Page 219 of Pride and Prejudice Resolutions

"Certainly, sir. I have it in abundance."

As the carriage trundled past the bakery, I caught sight of the baker—Mr Pyman, was it? —glaring at my steel-sprung equipage. I waved cheerfully. He turned away, pretending to rearrange a tray of loaves.

"See that, Tepper? The man is overcome with joy at my return. Positively overcome."

"If you say so, sir," Tepper murmured, folding his hands in his lap.

The carriage finally creaked to a halt before Netherfield Park, its grand façade looming in silent judgment of my return. I alighted with a flourish, my boots crunching on the gravel as though announcing a royal procession. The servants had assembled in a line—footmen, maids, the housekeeper Mrs Nicholls—all staring at me with polite blankness. These people had dusted the same furniture for months without a master to appreciate it.

"Mrs Nicholls!" I beamed, striding forward. "How splendid to see you! Netherfield looks immaculate. Positively gleaming!"

Mrs Nicholls curtsied, her expression as warm as a January dip in the Thames. "Mr Bingley. We were not expecting you until the morrow. The linens are aired, but the silver is still in the vaults."

"Excellent! We shall polish it together. I am here to stay, you see. Permanently. No more flitting to London like a migratory bird. I am a fixture! A very eligible fixture."

A murmur rippled through the line—a footman coughed; a maid adjusted her cap. Mrs Nicholls's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Permanently, sir? The lease is for a year, as I recall."

"Ah, but I intend to purchase!" I clapped my hands, sending a small cloud of road dust into the air. "Netherfield shall be mine. Ours! We shall cultivate the earth and host balls and become the envy of the county."

The servants exchanged glances that spoke volumes—volumes entitledThe Transient Follies of Young Gentlemen. Tepper, disembarking behind me with grace, while carrying six trunks of exquisite waistcoats, cleared his throat.

"Shall I see to the unpacking, sir? Or would you prefer to address the staff on the philosophical merits of permanence?"

I waved him off. "Unpack, Tepper! And prepare my sturdiest coat. Tomorrow, we conquer the soil."

As the servants dispersed—slowly, as if hoping I might vanish in a puff of smoke—I retired to the drawing room and surveyed the expanse of the room critically. Tepper joined me shortly, bearing a tray with tea and an expression of mild exasperation.

"Tepper," I said, sinking into a chair, "what think you of my reception? The villagers seemed… reserved. As though I had once promised them a fête and delivered none. Though I did host a grand ball before leaving."

Tepper poured the tea with precision, his movements a ballet of efficiency. "Reserved, sir? One might say glacial. You departed rather abruptly last November, leaving behind a trail of unanswered invitations and, I believe, certain expectations among the local mammas."

I winced. "Ah, yes. The Bennets. Jane—er, Lady Keathley now—is happily wed, but the others… I was a weathercock then, Tepper. Spun by my sisters and Darcy. But no more! I shall prove my depth. Starting with the steward. Fetch Mr Greene, would you? We must discuss the north pasture forthwith."

Tepper bowed, but not before delivering a parting shot. "Depth through dirt, sir? A novel approach. One hopes it does not bury you entirely."

Mr Samuel Greene arrived promptly, his face as weathered as an old saddle and twice as unyielding. He carried a ledger under one arm and an air of scepticism that filled the room under the other.

"Mr Bingley," he greeted me, his voice dry as autumn leaves. "I was informed of your return. You are interested in the north pasture, I presume?"

"Precisely!" I leaped to my feet, gesturing grandly. "Drainage, Greene! We shall transform that bog into a paradise of wheat. Or whatever thrives in drained clay."

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?"