Chapter Five

Darcy settled back in Bingley’s carriage, pleased. While the neighborhood appeared sparsely populated, the estate of Netherfield Park itself seemed pleasant enough. Furthermore, the steward with whom they’d met, who showed them about the house and grounds, gave every indication of being both capable and honest. As did the housekeeper and butler, who were to be kept on. That meant Bingley would not be required to make important decisions while leasing the place, or need to fear being blamed for any mishaps.

“Well?” Bingley asked eagerly. “Let me have it. What did you think of the place?”

Darcy tamped down his excitement. It didn’t do to make hasty decisions about such matters. Nor did he wish to worry, later, that his eagerness for Bingley to take on the estate had stirred him into giving poor advice. “It seems worth considering.”

“Worth considering?” Bingley shook his head. “The grounds are stunning. And kept up well. Have you ever seen such a fine lawn? Green as far as the eye can see. The house is rather austere, but do you know, I believe I like that. Gives the place a sense of gravitas, do you not think? The façade is delightfully imposing. Puts me in mind of swooning maidens and fox hunts I would never be grand enough to attend. And the gargoyles. Fancy having those leering about you day and night. Give a man nightmares, I should think. Splendidly daunting place.”

Amused, Darcy asked, “Do you mean that you wish to dwell in a home that makes you feel inadequate and terrified?”

“I mean that by living in a house that makes me feel inadequate and terrified, I will be assured of feeling quite the opposite. The man who occupies Netherfield Park must be impressive, I say.”

Darcy gave a bark of laughter.

That earned him a narrow eyed look from the forward facing seat. “Well, you know what I mean, I daresay,” Bingley muttered.

“Be assured that I do.”

“Yes, well—” Bingley broke off, his eyes going wide as he stared out the carriage window. “What have we here?”

Riding backward, Darcy hadn’t the faintest what they ‘had here.’ Nor would he crane his neck out the window to make the discovery, not being a bumpkin.

Seeming to possess no such reservations, Bingley shifted as they passed a gaggle of young ladies walking along the verge, his head in the window and his hat blocking most of Darcy’s view.

When his friend finally sat back, Darcy observed, “See something you like? A fine expanse of green or a particularly grotesque gargoyle?”

Bingley grinned. “A more promising group of young ladies I have never beheld. Did you see the taller miss in blue? Lovely creature. Never have I beheld such perfection.”

“I imagine that’s settled, then.”

“Settled?” Bingley parroted.

“At university, you selected your courses based on which professors had the most attractive daughters. That year you summered in Brighton, you rented that ridiculously small cottage because you were smitten with the niece of the gentleman next door, who you did not stop to find out was engaged to be wed at the end of the summer. The year you summered in Bath, you selected which cottage to take based on sighting a pretty pair of eyes peeking out of the house next door, only to discover they belonged to one of the maids.”

“I will have you know I nearly proposed to that maid.”

“You never once spoke to her.”

“Only because I knew that if I did, I would ask for her hand on the spot. Magnificent creature, that maid.”

“You did not speak to her because your sisters forbade it, if I recall correctly.” As well they ought.

Bingley shrugged. “Well, that was a group of gentlemen’s daughters if ever I saw one, and you cannot blame me if I wish to know all there is to know about that exceptional miss I spotted.”

“So you will lease Netherfield Park,” Darcy concluded.

“Fine estate.”

Darcy nodded, taking that as a yes. “Then let us hope your mystery miss is indeed a gentleman’s daughter. For your sake and that of peace with your sisters.”

“My sisters.” Bingley slumped back in his seat. “Be thankful you have only the one, and that she’s young enough she is obliged to obey you.”

Darcy did not care to discuss Bingley’s sisters, but he knew his place as a friend. Besides which, they had the entire journey back to London to undertake and must speak of something, so he dutifully prompted, “Your sisters are exasperating you, then?”

“Louisa is not so unendurable. She is simply put out with Hurst. Says he does not spend enough time with her. That he goes out at all hours. Sorts of failings I daresay many a wife complains over.” Bingley shrugged, easily casting Mrs. Hurst’s troubles aside.

Aware it was his place, as well, to offer and ear, not an opinion, Darcy did not voice that, from what he’d seen, he agreed with Mrs. Hurst. Her husband did seem to keep odd hours, often missing social obligations. When he was present, if at all possible he would linger off to the side, using the pretense of reading to nap.

Darcy would never treat the woman he loved in such a manner, and he would love his wife. On that, he had decided long ago. He had the wealth and standing to wed where he chose, after all, so why not choose someone for whom he cared? He simply needed to find someone lovely, intelligent, competent, compelling, and well connected enough to be worthy of him and the Darcy name.

“But Caroline,” Bingley continued, needing no additional prompting from Darcy to keep talking. “I must remove her from London before she puts me in dun territory, I tell you. Last Season…” Bingley trailed off with a frown. “No, the Season before, was it?” He shook his head. “Yes, two Seasons ago, she talked me into permitting her to purchase a pelisse or some such at that dreadfully expensive modiste, Madame Dentelle.”

Darcy forwent mentioning that his Aunt Catherine frequented Madame Dentelle’s, which would sound boastful, and that Bingley wouldn’t need to curb Miss Bingley’s fashion aspirations if he gambled with less vigor, which Bingley surely knew.

“Thing cost a fortune and I put my foot down,” Bingley continued. “Quashed the idea of going back. But that was the Season Caroline almost brought that baron up to scratch, and she is convinced it was the pelisse, and keeps harping on about a full gown from the woman. As if a baron cares one jot about a pelisse. Dislike them, myself.”

“You dislike barons?” Darcy asked, having abandoned his thoughts to attempt to follow Bingley’s.

“Dislike pelisses. Cover all the good bits.”

Darcy regarded Bingley from under raised eyebrows.

“Well, they do, rather,” Bingley defended.

“Be that as it may, you said you must remove Miss Bingley from London.”

“Yes, before she can throw away any more money on clothing when we all know that baron was persuaded by an extra five thousand and a better pedigree, not a pelisse.”

Darcy nodded, though he only vaguely recalled the incident. When Miss Bingley’s marital aspirations weren’t aimed at him, he paid them little heed. When they were, he did all in his power to evade them.

“My point being, taking a place earlier than I planned is a splendid idea, and I do believe Netherfield Park is the place.”

Darcy grimaced at the reminder that he’d requested Bingley change his plans. “If leasing in the country does not suit you now—”

“It does,” Bingley cut in.

“The expense—”

“Is something I can afford.” Bingley grinned. “Besides, think what you will save me on gambling debts and pelisses alone.”

Darcy obligingly smiled at that.

Growing more serious, Bingley continued, “Truly. Your friendship has been a great boon to me. I would never be accepted as I am if you did not continuously look past my father having come up in trade. I am happy to finally find a means to even that score, however minutely.”

“There is no score to be evened.”

“And who knows, it might help Louisa’s marriage,” Bingley added, ignoring Darcy’s self-effacement. “Hurst can hardly go wandering off at all hours out here.” A gesture out the window indicated the seemingly endless fields and copses they passed. “Not unless he plans to take up with foxes and whatnot.”

“Still, you have my gratitude.”

With a wave of his hand, Bingley brushed that aside. “It will suit me to have you about. Keep my relations on their good behavior.”

Darcy snorted. Miss Bingley found everything unsuitable, Mrs. Hurst was dreary and complaining, and Mr. Hurst usually asleep. Darcy wouldn’t want to see the presumably bad behavior that took place in his absence. “I am pleased to be of service.”

“Speaking of service, how is that cousin of yours doing?” Bingley asked. “I cannot say I care for what the papers are saying about the fighting over on the peninsula. I can only thank my late mother for squelching my youthful notions of joining the regulars. Cannot say I envy your cousin one bit, no matter how well I would look in uniform.”

Having recently received a letter from his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Darcy knew him to be well, and so was pleased to turn conversation to the war and other current topics for the remainder of the carriage ride.

He was less pleased when Bingley dropped him back at Darcy House to find his usually calm butler, Walters, red-faced and grim.

“Mr. Darcy, sir, it is good to have you home, sir,” Walters said before Darcy could so much as enquire as to what troubled the man, or even remove his hat.

Darcy’s thoughts snapped to his sister, Georgiana, who was in Pemberley with her new companion, Mrs. Younge. “Has something happened?”

“While you were out, sir, your aunt’s men came into this house and made to pack your possessions, sir.” Walters practically vibrated with agitation. “We had to remove them, sir, and they said they would tell her ladyship, sir, and she would see us in the stocks, sir.” Walters wrung his hands. “We had to put them out, sir. They were trying to get into your room, sir, and Patrick was in a fit, sir.”

Aggravation filled Darcy, chasing off his moment of dread. He peeled off his gloves. “I can well imagine.” Darcy’s valet, Patrick, would not look kindly to anyone rummaging about in his quarters.

“Are you going to Rosings, sir, as they said you are?”

Removing his hat and dropping the gloves inside, Darcy handed them over. “Certainly not. You were quite right to put my aunt’s men out, and you will not be put in the stocks. You have my word.”

Walters’ shoulders dropped to a more normal height. “Thank you, sir. I will tell the lads you said as much. They did as they were told, but her ladyship’s men put some worry in them, let me tell you, sir.”

From how red faces and unusually loquacious Walters was, Darcy rather felt his aunt’s high-handedness had put a bit of fear into his butler as well. No one liked to have a member of the peerage threaten them, even by proxy. Removing his coat, Darcy added, “We will, however, be packing up the house soon.”

“Leaving London, sir?”

He nodded. “Yes. Within a week, I will be off to—” Darcy broke off. He trusted his staff, but… “Do you know, for the good of us all, no one need know to where I will be off. I will arrange for my attorneys to forward my mail.” His man at Watson, Hastings, & Vane would be far more discreet than a household full of staff.

Walters stiffened. “I am not in the habit of passing along your whereabouts willy nilly, sir.”

“My confidence in you is unshakable, Walters,” Darcy assured him. “It will simply be easier for all if any who are asked can honestly report that they have no notion where I have gone.”

“Very well, sir.” Walters sounded only partially mollified, but he accepted Darcy’s coat with his usual care. “Do you require anything else, sir?”

“Send Patrick to my chamber.”

“Immediately, sir.”

Nodding to his no-longer scarlet-hued butler, Darcy sought his room. Undoubtedly, Patrick, too, required soothing. Darcy would also see that everyone who had helped thwart his aunt’s ridiculous attempt to force him to journey to Rosings received extra pay this quarter.

***

Elizabeth Bennet slipped behind the large oak that dominated Longbourn’s back garden, frowning. For several weeks now, she’d been spying on her younger sister, Kitty. Ever since she’d come across Kitty sitting on the bench beneath their housekeeper, Mrs. Hill’s, window, writing. Elizabeth had been certain Kitty was writing, but when pressed, her sister had merely presented a horrendous rendition of a tree.

Why would Kitty lie about writing? What could she possibly be hiding? And when had Kitty become a sister with secrets? Kitty did not have a thought in her head not put there by their mother or their youngest sister, Lydia. She often simply sat like a lump, waiting for Lydia to speak and then parroting her.

But once she’d decided to follow Kitty, Elizabeth soon discovered that her younger sister rose early every morning. Even earlier than Elizabeth, which she’d hereto now thought only Mr. Bennet did. Kitty then rambled about Longbourn chatting with the staff. She helped maids take down the wash, or pull up fresh vegetables. She spoke with the stable boy with the stammer, or helped one of the lads carry in firewood. Elizabeth had watched her sister assist in gathering eggs from the hens, and carry pails of milk alongside the dairymaid.

Then Kitty would write and write in the little book she carried, and sometimes Elizabeth thought her sister truly might be sketching. But writing what? And sketching what? Kitty never looked up, except to frown in thought, the end of her pencil stuck in her mouth.

After all that, Kitty would return to the room she shared with Lydia, and not reappear until they came down to breakfast together. It was bewildering. Enough so that asking Lydia what Kitty might be doing tempted Elizabeth sourly. Yet, she could not bear the thought of not being clever enough to solve the riddle of Kitty’s behavior on her own.

Kitty rose from her seat outside Mrs. Hill’s window, studied the small journal she held for a moment, and snapped it closed with a satisfied air. Tucking it and the stubby pencil into her skirt pocket, she went inside.

Elizabeth sighed, turning her back to the tree. Kitty would go to her room now, and not return until she did so with Lydia, about the time Elizabeth and her father were finishing breakfast, and their mother arriving. Jane and Mary would both be halfway through with their meals, the two always spanning the gap between Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet, and the sillier members of their family.

That was how life had gone the previous morning, and the one before, and on and on, back and back, for all the mornings Elizabeth could rightly remember. Nothing ever changed in Longbourn. Jane had reached her majority last year, and gone to spend a month in London with their Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, and still nothing had changed. Elizabeth would do the same soon enough.

Would anything change then? Would some tall, witty gentleman capture Elizabeth’s heart while she visited London? Or were they all destined to simply live out their days together, the seven of them?

Tugging the tattered edges of her good cheer about her, Elizabeth went in to breakfast. Her father already sat at his end of the table, paper in hand and coffee service at his elbow. Behind the wall of his paper, he crunched on toast. It would be dry, but with far too much jam, Elizabeth knew, because nothing ever changed at Longbourn.

She took the seat to his right, electing to eat toast as well, but too glum for butter or jam. She nibbled, one of the staff bringing her tea, and studied the back of her father’s paper. He would have read the sides facing her first, so that if she cared to, she might comment on them.

Her gaze strayed to a K. B. Hert cartoon and she frowned, trying to make out the jest. Two roughly clad men brandished fists over what Elizabeth assumed was an automated loom, while a smartly dressed, wig wearing gentleman cheered them on and two other be-wigged gentlemen lifted money from the fighting men’s coat pockets with one hand and passed it along to men holding ledgers with the other. All the wig-wearing men were in livery quite reminiscent of the king’s.

“Is the implication that the Crown is encouraging discord over the new looms to distract from new taxes?” Elizabeth asked.

Mr. Bennet’s paper dipped. He smiled at her, clearly pleased. “It is.”

“Do you believe that, Papa?”

He shrugged. “I said as much to Mr. Long not a week ago.” His paper came back up. As he father obviously wished to keep reading, Elizabeth returned to nibbling on her toast and wondering what Kitty could possibly be up to.