrated animal encyclopaedia she was leafing through. "The roof caved in?! But they'll get all wet!"

Mr Wickham nodded; the rain had not let up all day, and was even now slashing against the windows of the library.

Darcy looked uncertainly up at the steward. "We'll need to do something. What do you recommend?"

Mr Wickham raised a challenging eyebrow. "What would you recommend?"

"I don't know…" Darcy hesitated. "What would Father do? I believe he would take them into the house for the night, or…?"

However, Mr Wickham shook his head. "Mr Darcy, consider this your first lesson in estate management. Your father was indeed a good landlord for his tenants, but what he would do in this situation… frankly, it's irrelevant. I'm sorry to be so blunt, but he is not here; you are."

Darcy flinched; Georgiana bit her lip.

And Mr Wickham continued, "You need to decide what you want to do about it; you cannot manage this estate purely by imagining what your good father would have done. So – what will it be?"

Darcy looked down at the book in his hands. He felt both his steward's and his sister's expectant eyes upon him, and he swallowed. His first decision as master of Pemberley… But was it really so difficult? Looking at the question with plain common sense and compassion…

"They need somewhere to stay the night, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana interrupted his thoughts. "They can well stay here, can't they? The house is big enough."

He nodded slowly. "Yes. I was just thinking… Mr Wickham, how many people are without a roof over their head now?"

"Dawson and his wife, their four children, and an elderly grandmother," Mr Wickham supplied succinctly.

"Are they all here?"

"No, just Dawson himself. The others stayed back at the house."

Darcy nodded, obviously proud of having made his first executive decision. "Maybe we should have a cart hitched up so we can transport them here?"

Once again that challenging eyebrow – obviously, Mr Wickham expected more from him.

Darcy floundered around for additional actions and provisions that might be expected of an estate master in situations such as these. "And um… maybe we should bring some umbrellas or such? To protect them from the rain during the ride?"

A pause. The eyebrow was still up.

"And… and perhaps we could ask the kitchen to prepare some hot soup? And… and… I don't know, towels and blankets maybe?"

Now an appreciative little smile tugged at the corners of Mr Wickham's mouth. "Very good, lad. That wasn't so hard, was it now?"

He grimaced in reply. "Just plain common sense really."

"Exactly," Mr Wickham nodded. "Plain common sense, a healthy dose of empathy, and a cool and intelligent head go a long way in dealing with your subordinates. Never forget that, lad, and you'll be just as good a master as your father was."

Darcy couldn't quite quench a little blush of pleasure.

"There was really only one thing lacking," Mr Wickham continued. "Really, those were all excellent suggestions, lad, but… could you express them in a manner that befits the master of an estate?"

Now the blush was definitely there, and Georgiana's little giggle only made it worse…

"Try it," Mr Wickham gently urged him.

Bashfully, he straightened himself. A deep breath, and… "Mr Wickham, have a cart hitched up to transport the family here. And organize some umbrellas for them, too, to protect them from the rain. Have towels and blankets waiting for them, and tell the kitchen to prepare some hot soup for them." Boy, this felt surprisingly good! A rush of adrenalin coursed through him, and unconsciously, he squared his shoulders. "And find these poor people some dry clothes, if you can manage it. And of course they can stay here at the manor until their own home is habitable again, though I don't quite recall where Father used to put them up – what would be the most practical. I think I… I mean, I trust I can leave that decision with Mrs Reynolds; she will need to see to it that some rooms are prepared for them. With a hot fire as well."

Now the smile was undeniably there. "Very well, Master. I will see to it. And I am glad to see you are as quick a study as I remembered."

Darcy granted him a grateful little smirk in return, and quickly got up. "Well, shall we go?"

"You are coming, too?"

"Of course. I need to see the work in action, don't I? Oh – so we'll need two horses as well."

Mr Wickham nodded his approval. "Very well, Master. I will go and organize the cart and the horses. If you can ring for Mrs Reynolds and tell her what needs to be done?"

Before he could open his mouth to reply, Georgiana already scrambled to her feet. "I want to come, too."

Darcy's new-found sense of authority immediately wavered. "Well… I don't know, Georgie. It is rather late. Is it not close to your bedtime?"

"But I want to help!" she yammered. "I'm not a little girl, Fitzwilliam! I can help!"

"But…" Surely he could not let little Georgie tag along to the Dawsons' in the rain?! And in the dark to boot! Had she ever even ridden in the dark?! But how on earth did you get a little girl to do as you wanted? "I don't think that is a good idea, Georgie. It is getting late, and… you know, it could be dangerous: the dark, the rain…"

"I'm not scared of the dark – or a little rain," Georgiana scoffed. "I'm coming with you."

"But…" He wanted to object further, but he wasn't sure what kind of argument might persuade his headstrong little sister. How in heaven's name did parents handle wilful children?! A cold tendril of panic began to creep up his spine, and he raked his fingers through his hair. Being the father-figure for a ten-year-old girl sure was not shaping up to be easy…

Fortunately, Mr Wickham was there to help him out. "Miss Darcy," he interjected calmly, "Much as I appreciate your offer, you can be of much more help to Mrs Reynolds here at the house than you can be to us. Your brother and I can handle the transport of the Dawsons – you don't need to worry about that. Besides, Mr Dawson himself is with us, too. Mrs Reynolds however suddenly finds herself with a lot of things that need to be done in a very short time. I am sure she would welcome all the helping hands she can get."

Georgiana pouted a little, but to Darcy's utter relief, she did as Mr Wickham suggested and rang for the housekeeper. And it was not ten minutes later that Darcy and Mr Wickham threw on their overcoats and hats, and ran through the downpour to the stables.

The horses and the cart were already waiting for them, together with a groom and a man who was already pretty soaked.

Mr Wickham did the honours. "Dawson, perhaps you remember young Mr Darcy, the new master? Mr Darcy, this is Dawson, one of your tenants on the southern edge of the estate."

Both men bowed – one reverentially, the other in awkward acknowledgement.

"I was sorry to hear about your father, sir. He was a good man," Dawson said.

Again, Darcy merely nodded in acknowledgement.

"Well, let's go," Mr Wickham decided. "We need to get your people inside, Dawson."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Dawson clambered up on the cart, and Darcy and Mr Wickham mounted their horses. Dawson led the way, as the cart had two flickering lanterns, and the two men on horseback followed closely behind through the merciless rain.

It was quite a ride, and the dark combined with the miserable weather made neither of the men much inclined to conversation. Left to his own thoughts, and with the water already seeping through his coat, Darcy began to question the wisdom of his decision to come along. What was it Mrs Reynolds had said this morning? We can't have you getting sick now. Huh… If this rescue operation would take much longer, he was bound to be a prime candidate for pneumonia.

Maybe he should just turn back to the house. Surely Mr Wickham could handle things out here, so what was the point of him coming along? It had been the rush of the moment – something to do, something to divert his thoughts from his own gloomy reality. Some action. But surely Father would not have ridden out head over heels in this lousy weather on an errand that Mr Wickham was thoroughly capable of handling by himself? After all, what did one have a steward for?

Still, there was little to gain in risking to spoil Mr Wickham's present good opinion of him. And so he clenched his jaw and rode along through the pouring rain to destinations unknown. And finally, they pulled up by a white thatched cottage nestled in a small grove.

A mere glance was enough to notice that indeed half the roof had collapsed under the weight of the toppled tree.

Dawson jumped off the cart and tethered the horse to the low fence.

A woman with a young girl in her arms appeared in the slightly skewed doorway. "Ned? Is that you?"

"Yes, darling, it's me. And I've brought Mr Wickham and the new Master. They're taking us to the great house for the night."

"Oh, thank you, sir. Thank you!" She managed an awkward curtsey with the child in her arms. "We're much obliged to you for sure. Everything is wet! We had such a scare when that tree came down through the roof!"

Darcy followed Mr Wickham's example and dismounted. He felt awkward, and awfully insecure again – what was expected of him now? He had never been at ease around strangers… Maybe he should just let Mr Wickham lead the way.

An older girl of about Georgiana's age appeared in the doorway, and two younger boys as well. One of the boys had a makeshift bandage around his head – had he been hurt perhaps when that tree came crashing through the roof?

"Well, let's get you all out of the rain," Mr Wickham was saying. "I'd suggest you bring your valuables – just to be sure. And perhaps a change of clothes for everyone? It doesn't matter if they're wet; we can dry them at the house."

The Dawsons went back inside to gather their belongings, and Mr Wickham untied the carthorse to help it turn the cart around.

Darcy approached him with some hesitation. "Mr Wickham?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Should we not… you know… check the damage? See what needs to be done?"

Mr Wickham nodded. "We will. Tomorrow. It's too dark to get an accurate impression now."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." He fell silent.

"But you know what, lad?" Mr Wickham waited until his new master looked at him with an eyebrow timidly raised. "You did good in coming out here tonight."

"I did?"

"Oh yes. Before the sun sets tomorrow, the whole estate will know that you care about your people; that you are not one of those high-and-mighty toffs who never ventures beyond his garden and who only thinks of his tenants as a source of income."

Darcy didn't quite know what to say to that, but he felt his cheeks burning. Thank heavens that he hadn't said anything back there about turning back to the house!

"You keep this up," Mr Wickham continued, "And you'll go a long way in earning your tenants' loyalty. Which is a crucial matter whenever things don't run as smoothly as we like them to." He gave Darcy a gentle nudge against his shoulder. "From what I've seen tonight, Master, I'm sure you can do it."

Darcy gave him a grateful little smile. He did good. In spite of his woeful lack of both knowledge and confidence, he could do it. Mr Wickham said so.

Yes. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, managing the estate and all.

Even if it meant risking pneumonia.

.

Edit: Author's note: Wow, I just noticed that with this chapter, I passed the 1 million words archived on ffnet!