“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 tothe 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 answerthat. 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.”
