The Heir and Spare (Jane Austen Adaptations)

2. Arthur Darcy

Chapter 2

Arthur Darcy

W hile Fitzwilliam spent a diverting holiday with Bingley in his new estate, Arthur Darcy, his twin brother, spent the morning working on his ledgers. Really, it was Fitzwilliam’s responsibility, but did Fitz ever do anything he was supposed to be doing? Not unless it was under the pretense of finding a wife. Arthur scoffed. Finding a wife apparently covered every instance of socializing that his brother ever did, including his recent travels to Netherfield under the guise of helping his friend set up house. Arthur knew he was neither finding a wife nor assisting at Netherfield, but merely avoiding Pemberley. He could only hope he was not insulting all and sundry as he had lately taken to doing. His brother really was a lovely person. He was just supremely bothered of late.

Arthur frowned. What on earth would Fitz find of use in that area? What wife was he hoping to find there? Arthur was the brother who would find interest in the smaller towns. He would love a simple woman who loved to read, who took care of herself but did not spend too much time or energy on the latest in fashions. She didn’t know about pomades or hair rods or anything too complicated but simply awoke with freshness and light in her face; had eyes shining with the peace of good living and smiled easily with the joy of their relationship. He shook his head. Such a woman was not to be found in London. At least not that Arthur had yet encountered.

London did have many women of fashion, experts in the wiles of capturing men. And Fitz fit right in with that crowd. So what he was doing in the wilds of Netherfield was a surprise to Arthur.

Everyone knew that Fitz had no intention of settling down any time soon. Which was perhaps why he’d hidden himself away in such a remote location.

Really the man could do what he pleased, when he wished. Arthur had no need for him to do anything with the estate at the moment. He preferred when his brother stayed far away from estate decisions even though one day it would be his to manage. As the older twin he would receive it all, be the new keeper of everything, all the tenants, the servants and the legacy that was the Darcy name. Fitz was the heir.

The longer Arthur set things in motion to protect the income from mismanagement, the better. But he did wish the man to at least produce an heir.

He grimaced and then let his head fall into his hands. He was sounding like his grandmother, his mother, his aunt Lady Catherine. He was sounding like every other matron in the London Ton with eyes on the men to start marrying. With head still in hands, he counted to one hundred. It really was time for him to get out more. There were other things to be concerned with besides the estate. His own finding of a wife, for example.

He would not inherit the estate. He would not be the one doing the books always, but he had ensured his own inheritance. He’d ensured a living for himself, one that would be very profitable—not Pemberley, but it could one day become something really special.

His father had left him that much, for which he was grateful. He and whomever he chose to marry would be doing well indeed.

But it pained him to lose Pemberley. And he felt that he certainly would within a generation after Fitz took over the helm.

He raised his head and closed the ledger, slowly, carefully, and then placed it back in the drawer near his right thigh. He might lose PemberleyPemberley, but his own estate would be in good stead. That much he could control.

And he’d leave Pemberley in the best possible place for when his brother took the helm.

His servant Thomas entered the room with a tray. “You have some correspondence.” He approached. “And Mrs. Godley would like to know if you are ready for your repast?”

It was time he left his office. He needed air and sunshine and a good hard ride on Samson his old faithful stallion. He’d purchased a few more horses to add to his stable, knowing Samson could not live forever. But he would never tire of his old friend of a horse as long as he could still ride. “I think I’d like to take my tea on the back veranda.”

“Very good sir.” He bowed and waited while Arthur took the letters from his tray.

He sorted them by business and social engagements. Usually his pile was filled with business and his brother’s social, but there were a few notable invitations directed solely to him.

He raised his eyebrows. One particular was odd in every way. He was invited to a house party, in the general vicinity of Netherfield. From Lord Shackley? A man no one ever saw. A man who was most respected as an old relic of an earlier era. He’d been a close friend of the Darcys’ father. But no one had seen him in years. An eccentric older noble had planned a house party? And for whatever reason, he’d chosen to invite Arthur to his gathering? He almost tossed it aside to be turned down by his steward, but something made him hesitate. He reached for it again, studying the letters as if they would help him solve the puzzle. Perhaps Fitz would like to attend. Surely Lord Shackley wouldn’t care which twin supported his efforts. Some loyalty to his father prevented Arthur from dismissing the invitation outright. Yes, this was something he’d ask Fitz to attend, to prove his efforts at wife finding. Who knew but there would be someone there to catch his brother’s eye.

He locked his office before heading out to the veranda. Cook had made his favorite pies. He smiled. Bless the woman. They all worked a little better, a little harder when he was home. And he appreciated them. They were like family. He could hardly look at Cook without thinking of his mother poring over recipes with her as they planned meals for dinners and parties. The cozy sensations that filled him at that thought had him pondering again on the house party. Perhaps there would be a woman there for him? There had to be a reason he’d been invited instead of his brother. Surely there was something unique for him? The area was more country. Close enough to London to draw some of that crowd naturally, but perhaps some from the local countryside as well. Someone unknown by others, a gem in the wilds of the British country? He’d love someone not taught in the wiles of man-seeking, honestly, or someone also not particularly proficient in gossip either. Was this house party a place to find such a woman? There was no reason why he would be on Lord Shackley’s mind. He’d not been near him or anything he involved himself in for many years.

And yet, here he was being invited.

Did he believe in fate? Not usually. But in this case, he wondered. And the enticing question of what if had snagged his curiosity and was not letting go. He lifted a cup to his mouth and savored tea made to his precise preference. But not made by his wife, made by his servant. It was time to find someone to fill his lonely days, to share his nights, to work side by side in the care of their estate, someone with whom he could build a legacy.

He dabbed his lips. The time had come for him to find such a woman. And he already knew she was not to be found in London. Perhaps this house party was just the thing.

Instead of asking his steward to handle it, he responded himself. He had two months to prepare. But come August, he would be attending Lord Shackley’s party.