“Indeed I do, but then it does not take much for me to be overwhelmed with arrogance.” He grinned rakishly, Lizzy shaking her head and chuckling. “Seriously, I recognize the eminence of belonging to an ancient legacy, but it is the living people who thrill me more profoundly.” He encircled her slender shoulders, hugging to his side. “Without William, Georgie, and you, none of this,” he swept a hand toward the woven genealogy, “would have any meaning. I love you, Elizabeth.”
He kissed the top of her head. Lizzy blushed, ducking her face to hide the stinging tears but patted the hand resting on her shoulder. “I love you too, George.”
Lizzy was incredibly moved by George's spontaneously offered declaration. Her affection for the older man had steadily grown in the months of his sojourn, but the frequent interruptions due to the individual travels undertaken along with the press of visitors had kept her from spending extended periods alone with him in serious conversation. Darcy managed to closet himself with his uncle dozens of times, equally for the express purpose of getting to know the older man and to avoid the unrelenting social fervor that had invaded their lives. Lizzy generally enjoyed his lively company in the presence of numerous others, rarely glimpsing the mature intelligence and earnest nature that her husband spoke of in their private moments.
This would change as the weeks of October and November unfolded. With the manor practically empty and Darcy often gone, George stringently applied himself to the dual role of manly protector and companionable entertainer. He took it upon his broad, if bony, Darcy shoulders to ensure the womenfolk were well cared for and entertained. Thus Lizzy discovered his lanky shadow looming every time she turned around. Thankfully she did not mind in the least, her affection growing until she felt as close to the good doctor as if he were truly flesh and blood.
Chapter Twelve
Pemberley Estate
Darcy was quite occupied during these weeks, busily catching up on the endless affairs that only he could properly and legally handle. He relished the work, though, in truth, missing his wife during the long hours either in his study or on his horse; nevertheless, the Master of Pemberley thrilled in the occupation as a necessary part of life.
For Darcy, this time of the year was his absolute favorite. The weather cooled, although such minor annoyances as excessive heat or driving rain never bothered him all that much. Rather it was the constant activity as the estate prepared for the stasis of winter that thrilled him. He could quite easily spend the hours from sunrise to well after sunset engaged in some sort of outdoor pursuit and frequently did.
Upon occasion George or Richard would join him when he left the house on his horse. Neither knew much about the business affairs of Pemberley, so when they did travel along it was for the exercise and fun. Richard relished the action as much as his cousin, but he came and went, often staying at Rivallain with his parents or visiting with Gerald Vernor and the other gentlemen of the county whom he, like Darcy, had known all his life. George tended to prefer quiet solitude in the library, so unless his nephew was planning a casual ride to one of the tenant farms, he stayed home with the ladies.
Mr. Keith was forced to accompany Darcy for certain jobs that required his legal or clerical input, but the steward was not as comfortable on a horse. It was a fact that may have precluded his acceptance as a steward to many large estates, but in the case of Pemberley it was a perfect arrangement as Darcy preferred to oversee the workings of the estate. Therefore, whenever Darcy was in residence, Mr. Keith could sigh in relief, settle into his office, and immerse himself in documents, ledgers, and mathematical figures.
But even Darcy knew his limitations. The management and mechanics of the fishery and wool mill were outside his full comprehension. He understood the basics but had long ago learned to trust the overseers and workers to handle the day-to-day. His knowledge of the harvesting facilities and crop maintenance was inclusive, and he made the ultimate decisions regarding what to grow and how to distribute, but it was the economic side of the equation that was his true purview. Therefore, he again trusted to the wise farmers, who in most cases were descended from generations of tenant farmers, who uncannily grasped the mysteries of agriculture as if the intelligence was written in their blood. Darcy's trips to these parts of his vast estate were generally brief, involving spoken conferences only with rare physical contribution. He kept his Master of Pemberley pose; the workers pleased to know their Master cared but relieved when he departed.
Of course, the stables were an entirely different matter! Mr. Thurber and all the grooms and stableboys were accustomed to seeing their Master walking among them, working alongside, and conversing with superior expertise. Obviously they treated him with the utmost respect, but it wasn't a shock to see him performing the same tasks as they, and he was readily approachable.
With his eventual elevation to the exalted rank of Master of Pemberley, he had easily assumed the pose of commander. In truth, the mantle of leadership, although arriving unexpectedly, had fallen upon his shoulders naturally. His inborn reserve, dominant competence, and estimable intellect had already given him an air of distinction long before his father's death. It greatly set him apart even when he performed mundane tasks like brushing Parsifal or breaking a horse.
Yet, for Darcy, it was necessary and intrinsic to undertake any physical, outdoor activity as often as possible. For this reason he was delighted when Mr. Keith interrupted his studied reading of a new contract from his shipping partners with the conveyed request to meet Mr. Burr at the dovecote. He mounted his horse with a barely concealed grin, spurred Parsifal into an immediate brisk run toward the gamekeeper's cottage two miles south.
The spread that consisted of Mr. Burr's modest home, the huts where his assistants lived, the falconry, numerous barns and pens for the animals, and the dog sheds spanned a wide-open area at the roots of the eastern forest. The entire complex was encased by a stone fence. Built into one wall near the iron-gated northern entrance to the compound and constructed out of the same gray and brown river rock was the dovecote.
The circular tower was over twenty feet high, the steepled roof deeply pitched with one narrow opening under the gable and the round hole at the point protected by an elaborate lighted cupola. This particular pigeon loft was very old, the origins unknown, but Darcy had always marveled at the beauty of the structure in comparison to most dovecotes he had seen. The roof was covered with interlocking tiles of slate, the colors different and forming a pattern extremely pleasing to the eye. The two-foot-thick bricks constructing the walls were also artistically selected to create a design of alternating colors with two wide supporting buttresses of aged oak. A ledge ran along the top, just under the roof's eaves, the pigeon roost also of hardened wood, although the intricate etching had long ago succumbed to claw markings and the scrubbing removal of bird droppings.
Mr. Burr sat on a low bench positioned against the stone wall, his legs stretched before him with two gigantic mastiffs lying on either side of his booted feet. He was smoking a pipe, his eyes half lidded as he watched his employer approach. He did not rise, instead silently observing as the smoke rings rose into the air. The dogs seemed equally bored although their ears twitched, Darcy not doubting for a second that the well-trained killers would launch into an attack at the merest word from their master. Fortunately he had nothing to fear, the massive animals finally rising with tails wagging to greet the familiar man once he dismounted.