“The situations are in no way comparable. Georgiana is free to marry or not marry as she pleases. She has the means to support herself; it harms nobody. But Elizabeth…is stealing from Collins—as if Longbourn belongs to her.”
“Is she?” Richard regarded Darcy coolly.
“I believe I made the situation quite clear.”
His cousin leaned on the table, appearing quite at ease. “You made it clear that she will likely help Longbourn reap greater crop yields.”
“Precisely.” Was his cousin about to argue semantics with him? “Is that not stealing?”
“I suppose it depends. What is she doing with those crops?”
Darcy froze in place. “I do not know. Does it matter?”
Richard rubbed his chin. “Perhaps not as a matter of law, but as a matter of morality I would say so. If she is using the profits to buy herself a new bonnet or lace for her sisters’ dresses, that would be an abuse of her cousin’s hospitality and quite wrong.”
Elizabeth would not do such a thing, but then how were the profits being used?
“Have you considered that perhaps she gives the profits back to the tenants?” Richard asked. “Perhaps the tenant families will eat the extra crops, or they will use the profits for their own purposes. Already Longbourn is supporting an extra family in secret. Perhaps Miss Elizabeth operates other charitable endeavors.”
“The cottages were in a disgraceful state,” Darcy said slowly. Even glimpses from horseback had been enough to make the neglect manifest.
“I assume that most of the tenants are honorable men,” Richard said. “And yet they support Miss Elizabeth’s scheme.”
Darcy had not considered that, but he had no reason to believe that Longbourn’s tenants were less honorable than Pemberley’s. Certainly Darcy’s tenants were decent people who would not ordinarily involve themselves in deception.
If only I had asked Elizabeth more questions when I guessed her scheme! If she was indeed using the profits to benefit the tenants or repair the cottages…well, it was an investment in the estate. Could it then be labeled as theft?
However, it was still deception. He could not excuse it. “You know that deception of any kind is my abhorrence. I had believed Miss Elizabeth above such trickery.”
Richard snorted. “‘Deception of any kind.’…. That is a wealthy man’s argument, Darcy.”
Darcy frowned at his cousin. How did his fortune have any bearing on a question of morality?
“Most people need some deception just to live their lives. They cannot afford to be completely honest.”
“I do not unders—”
Richard righted Darcy’s bench and gestured for him to take a seat. “Let me tell you a story from my first campaign.” He poured them both glasses of lemonade. “I was a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant…”
Darcy sat and took a long swallow of lemonade, wetting his parched throat. His cousin never spoke of his experiences in the war. If he wanted to share something now, the story must be extraordinary.
“The commanding officer of the regiment, a colonel—I will not share his name—was a brute and a blackguard,” Richard said.
Darcy inhaled sharply. Nobody spoke of the “valiant” British troops in such a manner.
“Many of the Spaniards in the area hated us,” Richard continued. “The British soldiers looted and stole crops. The French were not much better, but some of the local residents were sympathetic to them. We had to be wary of everyone. That woman could be bringing you water or planning to knife you. The old man might be selling oranges or poison. But the colonel…he just assumed they were all our enemies. One time an old man approached with some loaves of bread. The colonel whipped out his pistol and shot the poor bastard. He claimed he’d seen a knife.”
“Did the man have one?” Darcy asked.
Richard shook his head. “I never saw one. Some of us ran over to where the man lay in the dirt. He was still breathing, and we wanted to send for our doctor. But the colonel insisted we keep marching, leaving the man by the side of the road. Another time as we entered a town, he entertained himself by shooting at the people who watched us from the windows. I know he hit at least one.”
Darcy swore.
“And his treatment of the men under his command…I watched him knife one poor bastard myself.” Richard stared into the distance as if seeing Spain rather than the Derbyshire countryside. “We all hated him…and feared him. We never knew if he might choose one of us for abuse.”
“Could you not complain to your superiors?”
Richard chuckled. “We did. We spoke to the major general and the general. Two men wrote letters to the War Office. Nothing happened—except the colonel had one of those men whipped. Trained officers were scarce, and he was effective in the field. I hated him, and I hated the situation. I felt so…impotent! Being under the thumb of such a man.”
Richard wiped sweat from his brow and took a gulp of lemonade.
“One day we were fighting the enemy. It was more of a skirmish than a full-fledged battle, but eventually we got the Frenchies on the run. In the aftermath, we discovered the colonel was dead.”
“How?” Darcy asked.
“Shot. But here is the curious thing. He was shot in the back. He was nowhere near the front line, you understand. He stayed behind, on his horse, to give orders. And yet somehow a bullet had found its way to him—to his back.”
Darcy considered this for a moment. “Who shot him?”
Richard shook his head. “I don’t know, but it wasn’t the French. And we all knew it. I knew it. His second in command knew it. Every single soldier knew it.”
“So, what did you do?”
Richard shrugged. “We buried him with two other soldiers who had been killed in the battle, and the regiment marched away under a new commanding officer.”
Darcy held his breath, scarcely believing that this could have happened to the well-dressed, civilized man beside him.
Richard’s head turned toward Darcy, but his mind was far away. “You do not know what it is like to be powerless, Will. You sit at Pemberley and deal with everything in black and white, good and bad. Whoever shot that colonel did the world a favor and saved many other lives—and the rest of us concealed it. Maybe we were not guilty of outright lying, but we certainly were guilty of lies of omission. But the truth would have done far more damage than the lie.”
Darcy realized his heart was racing—for no good reason. He took a deep breath, reminding himself he was safe here on Pemberley’s lawn.
“Most of the world does not have the luxury of absolute principles,” Richard continued. “You can afford to be honest all the time when you command your world. But I do not. And your Miss Bennet even less so. I will not judge her for a little dishonesty if it is for the greater good. War is not fought without dishonesty. Soldiers cannot live without it. I suspect women’s lives are the same.”
They were silent for a long moment as Darcy tried to comprehend everything his cousin had told him. “Thank you for sharing your story,” he said at last.
“I know you see Collins as a fellow landowner, but—”
“He is not my ‘fellow’ in any way!” Darcy’s overly loud proclamation startled his cousin. But he had an instinctive revulsion to being compared with that obsequious toad of a man. And yet, was that not Darcy’s objection to Elizabeth’s scheme? She infringed upon the rights of a man who should be beneath Darcy’s notice. A man he would avoid at all costs under other circumstances.
If I find myself taking the part of such a man over that of a woman I know to be decent and kind, perhaps I should reexamine my assumptions.
He hated to admit that he might be wrong, but he was too honest to lie to Richard—or to himself. “Perhaps there is some truth in what you say.”
Richard’s look was piercing. “While you are searching your soul, you might also inquire why you find Miss Bennet’s actions so disturbing.”
“She is a friend—”
<
br /> “If some other acquaintance had taken a misguided course, it would not have one-tenth the effect. I daresay Bingley could marry a scullery maid and you would not stalk about Pemberley snarling at the servants and growling at your sister.”
Darcy shrugged uncomfortably. “I do feel some responsibility for her family’s situation.”
“Pfft!” Richard laughed. “I do not believe that for a minute.” After watching Darcy for a moment, he spoke in a softer tone. “You need not be honest with me, Darce, but you do need to be honest with yourself.”
Darcy did not know how to respond to that. He readily admitted to his infatuation with Elizabeth, but there was nothing to be done about it. After a long pause, Richard stood. “I think I will go help myself to some of your excellent brandy. War stories always go down more easily with some spirits.”
Darcy watched his cousin wander away. I have never excelled at seeing the world through another person’s eyes. Perhaps that is a bigger character flaw than I previously understood. At Pemberley, he was responsible for all the souls on the estate. Had he been horribly deficient in understanding them?
Small wonder Elizabeth had been so disgusted with him at their last meeting. He should strive to do better for his own sake as well as hers. He should attempt a better understanding of her perspective.
He had hoped a sojourn at Pemberley would help him forget her and her outrageous schemes, but that had proved impossible. Now, as he began to glimpse the world through her eyes, he had a strong suspicion that he would return to Hertfordshire and offer her an apology.
Chapter Thirteen
Elizabeth mended the hem of the dress with small, neat stitches, but her mind was not on her work. Oddly, she often found herself missing Mr. Darcy’s presence, but the Longbourn scheme always provided a welcome distraction. The plans to improve the fortunes of the Longbourn tenants were proceeding very well. The lambs were growing into sheep and would be ready for shearing. The seed drill and use of the new gypsum fertilizer had increased the number and size of the plants; prospects for a good harvest were good. Mr. Greeves had consulted the tenants and determined which cottages needed to be repaired first.
Although much remained to be accomplished, Mrs. Greeves said the tenants had a new sense of optimism. Elizabeth noticed that the tenants joked and laughed more frequently, and many smiled at her or tipped their hats as she passed by.
So far they had managed to maintain secrecy. On the rare occasions when Mr. Collins had shown any interest in the fields, Mr. Greeves and the other farmers had lulled any suspicions and assured him that everything was normal.
If the endeavor caused any harm, it was to Elizabeth’s peace of mind. Upon first conceiving the plan, she had not realized how steadily the constant secrecy would prey upon her thoughts. Forever fearing discovery, she was often agitated in her cousin’s presence. Quite to Elizabeth’s amusement, she now had more compassion for her mother’s nerves.
Elizabeth knew the deception was not sustainable indefinitely. She only hoped they could conceal their actions until after the harvest. If Collins witnessed the results of one successful planting season, he might be inclined to overlook the subterfuge necessary to achieve it.
There was no indication her cousin was anything other than blissfully ignorant. Even now, as Elizabeth sewed, he read to the sisters from Fordyce’s sermons, every once in a while interjecting his own stupid moral observations. Mary was excellent at feigning interest, but Kitty’s eyes were beginning to droop with post-dinner lassitude. Elizabeth was listening and praying that her cousin would soon release them from the tedium so she might retire to the bedchamber she shared with Jane for a quiet hour of reading before sleep.
On the opposite side of the room, Charlotte rocked baby Robert in her arms, apparently listening to her husband’s words. But her eyes were fixed on her son. Elizabeth’s friend had thrown herself into motherhood, devoting far more time to her child’s care than was usual for mothers of their station.
When Collins had expressed a desire for a greater share of his wife’s attentions, Charlotte had calmly replied that they were economizing on the wages for a baby’s nurse. Although Kitty frequently cared for Robert, she did not pass all her time with the baby the way a hired nurse would.
Elizabeth rather suspected Charlotte’s motivation was the opposite of the one she had stated. Charlotte had not insisted on hiring a nurse because she wished to care for the child herself. She doted on the boy, insisting on bedding him in the master bedroom at night despite her husband’s grumbles that it was a peasant’s custom. No doubt Robert’s presence hampered any conjugal activities—which was, Elizabeth conjectured, the effect Charlotte intended.
Robert was a colicky baby and required quite a bit of care. Who could fault a mother who chose to comfort her child—even if she sacrificed time with her husband? Mr. Collins appeared oblivious to the possibility that Charlotte’s motherly devotion served another purpose and continued his life of a gentleman with a few complaints and many protestations of love for his wife.
Collins closed the book of sermons with a snap and gulped the last of his port—at least his third glass since dinner. With each glass, his face had grown redder and his reading more slurred. Her cousin favored the room with a condescending smile. “I am certain those words will prove most enlightening. I hope you will meditate upon Mr. Fordyce’s words before bed tonight—particularly as they pertain to modesty and virtue.”
Elizabeth did not even bother to roll her eyes. Collins’s hints about the presumed immorality of the Bennet sisters had grown bolder and bolder the longer he inhabited Longbourn. Not a single one of them had shown the slightest tendency toward gross immorality, but he constantly implied that they were all one step away from being fallen women.
Now he should announce he was retiring for the evening, and the sisters would enjoy a little peace. One of his few virtues was a need to be abed early. However, when Collins stood, he cleared his throat as if planning to address the room. “Cousin Elizabeth, I have considered your concerns about the operations of the estate.”
Elizabeth lifted her eyes from her work with trepidation. Almost certainly he was not planning to announce a change of heart in favor of Mary’s agricultural reforms. “Indeed?”
“While I am grateful for your concern and for Cousin Mary’s, I do not believe that ‘modern’ techniques would be of assistance to the estate.” He uttered the word “modern” as one might say “plague-ridden.” “Rather, I believe that Longbourn requires a steward to manage the estate’s daily operations.”
Oh good Lord! Elizabeth’s breathing constricted for a moment. A steward was far more likely to notice irregularities. Not only would a steward manage all the estate activities with great scrutiny, but he was also unlikely to be an idiot. How unfortunate. “D-Do you really b-believe a steward would be worth the added expense?” she stammered.
Collins regarded her down his nose like a teacher lecturing his students. “I did not originally believe so, but I wrote to Lady Catherine for her invaluable advice. She was of the opinion that the right steward compensates for his salary by improving the management of the estate. Naturally, her counsel is beyond compare.”
“But—”
Collins ignored her. “We are very fortunate that Lady Catherine even had a candidate ready at hand. I have spoken with him, and he is eminently suitable. Since I understand that the steward’s house is in disrepair, he will stay in Longbourn’s guest room for the present until his house is ready.”
A single man living at Longbourn Manor? Elizabeth could only imagine what rumors that might provoke in Meryton. “Sir, perhaps we should discuss this—”
Collins narrowed his eyes. “The decision has been made, Cousin.”
“But a single man living at Longbourn—”
Collins interrupted her. “There can be no impropriety while I also reside under the roof; I am still a man of the cloth. Your concern does you credit, Cousin, but forgive me, you may not b
e the best judge in such circumstances. Given your youngest sister’s example, you may not always know the right path.”
Elizabeth bit her tongue lest she say something quite unladylike and promised herself to “accidentally” put salt in his tea at the first opportunity.
Collins continued without pause. “Besides, I have already hired the man.” He turned around and opened the drawing room door, gesturing to someone in the hallway. “Let me introduce Mr. Patrick Weston.” He indicated the newcomer with a flourish.
The man who entered the drawing room was unprepossessing, of average height with greasy blond hair and a very sharply pointed nose. He bowed to the assembled ladies, and they stood to curtsey. As Collins began the introductions, Mr. Weston slid his gaze insolently from her feet to her bosom. Shocked at such bold lewdness, Elizabeth glared at the man, but he merely smirked in response.
Apparently, he found the idea of inhabiting a house with four unattached women to be quite amusing. Ugh. Somehow even his gaze was oily.
Collins droned on obliviously, listing each of the Bennet sister’s names and managing to interject praises for Lady Catherine at regular intervals. Meanwhile, each of the sisters was subjected to Mr. Weston’s appraisal.
Elizabeth gave herself a moment to curse Collins in the privacy of her own mind. At the very moment when Longbourn had been making progress, her cousin had thrown this weasel in their path. The new steward would obviously be trouble in more ways than one.
Was this the death knell for all their plans?
***
Five days after Weston’s arrival, Elizabeth was helping Hill prepare tea in the kitchen. Collins had taken Weston and Sir William Lucas out for a day of shooting. He particularly relished activities that reminded him of his position as lord of the manor. Naturally, he had demanded refreshments upon their return.
The first few days of Mr. Weston’s stewardship had proceeded rather more smoothly than Elizabeth had feared. The man was clever, to be certain, but this was counterbalanced by an extreme taste for idleness. He was being paid and saw no purpose in doing above the bare minimum to accomplish his job.
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