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December 16, 1812
They hang the man, and flog the woman,
That steals the goose from off the common;
But let the greater villain loose,
That steals the common from the goose.
Traditional
“The problem is, Darcy, you and I haven’t any business sense—not like Pettigrew here who’s rich as a Nabob.” Lord Northover gestured at his friend who simply nodded, accepting the compliment. “It was never taught to us, or beaten into us, however the thing works. All you and I know is how to spend money, not how to acquire it.”
“Perhaps Mr. Pettigrew has a gift for its acquisition, and needed no instruction,” Georgiana said, and then cast her gaze down. “Of course, I would not know the first thing about that.”
Mr. Pettigrew beamed at her. A broad-shouldered man with a thick shock of red hair, he was the opposite of his friend Lord Northover, who was blond-haired, slender and fine-boned.
“You know more than you realize, Miss Darcy,” Mr. Pettigrew turned to her. He was seated beside her at the table. “For, indeed, money-making is a gift. Your brother—and I base this solely upon his reputation for I only know what Northover and others have told me—has a gift for generosity. For my part, although I come from trade, I was born with the gift of making money multiply. My father certainly did not teach me. He was, according to his means, as generous as your brother.”
Georgiana smiled and looked up at him briefly before looking down again at her plate.
They were seated at the dining table in Darcy’s London house: Lord Northover, Mr. Pettigrew, Darcy, and Georgiana. Lord Northover and Mr. Pettigrew had called upon Darcy as a result of some news they had yet to share. Darcy wondered what it could be, realizing he would likely have to wait unt
il they were on their brandy and cigars.
“Would you care for more roast beef, Miss Darcy?” asked Mr. Pettigrew. At her murmur of assent, he carved the joint with surprising delicacy for such a robust figure, arranging three thin slices on her plate, stopping when she nodded and thanked him.
Darcy looked at his sister with some pride. She was tall and mature for her seventeen years, having already a woman’s figure. But she was naturally reserved, and this quality gave her a graciousness that few young ladies could claim. His own reserve, he knew, came across as aloofness or superiority, but on Georgiana, it sat well.
“I do not think I am over-generous,” Darcy said. “Indeed, I doubt that I deserve credit for generosity at all. I discharge my duties, but to the extent that this involves generosity that was not my doing, but rather attendant to my position. It is not that I have any choice in the matter.”
“Well, you had the choice of neglecting your duties,” Northover said, taking a sip of wine from a crystal goblet. “You might have followed my example.”
Lord Northover was master of Hardwick Park, a large estate in Sussex. It had once been even larger, with holdings in Derbyshire, not far from Pemberley, but it had diminished over time. Not through any fault of Lord Northover, Darcy mused, but rather through unfortunate marriages which had failed to preserve its capital. Pemberley could not be allowed to suffer a similar fate. He would not let it.
“There’s nothing ungenerous about you,” Mr. Pettigrew said. “You may be profligate, and a spendthrift, and careless about the cost of things, but you are known as a soft touch by every peasant within hailing distance of Hardwick.”
Darcy laughed at this, as there was some truth in it. His friend Northover, for all his aristocratic affectation, had always been a friend to the needy.
“There are a great many who would use the National Enclosures Act to fence off the common at Hardwick, and turn the land to their own profit let the peasants be damned,” Mr. Pettigrew continued. “They’d have them off to the factories, or the mines, or a bloody man-of-war—”
“Hardwick is a fine estate.” Darcy did not want Georgiana to hear further about the misfortunes of the peasantry; she tended to dwell on such things and be distressed by them. It distressed him! “It’s been an age since I’ve been there. How is your mother?”
There was some talk about days gone by, and Mr. Pettigrew seemed to realize he been insensitive in his choice of topic as he was all pleasantness and good humor. Darcy noticed that he was solicitous towards Georgiana, and paid a great deal of attention to her. That she paid attention to Pettigrew surprised and pleased him. It was good to see her come out of herself and overcome her shyness.
Darcy recalled a certain forward young lady who had admonished him concerning his professed discomfort with society. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had told him that proficiency in the social graces was achieved with practice, as was any other accomplishment, and implied that he had only himself to blame for his lack of ease in company.
She was right, of course. He had never made the least effort to be companionable, or agreeable. He had been taught manners and understood their importance.
But he had wholly neglected to apply himself to the social arts. He had never experienced any regret at this. Or any consequence for that matter.
Until, that is, he had met Miss Bennet.
Darcy regretted how he had behaved towards her. He blamed Wickham for poisoning her mind towards him, but the real blame was his. He had laid a foundation of mistrust which Wickham had built upon.
Darcy knew, that if he had paid more attention to cultivating his social skill, he would not have given Miss Bennet cause to reject his proposal of marriage, which, however ill-advised a union with her might be, was the greatest disappointment of his life, and one which stung him daily.
He wished for Georgiana to have an easier time in society, to be at ease with strangers, and enjoy herself in company.
