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11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

T he carriage jolted on the uneven road, each bump sending a jarring throb through Darcy's skull. He pressed a hand to his temple, willing the headache to subside. It had begun shortly after leaving London, a relentless pounding that made each mile feel like an eternity. By the time they reached Netherfield, the pain had dulled to a persistent ache, but it was still enough to make his patience thin and his mood irritable… particularly when that man met him the moment his carriage drew to a halt.

"Darcy, welcome to Netherfield!" Wickham greeted, bowing with that slight turn to his head that Darcy's father used to affect. How curious to see Wickham emulating it! Yet, he looked perfectly at ease and sincere.

"Wickham," Darcy acknowledged with a tight nod. "Thank you for receiving me." Those words tasted as bitter in his mouth as they had sounded in his head the past four hours.

"The pleasure is entirely mine, Darcy." Wickham's smile, so disarmingly genuine, made Darcy's suspicions waver. After last summer, how dare he … "Please, come inside. Bingley and I have been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Darcy stepped into the house. High ceilings adorned with intricate mouldings loomed above, while sunlight filtered through large, elegantly draped windows. Polished wooden floors reflected the light, and tasteful paintings lined the walls. The grandeur spoke of good taste, an understated opulence. Not Wickham's taste, though… he had hardly been here long enough to effect any changes of his own.

Wickham strolled ahead, his steps unhurried, casually gesturing to a Reynolds painting of an English pointer and three children on the opposite wall. "You might appreciate this, Darcy. I have always admired it, but until recently, the owner was unwilling to part with it. It looks well there, does it not?"

Darcy blinked. The boys in the portrait looked of a similar age, each with dark hair, but their eyes were dissimilar. One looked serious, his dark eyes focused somewhere to the side as he reclined beside the dog with a book in his hand. The other stared directly at the observer with bright blue eyes and a roguish smile. But the younger girl posed with them looked… uncannily like Georgiana. Rage prickled over the back of his neck, and the piercing light in his head intensified. Where the devil had that come from?

"Darcy! At last, you have arrived!"

Darcy snapped himself back to the moment at the sound of Bingley's voice. Calm… He forced himself to draw a steadying breath before Bingley was grasping his hand in his usual, buoyant greeting. "Bingley," he said, straining to keep the crack out of his tones.

"I cannot tell you how delighted I was when I got your letter!" Bingley enthused. "Wickham is a terribly generous host, do you not say, letting me invite my own guest?"

"Oh, come, Bingley," Wickham broke in with a laugh. "Do you not think I would leap at the chance to welcome my old friend? Such a fine coincidence! Come, Darcy, you must wish to refresh yourself. You always look primped and pressed as if you just stepped out your own front door, but I know you well enough to know you would welcome a moment to yourself. Barclay here will show you up, and then we shall have tea in the drawing room."

Darcy offered a strained smile, nodding curtly as Barclay stepped forward to guide him. As he followed the butler through the hallway and ascended the grand staircase, Darcy's thoughts were far from appreciating the grandeur of the house, with its polished wood and elegant decorations. One question kept tumbling about inside his head. How?

Barclay opened the door to a spacious guest room, furnished tastefully with a large four-poster bed, a writing desk, and a fireplace already lit to chase away the October chill. "Your room, Mr Darcy," Barclay said with a bow. "If you need anything, please ring the bell, and I shall attend to you immediately."

"Thank you, Barclay," Darcy replied, his tone brusquer than intended. He waited until the butler closed the door before allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. Running a hand through his hair, he winced as a sharp pain lanced through his temple, making him curse under his breath. He began to pace the room, trying to regain his composure, each step sending reverberations of pain through his skull.

The sight of the painting still gnawed at him, adding to the pounding in his head. Could it truly be a coincidence, some prized painting of some other gentleman's children, or was Wickham toying with him in some new perverse manner? But… he didn't seem to be toying with him. He seemed rather… content. Proud, but not in any improper way .

Darcy splashed some water on his face from the basin, hoping the coolness might ease the ache behind his eyes. For a moment, the cold water provided a brief but much-needed clarity, numbing the persistent throbbing. He adjusted his cravat, ensuring it was impeccably tied despite his trembling fingers, and straightened his coat. The exertion made the pain spike again, but he forced himself to ignore it. Satisfied with his appearance, he took one final look in the mirror, his expression now resolute and composed, though his eyes betrayed the lingering discomfort.

Darcy left the room, his footsteps purposeful as he made his way back downstairs. As he approached the drawing room, he could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional laugh, Bingley's voice unmistakably louder than Wickham's. Darcy took a deep breath before entering, his face a mask of calm politeness.

Bingley was the first to notice his return. "Ah, Darcy! There you are. Come, join us. Tea has just arrived."

Wickham, lounging casually in a chair, gave him a smile that looked patient and welcoming. "Darcy, do help yourself. I've taken the liberty of ensuring your favourite blend is available."

"Thank you," Darcy replied evenly, taking a seat. He accepted a cup from the maid, who poured, then curtsied before she went out. She was… well, she was precisely as he might have expected a maid in Wickham's employ to look. Young and well-shaped, with shining hair and a fresh face. Darcy frowned as he addressed his cup.

"The countryside here is truly splendid, Darcy," Wickham was saying. "The land is fertile, and the views are quite picturesque. Not so breath-taking as Derbyshire, naturally, but the farmers have fewer rocks to contend with in their fields. I believe you will find much to admire."

Darcy glanced around, taking in the elegant furnishings and the warmth of the fire crackling in the hearth. "It seems you have settled well, Wickham. How do you find the management of the estate?"

There. Let him answer that . Estate management required diligence and strategic planning—things Wickham was not known for.

Wickham's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Ah, of course you would ask that question. I am not so experienced as you are, turning my hand to the affairs of the master, but I cannot say I find the duty disagreeable. Do you know, I wake up in a cold terror some nights, haunted by the spectre of your father's face and wondering what I might have left undone during the day! "

Darcy thinned his lips and looked back at his cup. "Father was diligent in all his ways. As well as generous and honest to a fault."

Wickham laughed. "Oh, Darcy, I know very well what you are doing! Let me simply assure you that I strive to live up to his example. No, no, I find myself quite content here at Netherfield. It is no Pemberley, but then, no other place on earth is. The tenants are hardworking, and the land, though full of potential, requires constant attention due to some local troubles. But Bingley has been of immense help. His enthusiasm and diligence are invaluable."

Bingley beamed at the compliment. "Thank you, Wickham. The truth is, I have learned much under your guidance. This region does indeed have much to offer. Dash it all, if you should change your mind at any moment, I would be more than happy to assume the lease from you."

Darcy shifted uncomfortably. Wickham and Bingley had certainly grown… companionable. "Indeed. It is no small task to oversee such a property. Have you encountered any significant challenges?"

"There have been a few issues, but nothing insurmountable. We are presently dealing with some flooding in the lower fields, but surely, it is nothing more than what is seasonable for the region."

Darcy glanced at Bingley. There had been flooding several weeks ago when he was here before. Elizabeth Bennet had been quite flustered by the matter, but Wickham seemed rather to dismiss it. Surely, it had not entirely abated, even as the weather grew worse for the season. "Any reports of similar problems among your neighbours?" he asked carefully.

"Some. I mean to speak with a few of them in the coming days to learn what I may, but, as you can imagine, I have been rather preoccupied. My steward has me caught up on all the estate business, however, and I intend to make a good neighbour of myself, so that shall receive my next attention."

Darcy listened carefully, watching for any facial tics or inflexions that might yield… anything. But there was nothing to be found—just the manner of a man who appeared to be everything he claimed. It was unsettling, yet Wickham's demeanour left little room for doubt. Perhaps Darcy had underestimated him.

The notion bore some examination… some other time when his head was working properly.

"And the local community? How have they received you, Wickham? "

Wickham's face lit up again. "They have been wonderfully hospitable. The neighbours here are quite charming, particularly the Philipses and the Lucases. Then there is the Bennet family. They have been the most welcoming."

Darcy's fingers twitched on his cup, and he dared not look up until he was master of his facial expressions. "The Bennets, you say?"

"Oh, yes. I daresay you will hear that name again," Wickham replied with a throaty chuckle. "They say Mr Bennet is a man of wit and intelligence, though I have yet to have the pleasure of an introduction. His daughters, however, are both plentiful and delightful, and you will never find a hostess more eager to please than Mrs Bennet."

At this, Darcy glanced quickly at Bingley. Had he told Wickham about their meeting with Miss Elizabeth? The matter had never arisen between them, for it did not seem pertinent. But now, having reinserted themselves into the social sphere of Meryton, it seemed prudent that, as gentlemen, they would keep the lady's secret and not risk compromising her dignity.

Bingley, bless him, caught the sudden shift in Darcy's gaze and, after a question and then an answering guess flashed in his eyes, shook his head subtly. Darcy gave a faint nod in return. The lady meant nothing to him, truly, but… well, hang it all, she did not deserve to be humiliated.

Besides, for so long as he was in the area, it would not do to cultivate the ire of one with such a sharp tongue. Despite the throbbing pain behind his eye, he could not help a smile at that thought.

" P apa, you missed quite the spectacle. Mrs Long and Mrs Purvis were just here for tea, and I must say, they were in excellent spirits. You could have had your fill of lively company. Lace, ribbon, and shoe roses until you swooned from the splendour of it all! "

Mr Bennet glanced up, quirking an eyebrow over an exasperated scowl. "And that is why I remain firmly lodged in this seat."

"Oh, come, Papa! They did have some rather interesting conversation." Elizabeth sat in the chair facing her father's desk and picked up a paperweight to toy with.

"And what, pray to tell, did these fine ladies discuss that would have rivalled my current reading?"

Elizabeth rolled the weight from one hand to the other. "Oh, nothing of great importance. Just plans for another Assembly in a fortnight, but it might be cancelled if there truly is to be a ball at Netherfield. Imagine the horror of such frivolity!"

"A ball, you say? The very thought sends shivers down my spine. However will my purse survive your mother's plundering? Am I expected to drag myself from my comfortable house to stand around gossiping with half a dozen coxcombs and one or two blackguards?"

"Those are our neighbours you insult! Come, Papa, it cannot be so dreadful as that. Think of the opportunity to hear endless praise of your daughters' accomplishments."

"Yes, the relentless flattery might be my undoing. Perhaps I should wad some cotton for my ears."

"Oh, Papa!" she laughed. "You do amuse yourself. But truly, you would have enjoyed the company today. Mrs Purvis developed a rather unfortunate hiccough in the middle of tea. There, tell me you would not have found something to chuckle to yourself about later at that."

Mr Bennet smiled briefly as he conceded the point, but his smile faded as he returned his gaze to the papers on his desk. "I fear my mind is too preoccupied with matters less pleasant than dancing, Lizzy."

Elizabeth, sensing the shift in his mood, softened her voice. "Is something troubling you, Papa?"

Mr Bennet sighed, setting his notes aside. "More reports of rising winter floodwaters. Many of the fields have been destroyed. The damage to Longbourn's lands alone is substantial."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed as she picked up one of the reports. "How badly has it affected us?"

Mr Bennet leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "The lower fields are nearly ruined. The tenants are digging ditches to drain it off where they can, but if the normal seasonal rains continue, we may face even greater losses. "

Elizabeth sat down opposite her father. "What can be done? Have you spoken to the tenants?"

"I have, but there is little comfort I can offer them. We must find a way to aid them, but our resources are not endless."

Elizabeth thought for a moment. "Perhaps we could organise a relief effort. The community could come together to support those most affected."

Mr Bennet shook his head. "You have a generous heart, Lizzy, but such efforts require coordination and funding. We must be realistic."

Elizabeth frowned in thought. "What exactly is the situation, Father? Why is the damage so severe?"

Mr Bennet creaked about in his chair, looking weary. "The river has been rising steadily, and it is only going to get worse through the season."

"But it is so every year," she interrupted.

"You did not let me finish. A neighbour reported that a man-made weir upriver has been breached and looks as though it has been for some time."

Elizabeth's eyes widened. "A weir? How did we miss that?"

"It was in the woods. The leak was probably small at first, and the weir has never shown any signs of weakness before. Now, the breach has grown, and devil take me if it does not look as if some fool has done it intentionally."

"Intentionally! But who would do such a thing?'

He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do not repeat that last bit to anyone. After all, no one else thought the same, so surely, it is nothing more than my ill-tempered fancy at being dragged out in hip waders to survey the wreckage. Besides, the result is the same—fields and houses at risk of ruin."

Elizabeth tossed the paperweight more quickly between her hands, eventually resorting to just squeezing it between both until her knuckles were white. "We need manpower to fix the weir and support the affected families. What about organising the local farmers and labourers? They have the skills and the strength needed."

Mr Bennet nodded thoughtfully. "That would be ideal, but many of them are already dealing with damage to their own properties. You'll not get them away from their own fields without some inducement."

Elizabeth pressed her lips together, thinking. "Could we petition the local government for assistance? They might have resources we have not considered. "

Mr Bennet shook his head. "Petitioning the government takes time, and we need immediate relief. The tenants cannot wait for bureaucratic processes."

"What about the church?" Elizabeth suggested. "Mr Harrison, the vicar, might be able to rally support and resources from the congregation."

Mr Bennet sighed. "Harrison has been here less than two months. His influence is not half what Mr Saunders' was. In fact, there are a few ‘ladies' of the area who are so dead set against him that should he attempt anything of the sort, he would be sunk before he began."

Elizabeth paused, then ventured, "What if we set up a fund with contributions from many in the community? Surely, everyone would want to help their neighbours."

He snorted. " We? Lizzy, do be serious. I have done what I can, but no one man can command the comfort of the entire town when you are speaking of the amount of money. I would be called a cheat and an opportunist."

Elizabeth hesitated, then said, "Have you thought of speaking with Mr Wickham? He is well-regarded in the community and might have some ideas or connections that could help."

Mr Bennet raised an eyebrow. "Mr Wickham? What could he possibly offer that others cannot?"

Elizabeth leaned forward. "He is popular and has the ear of many influential people. He might know of resources or be able to rally additional support. It wouldn't hurt to ask."

Mr Bennet sighed, still sceptical. "Do you truly believe Mr Wickham can make a difference?"

"He has mentioned a willingness to be a good neighbour, and we cannot afford to overlook any potential help. If he has any connections or ideas, it would be worth exploring. Desperation calls for unconventional solutions, Papa."

Mr Bennet considered her words, his frustration giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Very well. I will speak with Mr Wickham, but I am not so optimistic as you are."

Elizabeth felt a small surge of hope. "Thank you, Papa. I hope Mr Wickham can be of some help."

Mr Bennet leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. "We will also need to provide immediate support for the families affected. Food, shelter, and clothing."

Elizabeth nodded. "Perhaps we could organise a collection of goods. The women in the community might be willing to contribute supplies. "

Mr Bennet opened his eyes. "Possibly. Perhaps your uncle will speak to the local merchants about providing materials at a reduced cost or on credit."

"Or, again, perhaps that might be a task Mr Wickham could assist with. He is so very well-liked. I say we exploit that."

"Very well, I will speak with him. But it will take more than a few conversations to remedy this."

Elizabeth stood, one idea after another tumbling through her mind. "I will ask Mama to speak with Mrs Lucas and Mrs Long about organising the women. They can gather supplies and help where needed."

Mr Bennet gave her a tired, appreciative look. "Very well, Lizzy. Do you know, I had it in my mind simply to stare at these notes a bit longer with a glass of brandy in my hand and then wash my hands of the affair. Leave it to you to force me to act on the matter."

"Now, I know that for a falsehood, Papa, for had you made your mind up to be useless, you would still have found a way to do so."

He snorted a chuckle. "You know me too well. Well, well, let us see what there is to be done, eh? Be a good lass and send Hill in, will you? I may as well get about the thing."

"Of course, Papa."

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