Author's Note: You will notice that I have "demoted" Colonel Fitzwilliam to the rank of major in this chapter. In hindsight, I figured that if he was a colonel five years from now, he probably did not hold that rank yet today. Especially such a young man, and even more especially in war time, when – I have been told – promotions are frequent. Additionally, I like to think that the good colonel earned at least some of his rank on his own merits instead of his father's money and influence ;-)
The change in his rank has been fixed even in the previous chapters.
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He was up again bright and early the next morning. Mr Wickham had mentioned he wanted to ride out with Dawson at first light to take stock of the damage to the cottage, and Darcy thought it prudent to come along.
The rain had relented overnight, and came down now as a mere drizzle. Unfortunately, the road was still more of a mud bath than a road, but it was serviceable enough for the three men on horseback.
As they rode on, Mr Wickham was giving Darcy a crash course on everything they passed. "That's the Walsh's place. Good people, hard working. They've got six daughters though, and so far no sons, so Walsh is in a bit of a pickle regarding the future. His eldest daughter works in the kitchen at the manor.
"And across the hill there, there's the Morley's place. Bill Morley is a wonder with horses, and his wife makes the best strawberry preserves in the county – she's won first prize four years in a row.
"And this brook here bears watching in the spring. It has a tendency to flood, especially after a cold winter with considerable snow.
"And there to your right, you see the Kelley's farm. They haven't had it easy this past year – lots of sickness.
"And over there, you see…"
Darcy did his best to store all the facts in his mind. It was difficult without the corresponding faces though, and he was relieved when at last the Dawsons' cottage came in sight.
"Dawson!" one of the neighbours who had gathered there called out. "We heard what happened! Are your people alright? You need any help?"
Dawson quickly dismounted. "No, we're alright, Peters. No one got seriously hurt. But we might need some help getting that tree off the roof."
And indeed: after a quick round of introductions, between the three of them and Dawson's neighbours (who all turned out to be tenants of Pemberley, too), they managed to dislodge the tree and clear it off the roof. It was obvious that the thatched roof – as well as the rooms directly beneath it – were severely damaged.
"Don't worry, sir," Darcy quietly told Dawson. "You and your family can stay at the manor as long as is needed. Is there… I mean, are your quarters there to your satisfaction?"
"Oh yes, sir. Thank you, sir!" Dawson gushed. "The children have never slept in finer beds. Nor the missus and I, for that matter. Thank you!"
Darcy coloured a little under all that gratitude. "Don't mention it, sir. I am glad to be of service."
It was only when Dawson and Mr Wickham went inside to inspect the damage there, that things got a bit awkward. He had felt it intrusive to include himself in the indoor party – after all, Dawson barely knew him. Besides, Mr Wickham was perfectly capable of cataloguing what needed to be done.
So now he stood by the fence, carefully examining the exterior of the cottage for possible missed problems, and feigning not to notice how Dawson's neighbours were talking but a few yards away, and casting more than a few appraising glances in his direction. Were they talking about him?
He tried to shrug off the discomfort he felt. Face it: he was bound to be the topic of many conversations for some time to come: the new master, awfully young and totally wet behind the ears, and practically a stranger at that…
But presently, one of the men broke away from the group and approached him, cap in hand. "Mr Darcy, sir?"
He turned to look at the man, attempting to mask his insecurity with aloofness. "Yes?" Despite all the introductions upon their arrival, for the love of it, he could not recall the man's name.
"We um… we were sorry to hear about your father, sir."
"Thank you." The other men were all looking at him, too, now. Examining him, more like it.
"And um… we were wondering…?"
"Yes?" Keep that mask in place, Darce.
"Well, no disrespect intended, sir, but with you being so young and all…"
The man let the question trail off, and instead fidgeted with his cap. And when no continuation seemed to be forthcoming, Darcy raised a questioning eyebrow at him.
Fortunately, that seemed to be sufficient to prompt the man into completing his inquiry. "Well, you see, sir, me and the men, we were wondering if you were… you know, old enough to take over the estate. Or if someone else perhaps ought to…"
His question petered out under Darcy's sudden glare. "I may be young, sir, but I have reached my majority, thank you," he bit out.
"So you intend to…?"
"Absolutely."
"It's just," one of the others added, "Again, no disrespect intended, sir, but are you sure you know what you're doing? We've hardly seen you around here since you were a young boy. Are you at all acquainted with all that is involved in running this estate?"
Darcy clenched this teeth and turned away for a moment. There, not even my own tenants trust me capable of running this estate. Oh, who am I fooling? This is madness! I can't just… He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to the men. His tenants. "You are right of course. I don't know what I'm doing. But I have Mr Wickham to guide me, and I assure you that I am a quick learner. I imagine there will be some stagnation at first, but upon my word, I promise you that I will do my utmost to be the best landlord that I can possibly be."
His declaration had all the pomp of an oath before God, and somewhat awestruck by his intensity, the men unconsciously backed off a little.
"Of course, sir," the first man all but stammered. "We didn't mean to… you know…"
"Good on you, sir," one of the others interrupted him. "If you're even half the landlord your father was, I'm sure we will be lucky to work your land!" He came forward to offer the suddenly bashful Darcy his hand, and the others – some of them somewhat sheepishly – followed his example.
He wasn't sure how, but apparently, he had won them over…
He got back to the house just in time to break his fast. Georgiana was already at the table, piling strawberry marmalade on her toast.
"That is enough, Georgiana," was the first thing he said upon entering the breakfast room. By Jove, he already sounded like his father…
Georgiana pouted, but quickly took a bite to forestall being ordered to return the excess marmalade to the jar.
Darcy shook his head, and helped himself to eggs and bacon. He may be beginning to sound like his father, but he sure didn't have the same authority yet.
They ate mostly in silence, with Darcy glancing over the headlines of the London paper that an attentive footman had placed next to his plate.
Until they both started at a knock on the door, and Mr Graham (the butler) announced, "Lord Matlock and Major Fitzwilliam to see you, sir."
Immediately, an air of joviality permeated the room.
"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam hurried towards him and clasped his hand. He even pulled him into a one-armed hug. Well, Fitzwilliam could do that.
"Darcy." Uncle Matlock was considerably more succinct in his greeting, and while Georgiana momentarily disappeared in Fitzwilliam's arms, his father gravely shook Darcy's hand and briefly squeezed his shoulder.
And, "Georgiana," the imposing figure of the earl solemnly bowed to his young niece.
Shakily, Georgiana lowered her eyes before dropping into a curtsey.
"Mind if we join you for breakfast?" Fitzwilliam asked, eyeing the sideboard with appreciation.
"Of course not. Please – make yourselves at home."
"Yes. We have a lot to discuss," Uncle Matlock added. "But first let us eat."
Without prompting, the footman on duty – yet another one whose name he did not know – set out two additional place settings. Fitzwilliam fell down next to Georgie, and his father took the seat next to Darcy.
"I see you are not using your rightful place at the table yet, Darcy?" he asked.
Darcy shook his head. "Not yet. It upsets Georgiana." And me.
"Well, I suppose it is still early days," his uncle acquiesced.
It wouldn't do though to discuss business in front of young Georgiana, so the discourse on the latest news from London was mainly kept alive by the ever gregarious Fitzwilliam, and by his father, who was a prominent member of Parliament. Darcy occasionally added his two cents to the conversation, but Georgiana, he noticed, had pretty much withdrawn within herself. She barely lifted her eyes from her plate, and not even Fitzwilliam was able to coax more than a few monosyllabic words out of her. What was wrong there?
"Georgie?" he ventured when at last there was a momentary lull in the conversation.
She quickly glanced at him, but immediately dropped her eyes to the table again.
"Are you alright?"
A quick nod.
"Maybe it is time for her to return to the nursery, Darcy," Uncle Matlock suggested – though it sounded suspiciously like a pleasantly phrased order. And indeed, Georgie rose relieved to her feet, and after a silent curtsey, she promptly scurried from the room.
"Well then." Uncle Matlock dabbed his lips with his napkin. "Shall we repair to the study, gentlemen?"
Once again, it sounded more like an order, and Darcy and Fitzwilliam obediently fell in behind him.
Odd though, Darcy thought once they entered his father's study. He still quivered at the idea of sitting down at his father's desk himself. But somehow, it was quite acceptable for Uncle Matlock to take that chair. Maybe it was the man's age? Or the natural authority he exuded?
Either way, Darcy and Fitzwilliam took the chairs in front of the desk, and watched in silence as Lord Matlock poured them a drink. "To your father, Darcy. May God rest his soul."
They drank in silent contemplation, until at last Uncle Matlock set down his glass and folded his hands across his impressive girth.
"Darcy, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of sending for your father's solicitor when we arrived. We had best get the reading of the will out of the way, so there is clarity. I understand that Richard here is to be the co-executor of your father's will?"
Darcy nodded.
"Good. I need to be back in London within a fortnight, but Richard is currently on leave. He can stay here a while longer; help you find your feet, so to say."
Darcy nodded. "Thank you, Uncle."
"When we got the confirmation on the road that your father had died," Uncle Matlock continued, "I also sent notice to the papers, including an open invitation for a memorial gathering here at Pemberley."
Darcy grimaced. "Do we have to?"
"Of course we do. It's nothing but common courtesy, boy – to give people the chance to extend their condolences. Besides…" He grimaced himself. "I figured I would spare you the worst of it. Can you imagine the crowds you'd have to face if you held this gathering in London? By doing it here, the trip will at least put off a good number of mere acquaintances."
Well, that was true. Still, "Do they all expect to stay here, too?"
"Oh no. Only the family, I reckon," Lord Matlock decreed. "The others can stay at the inns in the area."
"Just the family is bad enough," Fitzwilliam muttered. "Imagine housing Aunt Cathy, and Mother, and my sister-in-law, all under one roof…?!"
To that, even Uncle Matlock could only sigh. "Well, let's hope that at least it will be for just a few nights," he said. "And who knows, they might not even care enough to show up."
"Now that would be a blessing," was Fitzwilliam's opinion. "Though I doubt that Aunt Cathy would ever pass up an opportunity of imposing her will on the entire family. So when is this condolence party going to be?"
"Next Saturday. That should be sufficient time for people to travel up here, and for your people, Darcy, to get everything ready."
Darcy merely nodded. It was odd. Only yesterday had he been praying for someone to come and take all these daunting responsibilities off his shoulders. And yet here was his uncle, deciding and organizing and determining things for him without even asking for his opinion – and now he felt put out with the man for encroaching upon his territory!
Well, there was no point in fighting Uncle Matlock. The man was like a force of nature – when he spoke, you could do naught but listen and obey. Besides, if he was to be gone in a fortnight, he supposed he could put up with the man's overbearing attitude. He would just watch him closely, and try and learn from the man whatever he could.
"Now," Uncle Matlock said. "If you boys could make yourselves scarce, I would like to prepare for this meeting with the solicitor – look over the estate's ledgers and such. But stay in the house, you hear me? I don't want the servants to have to drag you from some out of the way grove when that solicitor arrives."
Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. "Yes, Father." He took hold of Darcy's sleeve and pulled him out of the room. "Really, he can be so insufferable sometimes," he muttered as soon as he had closed the door behind them. "He doesn't even seem to realize that you're pretty much his equal now. And yet he treats you as a boy!"
Darcy shrugged. "I suppose he means well."
A sigh. "Yes, I suppose he does. But that doesn't make it right." Fitzwilliam shook himself, as if to shake off his vexation. "Well, we've basically been sent out to play, so what shall we do? With the restrictions put upon us, riding is obviously out of the question. How about billiards?"