Judging from his letter, the general was beset with five daughters all grown up and no sons in the house. He had said he would welcome a long stay, which meant they could remain close to town should they be needed in London but reside in the superior landscape of the country until his uncle Matlock travelled back to town in December.
Darcy was more than grateful for the offer of hospitality and training. Not only would he and Fitzwilliam be learning the things they most needed to know, but it gave the two of them somewhere to be until both the townhouse and London itself were more habitable. Pemberley would be an enormous undertaking, and he was grateful to have a brief respite before facing it.
Chapter One
August 1811
“Isthisit?”Darcyasked, pulling up to study a narrow path heading away from the little market town of Meryton.
“It astonishes me,” replied Fitzwilliam, “that you never once lost your way in Spain or Portugal but cannot seem to navigate good English roads.”
“Yes,” Darcy said drily, “there is nothing like being shot at to sharpen one’s directional senses.”
Fitzwilliam ignored him. “The blacksmith said that there were two paths. Netherfield to the east, Longbourn to the west. This must be it.”
“Very well,” Darcy replied, still rather dubious. He gazed through the trees at an opening wide enough for two horses to ride abreast. He guided his mount along the path, and they rode silently for a time. Not far along, the path opened onto a proper road, and Darcy shot Fitzwilliam a dirty look. “We turned off too soon.”
Fitzwilliam grinned. “As long as we arrive in good time, does it matter?”
Darcy plucked a twig from his hat and let it fall to the ground. “It does not matter to you. You are short enough to ride through an entire forest untouched.”
“That you are the size of a giant is not my fault.”
Fitzwilliam was short only in comparison to him, and Darcy knew it. Fitzwilliam might be the elder, but Darcy was the taller by four inches, a constant source of irritation for his cousin.
They meandered through the village that surrounded the estate and up through the gates to the manor, where they handed off their horses to a groom. An older gentleman was waiting for them in the portico.
“Welcome to Longbourn, Colonel, Lieutenant Colonel,” he said.
“Lieutenant General Bennet, sir,” Darcy said by way of greeting. Fitzwilliam snapped off a salute, and Darcy looked at him askance.
Bennet returned the salute with less sharpness and a good deal of humour. “Now that we have the ranks out of the way,” Lieutenant General Bennet remarked, his eyes twinkling, “call me Bennet. I am no longer in command of thousands of soldiers but a dozen or so stubbornly independent farmers of barley and corn.”
“It suits you, sir,” Darcy replied.
“And you are hoping it will suit you?” Bennet responded with a smile. “Come in, boys, come in.” He slapped each of them once on the back before he led them into the house.
The general appeared healthier than he had after being wounded and suffering through the infection that followed. He was stouter, and all traces of the limp that had finally persuaded the man to relinquish his command appeared to have vanished. He walked them back to his study, a decent-sized room lined with bookshelves that fairly groaned with the weight of the tomes they held. Darcy smiled. “A pleasant room, Bennet.”
Bennet laughed, as did Fitzwilliam. “I think you might be content all your life if you could but spend it with your nose in a book,” Fitzwilliam said.
They had returned to Hatchards more than once before removing from town.
“I have a taste for books myself,” Bennet replied, “but on an estate, there is always more to be done. I am pleased you arrived for the harvest. There is much to learn in observing it.” He lifted a decanter in question, and they both nodded. “This inheritance was something of a surprise, your letter said?”
“I do not believe I have ever seen anyone more shocked. It was a full quarter of an hour before I could persuade him to speak of it,” Fitzwilliam said.
Darcy’s face grew hot. It had not been a quarter of an hour, but his inability to speak had certainly made Fitzwilliam anxious.
“I have inherited Pemberley, the family’s country estate,” Darcy confirmed. “And a townhouse in London.”
Fitzwilliam nodded. “We toured the townhouse with the solicitor. Very fine.”
“There are a number of repairs to be made, however,” Darcy added. “My great-uncle had remained in the country for his health the past few years. The work should be largely completed by the time we return near Christmas.”
“When you wrote, I sent out some inquiries about Pemberley.” Bennet motioned for them to sit and handed them each a glass of port. “Nearly three times the size of Longbourn, and I expect four or five times the income. You shall have your work cut out for you. But then, I presume that is why you have brought your cousin home?”
Darcy nodded. “One of many reasons. I could not do it without him.” He accepted a glass from Bennet.