Shultz scratched at his chin and sighed. “Well, the stacks line the walls here, piled to just below the windows. Freshly prepared bundles are replenished via the far lifts as quickly as they are set to the spinners. I have detailed invoices in my office. Looks like those on the extreme edges may be salvageable.”

While he spoke he indicated the area of destruction before them, Darcy’s mind performing rapid calculations as he considered the quantities. The walls between floors rose roughly fifteen feet with wide windows all around. The southern wall spanned at least fifty feet, the middle bulk of which was a black, faintly smoldering, and soggy mess.

Shultz was continuing, “Some of these spinners may be repairable. I have three new mules in the warehouse and dozens of spare parts from others that have worn out. Guess we should head upstairs. At least this end of the top floor is just machinery. The raw bales are at the northern end where they are hoisted up.”

The group made their way to the stairs, Shultz relating the warehouse inventory as they walked. The inspection was thorough, Darcy calling for parchment and quill to take detailed notes. Eventually, Richard left per Darcy’s request to secure rooms for them at the Georgian and to dispatch a note to Pemberley assuring of their safe arrival. It was a long day with Darcy and Kinnison spending the bulk of it in Shultz’s office on the ground level, bent over the desk and long table with jackets removed and shirt sleeves rolled up as they pored over invoices and inventory lists. Pages of parchment were written in Darcy’s firm hand, itemizing the damage.

Most of the men were put to work on the cleaning and removing. Others returned to the unscathed portions of the factory where the women waited; the steam engines powered up as the sequence of milling cotton from its raw, ginned state to completed weave resumed. Cotton needed processing and orders needed filling, no one wanting to waste any more time or revenue than necessary.

It was well after sundown when Darcy finally eased his aching, exhausted body into a hot tub. With a groan of relief, he sank into the water, eyes closing. For the first time since leaving home, he allowed his thoughts to stray toward wife and son. With clarity, he conjured the image of his family lounging in the parlor, son complacently being passed from devoted relative to relative with serious countenance breaking into sunny smiles at each face encountered. Darcy could hear the adult laughter and infant giggles as he was tickled and nuzzled, always the beloved center of attention.

As an abrupt epiphany, it dawned on him that he would miss his baby’s one-month birthday! His eyes flew open and chest constricted in true sorrow. The ironic part was that he and Elizabeth had not talked about celebrating the date, nor had it consciously occurred to Darcy to mark it in any significant way, yet he knew without any doubt that they would have done so. In disgust, he sat up in the bathtub, irritatingly grabbing the soap and attacking his grimy skin with force.

In London, upon the incident of their first lengthy separation, Darcy had foolishly believed that separating from his wife would grow easier with time. He now accepted that the distress merely multiplied. Now he had to add to the agony of missing Elizabeth the pain of missing Alexander. It came as a bit of a surprise to recognize how thoroughly Alexander had wrapped around his father’s heart as an individual.

He joined Richard for a delicious and much needed full course dinner feeling depressed and subdued. Richard seemed uncommonly downcast as well, conversation was minimal, and both men retired to their rooms immediately after dinner. Darcy spent what remaining energy he possessed writing to Lizzy, telling about the day’s events and assuring her that he would be home well before the christening.

The second day broke with Darcy renewed in his vigor to deal with all the complex issues as rapidly as possible so he could return to his family. He was surly and he knew it, but under the circumstances, no one questioned the cause. Mr. Shultz handled the manual labor aspects, Darcy and Kinnison thrilled to note that every remaining machine was up and running with six of the damaged ones revamped before the day was done. All of the debris was cleaned away and fresh timber was ordered to begin the structural repairs. Areas were rearranged to compensate for the lost space, every employee responding to the orders of Shultz and his foremen with competence. Richard donned casual attire and assisted Mr. Shultz, the military man being quite adept at both receiving and giving orders.

Kinnison concentrated on the reordering of supplies and notification of both buyers and sellers as to the delays incurred due to the fire. Darcy focused on the finances. That there would be a substantial impact fiscally was a given, but the reality was that the combination of careful planning, diligent saving, and significant personal wealth well diversified by all three meant that the impact would readily be absorbed and overcome.

When it came to managing the business aspects, Darcy was in his element and supremely proficient. The years of governing a vast estate had taught him how to deal with the varied array of complications that inevitably arose. Therefore, despite never facing the aftermath of a fire, praise God, Darcy instinctively and through experience dealing with other traumas knew precisely what to do.

It was the human element that was distressing to him. As distasteful as it was in one respect, there was no option but to dismiss Haggar and Merran for imbibing alcohol while on duty. There were a number of other mills in the area where they could seek employment, but Derby was a small community and word would spread. Few employers were as strict regarding the no alcohol rule as Mr. Shultz, but a fire was universally looked upon with horror. Whether the men would be able to attain adequately paying work locally was questionable. Shultz was far more pragmatic than his partners, and he simply shrugged his shoulders, completely unmoved. Kinnison and Darcy wavered a bit, but in the end the decision was clear.

On the third day, Darcy rode with Richard and a foreman named Rhodes to the tiny house in the middle of town where the widow Hendle resided. Mrs. Hendle greeted them with subdued politeness, eyes swollen and red. The Hendle children clustered around her, the youngest of four and five years clutching her skirts and staring with wide-eyed fright at the tall, well-dressed, formal man. The eldest, a skinny boy of thirteen, halted his chore of chopping wood and stood with sharpened axe in hand as he glowered at the men.

Darcy bowed. “Mrs. Hendle, I am Mr. Darcy. Please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss.” She nodded, wiping at teary eyes and murmuring her thanks. Darcy continued, “I confess I did not personally know your husband, but Mr. Shultz assures me he was an excellent foreman.” He handed her a parchment wrapped bundle. “Per DKS Midlands policy, Mrs. Hendle, you will find the equivalent of one month’s salary. Your position will be held for two weeks, as you have been informed, to allow for grieving. Please let us know as soon as you possibly can what your plans are.”

Mrs. Hendle sniffled. “This is our home, sir. We got no place to go. The mill’s been good to us so we’ll be back, me and the young ’uns.” Her hand swept the yard to encompass her son as well as the twelve-year-old girl standing behind her. “DKS has the best pay and all, we won’t go nowheres else, milord.”

Darcy nodded, opening his mouth to speak, but the eldest son had stepped closer and interrupted with a grumble, “If it’s so great how come my da is dead?”

“Jerome!” His mother gasped. “I am so sorry, sir! You watch your tongue young man and apologize to Mr. Darcy this instant!”

“I will not! His stupid mill killed my da!”

Mrs. Hendle was crying in earnest, attempting to choke out something, anything, to placate the tall, stern man with the reputation for kindness and fairness, but also stringency and nobility. Darcy cut her spluttering short with nothing more than one raised finger her direction, piercing gaze riveted on the teenager.

Jerome flushed under Darcy’s forceful but sympathetic stare, but he bravely stared back, lifting his chin slightly as if to challenge. When Darcy spoke it was softly, but with an unmistakable edge of authority and faint contempt. “Mr. Hendle, is it your opinion that your father was a fool?”

“No! How could you—”

“A man makes his own decisions in life, Mr. Hendle. Your father made his. He was a miller, a foreman in my company, and trusted with tremendous responsibility. He worked hard for his place and knew precisely what it entailed. Do you mean to slander his name by insinuating he was ignorant of the risks?” He paused, allowing the grieving boy to assimilate his words. “He took great pride in his work, was brave and strong. His sacrifice will not be forgotten. Do not allow your sorrow to cloud your judgment, Mr. Hendle. I do not claim to be an expert on theological matters, but I believe that our loved ones watch us from the Heavens. Do you wish for your father to witness your disrespect?”

Jerome shook his head shortly, eyes now downcast and axe fallen to rest on the ground, but he held his back straight and shoulders firm. Darcy smiled faintly, glancing to Mrs. Hendle and nodding slightly. The poor woman was speechless, tears falling in huge glistening drops down her cheeks.

“You are the man of the house now, Mr. Hendle. Make your father proud. Mrs. Hendle, you have my sympathies. If there is anything you require, Mr. Shultz will assist you.”

She curtseyed shakily, Darcy bowing again before he turned and mounted Parsifal. Rhodes leaned close and said, “I will keep a close eye on that boy, Mr. Darcy. He may give us trouble.”

“There is no need. Take him out of the spinning room, away from his mother. Give him more responsibility. The carding machine, I think. Work him hard for a while, exhaust him, and he will give you no trouble.” Rhodes looked dubious, Darcy smiling grimly and finishing with confidence as they rode away, “Trust me, I know how best to deal with grief.”

“Today is Alexander’s birthday and I am missing it.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, out of uniform and comfortable in a black suit of wool, peered over the rim of his wine glass at the morose cousin sitting across their secluded table in the Georgian’s opulent dining hall. Darcy was staring at his plate, mien serious as he played with the remains of dinner, fork absently scoring trenches through a small pile of mashed yams. Richard frowned, completely at a loss as to what Darcy meant.

“Ah, Cousin, unless I have slept through all of 1818, a year has not passed.”

Darcy chuckled, putting down his fork and picking up his own wine glass. “No, I meant his one-month birthday.”

Richard raised his brows. “Do people actually celebrate such a thing? I certainly pray you did not expect me to provide a present. This could become costly after a time.”

“No gifts or parties. I just wanted to be there is all.” He sighed, sitting back in the chair. “I miss my family, Richard.” He took a sip, glancing to his cousin’s humorous face. “Go ahead, laugh. Make a joke. I need to be cheered.”

Richard shrugged. “I was just thinking that there was a time when all you needed in life was my sparkling personality and delightful company. How things change!”