“Aye, and he did not account for the trouble of getting enough labor to keep it running.”
“He did. But he was thinking of a time in the future, when the population will be more abundant here. Of building something bigger than just the woolen mill.”
Matlock scoffed, shaking his head as he wandered to the window to peer out. “Preposterous, Darcy. What would you do, try to house and employ an entire town?”
I lifted my shoulders. “If needs be. He saw that as a possible end.”
“But why? I never understood this. Oh, I supported him, as I support you, but Pemberley is not hard up for money. You have your rents and your investments. Managing this alone is enough to keep a man occupied, so I know you are not bored. Why would you trouble yourself with the business?”
I pulled back from my desk and rose to my feet, crossing the room to look out the same window. “Left to my own devices, I doubt I would have. But my father started this, and I mean to see it carried through.”
“Your father started a great many things,” Matlock reminded me. “Do you intend to do that with all of them?”
I crossed my arms and raised my brow. “You are speaking of something specific, I believe?”
My uncle snorted. “Do I need to? But perhaps, yes, I will choose something specific. What of George? Do you truly intend to permit him to sail to America and cultivate tobacco?”
I chortled and shook my head. “George has not sufficient ambition for such an endeavor. He only said that to gain attention, and so far, it has worked. He has a dozen investors already, willing to back him, and he never even intends to sail.”
“Then, why, Darcy? Why would he breed interest in something he has not the inclination to carry through?”
“Because he is George.” I sighed and slowly paced the floor, measuring my footsteps by the loops and whorls in the rug design. “He has been like that since he was a child, and yet, no one has ever checked him. He could say he meant to plant a city on the moon or toss it all aside to become a wandering cynic, and still, he would find people to pledge him their help. It is simply his way.”
“It is a mercy he is at least a man of good principle, else he would be a dangerous rogue, indeed.”
I stopped before the portrait my father had left hanging on the wall of his study—a likeness captured some fifteen years earlier, of three children and a spaniel dog—and let go a deep sigh. “You think he has good principles, do you?” I mused softly.
My uncle turned to follow me. “I never heard otherwise. Has he done something to disgrace the Darcy name?”
A frown grew on my face, and I shook my head slowly. “It is not so much that he has disgraced his name… more that he has done nothing to honor it.” I turned around. “I will own the truth—I am becoming concerned about his utter lack of direction. First, he meant to study the law, then for the church, then he meant to purchase a commission and serve alongside Richard. Yet, he has done none of these but has, in fact, developed a rather unhealthy obsession with racehorses. The only accomplishment he can name is that he has more friends than he can even recall.”
“Not friends of any distinction,” Matlock pointed out. “Dandies and fops, every one of them.”
“Not all. He is rather close friends with some young viscounts.”
“As I said. Dandies. Men who have too much wealth and not enough to do.”
“You are sounding rather like my father.” I chuckled as I wandered to the astrolabe, my eyes flicking over the polished brass lines. It was beautiful—a masterpiece of quality and engineering. But I had no earthly use for the thing. And sadly, it was rather like my brother—splendid and impressive to look upon, but absolutely worthless.
“If I sound like George Darcy, Senior, it is perhaps because I admired his character. We looked up to him, every one of us. He managed to produce one son after his own likeness, but the second? A wastrel and a cad who will spend his inheritance before he has even found a wife.”
I fingered a wheel on the astrolabe, my brow furrowed, then turned back to my uncle. “On that point, I mean to carry my way. I have informed him that he must find some suitable employment for himself before the end of the year. I will not suffer him to become a drunk and a gamester. I care not what it is, so long as it forces him to act like a man of three and twenty and not a youth of three and ten.”
“And how do you mean to force him to do that? He is of age now, and you do not control his inheritance.”
I crossed my arms. “I have my means. Perhaps you would rather not know them.”
Matlock studied me with a quizzical look. Then he shook his head. “Indeed. Perhaps not. Well, Darcy, what do you wish me to do about this letter you are writing? I can present it to a few undersecretaries, perhaps garner some support for your way of thinking…”
“Lord Belmont.”
His jaw dropped. “You… what?”
“You heard me. I would present my findings and opinions directly to the man who has the power to do something. Is he not head of the committee?”
“Well… yes, but… Belmont! I might as well ask for an audience with His Highness.”
“That would do as well, I suppose.”
