It was unseasonably cold for the summer afternoon in London, almost as if the good weather had departed for the countryside with the best of society. Charles Bingley was huffing and puffing as he scoured the newspapers, his brother by marriage glanced up from his own book, decidedly disagreeable at being constantly disturbed.
"I say, man, what the devil is the matter with you?" Mr Hurst snapped.
Charles exhaled sharply, "we were to stay at an estate in Hertfordshire which has now, rather inconveniently, become unavailable, which leaves our party at rather a loss in relation to our plans."
Hurst looked over with a confused expression on his face, which was not uncommon, "Hertfordshire? Why on earth are we going there? Nothing in it apart from fields and farmers," he placed his book down and rose to his feet, "unless, of course, you are travelling to the countryside in search of a more agreeable sport." He looked over at Charles with a grin on his face and a raised eyebrow, "you will find a considerable amount of interest in the countryside, Bingley if it is a young lady you seek."
Bingley closed the paper in temper, causing the pages to crumple, "just damned want to get out of London for just a brief moment." He was bored now of haughty expressions and stiff dances; he wanted liveliness and something that felt real beneath his fingers. "And there is always the argument that I should invest in an estate. Darcy is always of the opinion that I should procure a long term venture."
"You are looking for property?" The tone was one of surprise, he was already of the mind that Charles Bingley was more inclined to fashions and gambling than any sensible undertaking. "There is always more money to be made in the Indies than in property, although it depends if the matter is to your taste, I suppose. Personally, I see no mind to it, but I suppose I have an old-fashioned opinion."
"There is money to be made, but I know my enjoyment of it would be tainted." The thought of sending his money out to the Caribbean and the slave-farmed fields of sugar made Bingley feel positively monstrous. "My father always expressed a desire for a family foothold somewhere."
"Each to their own, Bingley, But an estate… Well, that is an admirable thought, particularly when one has not inherited their wealth from an old family line like the Darcys. You are lucky to have such a gentleman as a friend."
"I don't feel as if there is any shame in my father having made his fortune through trade, although you will find that both of my sisters will try and disguise the fact."
"Well, the purchase of an estate will improve your standing, and set you and any future Mrs Bingley in good stead…"
"Oh, there will be a future Mrs Bingley and I, for one, am determined that she should be mistress of my household before the year is out."
"Quick work! You feel she might be a resident of Hertfordshire?"
"It's as a good a starting point as any, and with Darcy halfway to the altar before we even venture out there then I shall have the pick of the crop."
"Well, if you are of the mind, I know a chap from the club, Lord Shelby – married the daughter of an Earl who ended up inheriting half of Lincolnshire, so he has his big old pile in the country lying empty. Netherfield, I think it's called, comes with a park too and a trout stream, great sport to be had if I remember correctly."
"And is it of a good size?"
Mr Hurst rose to his feet, "I'll tell you what, I'll pop on over there now and see what he says about it."
"Will he be there at this hour?" Bingley pulled out his watch, the time read 10:50.
"Lord Shelby is almost always at the club, night or day." Hurst gestured to the footman to bring his hat, "it's been empty for nearly five years, so I'm fairly sure he will be most agreeable to any terms you can negotiate."
"That would be jolly good, it really would," he didn't want to seem over-eager, but if he could let Netherfield and its park then he would be a very happy man indeed.
"Right then," he said, taking his hat and overcoat, "you have given me a mission for the day. Please, can you let Mrs Hurst that I will be home for supper?"
Charles sat back down on the settee, feeling more than slightly relieved. He had been having strange fitful dreams for the past few nights, tossing and turning in his bed until he woke restless and unrefreshed in the early hours of the morning. Was it the loss of Sarah Purcell that had caused this? He wasn't sure, but he did know that it had confirmed one thing to him. That he was ready for a wife now, that he wanted to settle down and have children, remove himself from town, the push and pull of society, and the attractions of late-night card games, and late-night women. Charles Bingley was looking for someone now who he could build a life with, someone who he could make a family with, a lady who he could call home, and in the midnight whispers of his late-night imaginings, he had become convinced that he was going to find her in Hertfordshire.
Caroline Bingley was of the opinion that she was the most eligible woman of her own acquaintance, in fact, she was so decided on this opinion that she was often most greatly vexed when people did not agree with her. Admiring herself in the mirror, as her hair was twisted and pulled into ringlets and curls, hanging resplendent from her elegant, but somewhat severe, features. Caroline wondered what else she could do to convince Fitzwilliam Darcy of her eligibility; she had tried her usual methods of persuasion, but the harder she tried the more she found that he resisted. Charles had known Darcy for a considerable amount of time now, the two men often riding and drinking together, even though her brother was more inclined to lose money at the gambling tables at their club in Bermondsey than Fitz, who was never one for gambling. Now she came to think of it, he wasn't really much of a dancer either. He was proficient – helping to fill her dancecard on more than one occasion – but he preferred to stand at the side and observe rather than participate, and as much as Caroline fancied herself the mistress of Pemberley, or hosting balls at the illustrious and grand Derbyshire House in Grosvenor Square, she wasn't entirely sure if being married to Fitz would be worth it.
"Are you dreaming again?" Louisa stepped into the room, her hair still loose, her brightly printed night robe unfastened as she crossed towards her, "I'm still waiting for my tray, so I thought I would come and see if you were ready for breakfast."
Caroline stood, displaying the mustard coloured cotton gown with the embroidered hem, "Madame Fuchs did well, do you agree?" She waited for her sister to nod, before dismissing the maid, "and no, I haven't been dreaming at all."
"Not even of Fitz?"
It had been no secret that Caroline had pined after Fitzwilliam Darcy for as long as he had been in their acquaintance and, for a while, Louisa was determined that she would arrange a match between the two until she realised that they were undecidedly suited and dismissed the idea from her mind, but despite this, Caroline had, for the most part, been frantically trying to convince him of her marital suitability. Louisa was, however, satisfied that this was due to the innate sibling rivalry betwixt sisters rather than of any serious romantic intent.
"Not at all! How unfair that I have to go down for breakfast – when it is just for Charles and myself – and you can eat in your room."
Louisa smiled, "perks of being a married woman, dear sister, and you will be pleased to know that Edward managed to secure the house."
"Netherfield? Really?"
"Yes, although I am unsure what kind of society awaits us in Hertfordshire," she sat on the bed, "the nearest town is called Meryton, and I have heard that it is full of eager girls and their eagle-eyed mothers all hunting for an eligible bachelor."
"Aye, I have heard that too, I was hoping very much that he would change his mind and choose an estate to the north."
"But we can always stay at Pemberley if we are ever in the north," Louisa scoffed, "no, it makes sense, even if we have to pay close attention to the famed Bennet daughters, all in want of husbands."
"Bennets? Ugh, sounds like a surname that will have Charles lapping up whatever simpering drivel they spout."
"We need to be on our guard with him in Meryton, Caroline, after his dalliance with Miss Purcell he is in half a mind to fall madly in love with whichever unsuitable woman he meets, and I have to say, I don't want to be sharing a carriage with a Bennet, however, pretty and charming she may be."
"Louisa, I never knew you were such a snob!"
"I'm not," she said, "but I have seen the lengths that some people go to, and it's not always honourable. Charles deserves someone who loves him and not simply his money."
Caroline had not asked her sister about her cross-country trip with Mr Darcy, hadn't found a suitable time to discover what had happened, but she was more than curious.
"What lengths do people go to?"
Louisa would never break the confidence of the Darcys, she valued their friendship too much, and she knew that her sister could have a loose tongue when it came to trying to win the favour of people in their company.
"Great lengths, Caroline, and those people do not care who they hurt or what they do. They care only of their own gain."
"Did this person hurt Fitzwilliam?"
"Yes," she nodded, "very much so."
Caroline pondered for a moment, "it was George Wickham, wasn't it?"
Louisa looked down, a gesture which her sister took as confirmation. She knew that George Wickham was the worst kind of rogue, but the fact that he had dared trespass upon the comfort of her close friends vexed Caroline Bingley greatly indeed.
"Well," she said decidedly, crossing her arms against the world, "if George Wickham crosses my path at all he shall know about it, for I am not of the mind to pander to his villainy, even if it something that you and Fitz are wont to do."
"Nobody is going to pander to his villainy, Caroline," an edge to her voice, "and as this is not our business we would do well to stay out of it, for who knows what George Wickham will do next, although I fear for him if he crosses Darcy's path in Hertfordshire."
"Fitz is going to be our guest at Netherfield?"
"Yes, I insisted. We need him to stave off the blasted Bennets!"