Greene opened his ledger with a snap. "Clay does not drain easily, sir. It clings. It resists. As do certain tenants' opinions of transient masters."
I blinked. "Transient? I am staying, Greene. Purchasing! Tell me what we need—men, materials, a very large shovel?"
He eyed me over his round nose. "What you need, sir, is presence. The previous tenant had a fine sentiment about a sheepdog breeding program. He lasted four months and left behind three very confused collies."
"I am no sheepdog enthusiast!" I protested. "I am a man of action. We begin at dawn. Six o'clock sharp."
Greene's eyebrow arched. "Six, sir? An ambitious hour for a gentleman of leisure."
"Five-thirty, then!" I countered, feeling a surge of reckless resolve. "We shall greet the sun like warriors."
He closed the ledger. "Very well. I shall bring the plans."
As Greene departed, I felt a thrill of victory—or possibly tummy ache from the tea. Tepper reappeared, bearing my evening coat.
"A productive meeting, sir?"
"Enormously! We shall venture out at dawn. Five-thirty. Prepare my most durable attire, Tepper. Something that says, 'man of the soil' without screaming 'fashionable.'"
Tepper held out the coat. "Depth is a burden one chooses, sir. But remember: even anchors rust."
The master bedroom was a cavern of luxury, its massive bed a sea of linens that threatened to swallow me whole. I lay there, staring at the ceiling's swirling plasterwork, which seemed to mock my newfound resolve. Moonlight crept across the floor resembling a burglar testing the windows.
"Tepper?" I called into the darkness of the dressing room. "Are you still there?"
A sigh emanated from the shadows. "I am a fixture of the night, sir. Much like your insomnia."
I propped myself on an elbow. "Do you think she liked the flowers? Miss Mary Bennet. Yellow, you see—not a rose's demand, but an inquiry. Of depth."
Tepper's voice drifted back, laced with dry amusement. "Yellow signifies friendship, sir. Or, in some lexicons, jealousy. Or perhaps an apology for one's own confusion."
I smiled. "Confusion no more! I call on Longbourn soon. First, the clay. Though... I do not actually know what I am supposed to do. I hope Greene knows. But it shall be my gospel, Tepper. My testament to permanence."
"A muddy scripture, sir. Sleep now. Dawn approaches faster than you think."
I closed my eyes, dreaming of ditches and yellow blooms.
The infernal clock struck five-thirty, and I awoke to Tepper's merciless ministrations—curtains wrenched open, shaving water steaming, and a coat that looked as though it had been designed for a particularly rugged explorer.
"Tepper," I groaned, "the sun is still abed. Why must we rise before it?"
"The clay waits for no man, sir." He yanked back the covers. "And Mr Greene is downstairs, fortified by porridge and purpose."
I dressed in a haze, each button a battle. By the time I descended, my legs moved as reluctant participants in this charade. Greene stood in the hall, the expression he bore was one of suspicion.
"Good morning, Mr Bingley. The air is fine for conquest."
We rode to the north pasture, the July dawn a faint grey that burned into oppressive white heat. The trench awaited—a jagged scar in the earth, lined with rubble and brushwood that looked heavier than my regrets.
"The soil is stubborn, sir." Greene gestured to the pit. "Geological defiance."
I stepped in, and mud seized my boots with a wet suck. "Stubbornness meets its match, Greene!" I declared, though sweat already prickled my brow.
Greene seemed to know what he was doing, and I pretended I understood everything he said, nodding gravely as he spoke. For hours, we laboured—I prodded clods, inspected holes, listened to lectures on irrigation while the sun baked me. My coat clung to my skin, my cravat a limp rag. But beneath the grime, I felt... substantial. Filthy, yes, but rooted.
"We ride to Meryton now," I announced, wrestling one boot free from the clay's embrace. "We need supplies from the local merchants. Netherfield's coin is theirs."
Greene nodded, a flicker of approval in his eyes. "They will be surprised, sir. Masters rarely arrive with so much earth upon them."
