Darcy
“Whatofthewheat?Was there much damage from the storm in April?” I traced a finger down the column of figures before me, the morning light casting a stern glow across the papers.
Mr. Daniels, my steward, leaned forward and pointed to a note he had scribed along the edge. “It was still early, and the crops recovered well, so the damage appears to have been minimal. And the barley yields are promising this year, Mr. Darcy,” he said, pointing to another column of numbers.
“Very well,” I murmured, my mind half on the harvest, half elsewhere. “Keep an eye on the western fields. Last year’s drought hit them hard.”
Before Daniels could respond, the door burst open, and in strode George. “Fitzwilliam! Buried in figures and frowning again, I see.”
I looked up, barely concealing my annoyance. “Some of us have responsibilities, George.”
He lounged against the doorframe, shaking his head with a knowing tsk. “And you manage them so well, dear brother. Why should I add to your burdens?”
I sighed, my frustration with his indolence a familiar ache. “It wouldn’t hurt you to try.”
“Numbers, numbers, numbers. Don’t you ever tire of them?”
“It is called management, George. You should try it sometime.”
George laughed, his carefree demeanor untouched by my barbs. “Why bother when I have such a proficient elder brother?”
I scowled at him, but what good would it do? I turned back to Daniels, attempting to refocus on the task at hand. “The sheep flocks, Daniels. Have the shearers completed the task this season? What of the newly weaned lambs?”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy, and the numbers are looking better than last year,” Daniels began. “The fleeces are—” but George pushed himself off the doorframe and sauntered over.
“Sheep, always sheep. Darcy, when will you admit that your true love is a flock of woolly creatures?”
I shot him a withering glance. “Pemberley is, first and foremost, a farm that depends on its flocks. Our tenants are all farmers. The mill’s output depends on them. Or would you have us ignore the very source of our livelihood?”
George strolled over, peering at the ledger as if it were a curious artifact from a foreign land. “Oh, I’m sure it’s all very important. Counting sheep, watching grass grow…”
Daniels shifted uncomfortably. I could sense his eagerness to finish our discussion and escape George’s jests. “The wool quality is excellent this year, sir. It should fetch a good price.”
“Ah, the art of turning grass into gold,” George began to wander around the room, idly inspecting the various objects on my shelves. “You are an alchemist, brother.”
I tried to ignore him, refocusing on Daniels. “Ensure the highest quality batches are sent to the mill. I want to see if we can increase the thread count without affecting the durability.”
George suddenly seemed to take an interest. “Quality? Durability? That sounds exactly like what Bingley was prattling on about earlier. Egad, I am surrounded by it.”
I paused, my pen hovering over the ledger. “Bingley?” My interest was piqued despite myself. “What exactly did he say?”
George gave a casual shrug. “Something about innovations in steel production. Far above my understanding, but it seemed to excite him greatly. Chap ought to find a hobby. That is precisely why I invited him to stay the month, you know. I told him some sport would do him good. He claims to be a proficient archer, and I mean to teach him to fish. And I only just learned that he has never played cricket! The very idea!”
“You invited him for an entire month?” I set my pen down, the numbers and figures before me suddenly less interesting than they had been a moment ago.
George wandered to the window. “Of course. Why, you do not think I am less than a proper host, do you?”I growled. “You might have mentioned it before.”
“And you would have put pin to it. But now that he is here, and you do not disapprove of him, I say it is a happy circumstance. Bingley has some diversion, and I…” He tossed a paperweight in the air and caught it… “I found something to take your attention off me. He is an interesting fellow, is he not?”
I raised a brow. “Bingley is a more valuable friend than most of the brash young bucks to whom you have introduced me. In fact, I was rather intrigued by some of the innovations he was describing last night at dinner.”
As if on cue, Bingley’s voice echoed from the hallway. “Darcy, are you in?”
George grinned. “Speak of the devil. Perhaps now you can hear about these innovations firsthand, brother.”
I closed the ledger with a decisive snap, then stood and buttoned my jacket. “We shall continue this later, Daniels. Will you have a sample of this year’s fleece brought round? Thank you.”
Bingley stepped into the room, his face lighting up as he spotted George. “Ah, George, did you ask him yet?”
