Fingers folded on his desk, Fitzwilliam observed Mr. Offal warily.The auctioneer’s name alone might give anyone pause. Still, such matters beyond his control would be easily overlooked if his simpering manner, at full war with his sharp eyes, were not presently telling that the name Offal had not been hard won.
If only there were another auctioneer with enough experience to handle the sheer quantity of belongings. Perhaps he had been wise to remove a few of the more valuable pieces from the list before handing it over?
“Here is a list of all the items I wish to be placed into the sale,” Darcy began, “their history where applicable, values, and the lowest price I am willing to accept on each item. Should you disagree with any information, Mr. Piedmont is the man to speak to–he is working on my behalf in this and other matters. Five weeks hence falls well for the sale I believe, for my schedule and for those who may wish to bid; by then the weather should be far milder.”
Licking his lips, Mr. Offal studied the list before returning it to Mr. Darcy’s outstretched hand. “I am certain the highest of values shall be reached! Only the highest! My men, however–though keen–may require assistance in going through your home and finding such an impressive list of items. Will you be present in the days leading up to the auction?” he asked, voice lilting as he eyed Mr. Darcy with all curiosity. “I assure you sir, I am well able to oversee every step if you should… plan to be out of the country?” Pulling himself half across the desk between them he coaxed, “Indeed, sir. Given all that your family has gone through, I imagine you would wish to be well gone before your parents’ precious possessions are put under the hammer. Leave it all in my care.”
Sitting back in his seat, Fitzwilliam frowned at the man across from him.Simpering. Untrustworthy. Yet, none of his alternatives proved particularly fine. Entrusting someone with little experience to the job or arranging for all the goods to be taken into the city to several auction houses, would, after all, require a great deal more effort and risk.
If only he could rely on his instincts in this matter.Brows raising, he smiled.Why could he not?
“You know,” Fitzwilliam said as he leaned forward, “I believe your comment regarding the list is correct. It is quite long. Indeed, it is far too involved for one man or business to contend with. Given your efforts in coming to my home today, I do not wish to see you unduly punished for my change of mind, therefore…YOUshall personally oversee the sale of my favorite sow! No, all of the sows on this estate.”
“Sows? Sir,” he fumed, “I came here on the assumption of a large sale. I assured my buyers they would get the best deal, the choicest pick, and now what? To think I might offer a reduction to dozens of my associates over one sounder of sows? One!”
“The best deal? Offering a reduction?” Mr. Darcy asked, one brow raised. “I thought you were to garner the highest price possible for my items? In fact, the way you speak I wonder if all my goods would be sold in the auction itself, or to business associates of yours–what do you gain from it, favours? Well, sir, I wondered if I had judged you too harshly, now the reverse is true. I shall never work with you, you have my word on that matter. And, though I doubt you suspect otherwise, that includes livestock–prize sow and all. Good day, Mr. Offal. Excuse me if I do not lead you to the door.”
“I take it this is what gentlemen of English blood are made of–half promises and no generosity! For all that your grandfather helped this nation, you are merely a…”
“Good day,” Fitzwilliam interrupted, voice scarcely under a shouting volume and full prepared for a confrontation as he stood.
Hands clenched at his side and jaw tight as Mr. Offal hurried from the room, Fitzwilliam could still hear the words that had been left unspoken–his own sharp rebuttal forced deep within.Mr. Offal proved another solid reason for returning to England–there, their connections, wealth, and good breeding would be admired rather than scorned. There, his principles, himself, and his family might flourish.
Thankfully, that return would not be far off, and his sisters would feel the benefit of it most of all.
∞∞∞
“It is all settled,” Fitzwilliam said as he sat with his sisters. “We leave in a fortnight and, if the wind proves favorable, in about a month’s time we shall find ourselves ashore in Liverpool.”
Georgiana’s eyes grew bright at the news, though in Catherine’s he saw only the dull ache he had seen for nigh on a twelve month.
“Cathy,” he began, tone falsely bright as he held out a plate of her favorite sweet tarts, “you ought to try one of these, they pair exceptionally well with the tea you and your sister procured for my birthday–how you two spoil me.” Smile faltering at her silence, he tried to draw her out again, “Truly, you must try one!”
“Mr. Quinton to see you, sir,” the butler noted from the parlour door.
Glancing between the unchanged face of Catherine and the sympathetic hesitance of Georgiana, Fitzwilliam turned to the butler and requested that Mr. Quinton be brought in.
If all went well, the papers regarding the sale of the estate would be signed before the week was out; still, until he and his sisters departed their old home, he would see to any needs the tenants might have.
“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Quinton bowed from his place in the doorway, “thank you for taking the time to see me.” Gaze falling upon the two younger Darcys he bowed in their direction and added, “Miss Darcy, Miss Catherine. I trust you are well?”
“We are,” Georgiana answered shyly. “Is it so with yourself?”
“It is, Miss. It is kind of you to ask.” Returning his attention to Fitzwilliam, Mr. Quinton remained silent until a nod from Fitzwilliam gave permission to continue. “Sir, I know you are soon to sell the estate and I did not wish to miss my opportunity.”
“Your opportunity?” Darcy questioned, brows pinching at the word, ‘opportunity.’It sounded far too familiar. Since the death of his father, many men had sought to reach into the deep pockets of the Darcys in the hope of finding their efforts rewarded in gold or silver. Mr. Quinton offered his sympathies early on and had never seemed a greedy man before, but neither had most who had seen the family’s misfortune as opportunity.
“To thank you for your kindness. To wish you safe travels. And…” he said as he reached into his own pocket, “to give you these. Please, sir,” he continued as Fitzwilliam raised his hand to protest, “I promised I would pay you for the use of your men–though, I fear it took me far longer to do so than I supposed–and these,” he held up two small packages, “are for your sisters. Your mother, God rest her soul, may not be here to bestow my thanks upon, but her daughters are. I fear it is not much, but I had to do something.”
Moving his face toward the window briefly as his eyes threatened an unwelcome response, Darcy drew a sharp breath before turning toward Mr. Quinton once more and accepting the packages and money.
His own pride would argue the acceptance of money over help that had been a gift, yet he would not injure Mr. Quinton’s pride to spare his own. Not when his kindness had proved a stark reminder that the place and people his father had loved still remained as he had seen them; perhaps not as consistently as he had believed, but rather good and bad mixed together. Mother had seen that. Father would have too in time.
In time.
Chapter 4
Hertfordshire, England – 1808
