He assured himself he was facing nothing more than a routine trustee consultation—the first of what would be bi-weekly meetings every Monday and Thursday for the foreseeable future—not a bane, but an opportunity.
He wanted to see her. The realization was as sharp as winter frost. He longed to watch her eyes darken when she was thinking, and—perhaps more than was safe for his composure—to discover whether she could be persuaded to improve her opinion of him.
“I am merely ensuring the accounts are beyond reproach,” he said to fill the dead space between them. “Miss Bennet is… thorough. I should not like to leave her with the impression that her affairs are being handled with anything less than absolute rigor.”
Lady Sophia turned a page with exquisite nonchalance.
“I trust you will remain as chaperone,” he added.
“I shall remain as furniture, though I warn you my hearing has become quite unreliable in recent years and I shall catch nothing of what passes between you.”
“Your hearing is excellent.”
“What a kind thing to say. I did not catch it.” She smiled into her chocolate. “You have prepared the Bellwood accounts, the Consols, and the household expenditure?”
“I have.”
“And you are prepared for the possibility that my goddaughter may have opinions?”
“I expect nothing less.”
“Good. I have watched her since she arrived. She has been in my library at six o’clock every morning with a treatise on rural economy and a candle burning to its stub.” Lady Sophia’s pale eyes met his over the rim of her cup. “She does not intend tosit quietly while a man explains her fortune to her. You will find her formidable. Do try to breathe, Fitzwilliam. It is a biological necessity, even for trustees.”
He allowed the wordformidableto slide off his back. He was used to formidable women—present company included. He opened the first ledger, smoothing the pages with a hand that felt uncharacteristically restless.
A few minutes later, Elizabeth entered in a morning dress of sprigged muslin, with a faint smudge of ink on the second finger of her right hand. The sight of it—and the image of Elizabeth bent over paperwork at dawn—was a thought he vainly attempted to dismiss with about as much success as his tortured cravat.
“Mr. Darcy.” She took the chair opposite. “I understand we are to review my accounts.”
“Among other matters.” He pushed the first ledger across the desk. “The quarterly rents, the Consols portfolio, and the household expenditure. I have prepared summaries to save you the labor of the columns.”
“How efficient.” She perused the open ledger. “Although I prefer the details where all the most interesting situations are hidden. The Bellwood rents are organized by tenant and quarter, but there is a discrepancy in the north field allotments. Mr. Hodges appears eleven pounds in arrears as of Lady Day.”
Darcy looked at her, prepared to offer patient explanations. He had rehearsed clear, dispassionate summaries, tempered to inform without condescension, because any condescension from him would be perceived as an act of war. He hadn’t expected her to have already spotted the discrepancy.
“You’ve been thorough.”
“I’ve been awake since six. Marshall’s treatise on rural economy isn’t exactly light reading, but it does clarify what aLady Day quarter signifies. I admit I hadn’t paid much attention to it before.”
“Few landowners do. They employ stewards for precisely that reason.”
“I intend to employ a steward, Mr. Darcy. I don’t, however, intend to be ignorant of what he does with my money.” She met his gaze, and that directness struck him as it always did—not coy, but straightforward. “The discrepancy, if you please.”
He cleared his throat. “Mr. Hodges has farmed the north allotment for nine years. His rent was fixed at forty-two pounds per annum—generous, as the land could support fifty or fifty-five at current yields. He has been punctual until this quarter. The Bellwood steward reports a poor harvest, and a late frost damaged the barley. Hodges has requested an extension.”
“And your recommendation?”
“The terms should be renegotiated. The current rent is below market value, and the arrears suggest that the arrangement is no longer sustainable.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrow rose. “Renegotiated? That is a very long word for an increase in rent, Mr. Darcy. You would ask more of a man who has just told you he has nothing?”
“I would ask for a structure that survives a bad season,” he countered flatly. That she would immediately accuse him of raising the rent was galling, especially as it signified that she had not read his letter explaining why he had not ill-treated Wickham.
“Mr. Hodges has three children.” Elizabeth’s voice was mild, but it held a principled edge. “The youngest is an infant. I read the tenancy record; Mrs. Hodges was confined in January, and the doctor attended twice. The frost damaged the barley. The rent was generous because Lady Sophia intended it to be so.”
“Lady Sophia’s generosity is not in question. The sustainability of such an arrangement?—”
“Depends entirely on what one believes the arrangement is for.” Her chin lifted. “If the purpose of a tenancy is to extract maximum revenue, your recommendation is sound. If the purpose is to sustain a family through a season of misfortune, then an increase is the very last thing required.”
