Thanks again for all the reviews, etc. this week! Seriously, your feedback helps the story so much-whether it's encouraging me so I keep up my writing pace or pointing out where the story needs a little TLC, I really, really appreciate it! I have decided to keep on with longer chapters until y'all catch up to where I'm writing, unless you'd prefer me to post 2 shorter chapters twice a week. If so, let me know.
Thanks to my betas, Sara and Dawn, without whom I could not have done this :)
If you do notice any issues, please let me know! typos, historical errors, poor writing; I'm open to whatever.
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Frerichs
Darcy stepped into the carriage with a sigh of relief. The evening was finally over, or at least nearly so. He just had to endure the undoubtedly barbed comments with which the carriage would overflow as they returned to Netherfield. The Bingley sisters fulfilled his every expectation when they began ripping into their neighbours—criticising everything from their dress to their speech.
He had long since ceased to be surprised by their observations or by Bingley's good-humoured tolerance of them. Their father had made his fortune in trade and had hoped to catapult his children into the first circles by providing them with wealth and a good education. Thus, the sisters had been educated at one of the finest private seminaries in London, had a fortune of twenty thousand pounds each, and were used to orbiting people of rank. As a result, they had no qualms about thinking meanly of everyone else around them—despite the fact that these poor country gentry had better bloodlines than their own.
"Come, Mr. Darcy, you must agree with me," Miss Bingley cried.
Darcy, who had been woolgathering as he looked out the window, shifted to face her. "About what?" he asked.
Miss Bingley's eyes tightened. "About who was wearing the worst dress at that—assembly."
"I am sure that your opinion is more informed than my own. I neither pay attention to female fashion in general nor noticed what anyone was wearing at the ball tonight," he said, trying to end the conversation. He had seen little in the way of refinement and nothing to interest him while in Meryton but was unwilling to participate in Miss Bingley's mean-spirited critiques.
Miss Bingley smirked as though he had just supported her position. "You see, Louisa? I am sure it was the woman in that puce monstrosity—the one with the double chins."
"Oh, were they double chins? I thought I saw more than two, but of course, you got much closer to her," Louisa replied with faux innocence.
"Perhaps you are right—she may have been treble-chinned."
"Well, I think it was a wonderful assembly," Bingley said stoutly. "Everyone was so pleasant. I am sure I have never met pleasanter people, nor prettier girls, in my life."
"You always say that, Charles," Miss Bingley drawled.
Darcy had to agree with her, but refrained from giving her the satisfaction of doing so out loud.
Bingley shrugged one shoulder. "It is true in this case. Everyone was most kind tonight. I felt as though I knew everyone in the room before long."
Darcy held in a snort. Of course Bingley had felt that way—everyone in the room had introduced themselves the first moment they conceivably could, all eager to grasp at Bingley's five thousand pounds a year.
"And, as for the young ladies," Bingley continued, "I'm quite sure that even an angel could not hold a candle to Miss Bennet."
"Mr. Darcy, what did you think of Miss Bennet?" Miss Bingley asked.
"As Bingley said, she is lovely; however, she smiles too much," Darcy said after a moment's thought.
"I quite agree," Miss Bingley said firmly. "Although she is rather sweet."
"Indeed, I do not believe there is anyone else in this ghastly neighbourhood with whom I would rather form an acquaintanceship," Louisa said. "Would not you agree, Robert?" she asked, elbowing her husband sharply in the ribs.
Hurst, who had been quite comfortably sleeping, grunted, then rousing himself slightly said, "Of course."
"I was shocked to hear that her sister, Miss Elizabeth, is considered to be one of the other great beauties of the area," Miss Bingley put in.
"Indeed," Mrs. Hurst agreed. "She has nothing to recommend her."
"I am certain she is at least tolerable," Bingley said with a sly glance in Darcy's direction.
Unfortunately, the glance did not go unnoticed by Miss Bingley. "What do you think, Mr. Darcy?" she cooed.
Darcy held in another sigh. "I am afraid that I did not make the pleasure of her acquaintance, so I do not have anything to say on the matter."
"Actually, Darcy, you did see her," Bingley interjected.
"I saw a great many people, Bingley. I did not notice her."
Bingley cleared his throat delicately. "She was the one I offered to introduce you to."
"Ah, then, of course, you must tell us what you thought of her," Miss Bingley said enthusiastically.
Darcy quailed at the thought of talking over a woman's beauty, or lack thereof, with Miss Caroline Bingley. "She does not share her sister's beauty," he said, hoping that would be enough to quell Miss Bingley.
Miss Bingley subsided, although she did not seem entirely content with his statement. The subject turned to other neighbors at the ball, and Darcy allowed his thoughts to drift.
Elizabeth sighed in relief as she entered her bedroom. The assembly was finally over, and, despite enjoying much of it, she felt out of sorts after the advent of Mr. Darcy. Not to mention how much Jane had obviously liked a man who might be less than steadfast in his affections. Although, if the letter was a cruel prank, perhaps Mr. Bingley was perfectly steady and the writer had desired to ensure Jane did not secure him. Elizabeth bit her lip, her thoughts more tangled than one of Lydia's ribbons. She would have to judge Mr. Bingley on his own merit, rather than anything the letter said or didn't say; however, she desired time alone to re-read the letter and try to assimilate the fact that Mr. Darcy was a real person.
How could anyone include real people in such a prank?
As she removed her dress and changed into a nightgown, Elizabeth mentally analyzed the letter from various angles, turning it one way and then another as though it were a puzzle piece that needed only to be seen from the right perspective to be understood. Unfortunately, it refused to make sense, no matter how she considered the matter.
More and more circumstances appeared to be lining up with the letter—although, if there were one Mr. Darcy, another could exist. Mr. Darcy's first name might not even be Fitzwilliam. She ought to have asked Charlotte. But she had been too overwrought to know what she ought to say or to conceal, and Charlotte was already curious about her interest in their new neighbours.
Could this be the same Mr. Darcy? She was about to remove the letter from where she had hidden it, hoping that yet another physical examination would yield new results, when a soft knock sounded.
Since she and Jane had a habit of talking over the day each night before bed, Elizabeth resolved to put the letter out of her mind and to instead determine, if possible, how invested Jane already was in Mr. Bingley.
"Lizzy, can I come in?" Jane asked, knocking once more.
Elizabeth opened the door with a wide smile. "Of course you can. You know that you are always welcome."
Jane only smiled in reply as they settled themselves on the bed.
"Mr. Bingley seemed pleasant," Elizabeth commented, fishing for insight into her sister's heart.
"Indeed, he is just what a young man ought to be: sensible, good-humoured, lively—and I never saw such happy manners!—so much ease, with such perfect good-breeding!"
Elizabeth studied her intently.
"He will be a pleasant addition to the neighbourhood," Jane finished.
"Yes, I believe I already used the word 'pleasant'—I think you ought to find your own word," Elizabeth teased.
Jane smiled. "Very well. I believe he will be a—useful addition to the neighbourhood, at least if Lydia is to be believed."
"Oh?"
"He danced every dance and talked of giving a ball at Netherfield. Lydia, of course, is wild at the idea of another ball before the next assembly. That sounds useful to me."
Elizabeth chuckled. "Very well. Mr. Bingley will be a useful addition to the neighbourhood—or at least to Lydia." She sighed. "I only hope that he stays in the neighbourhood. You know that young men are often apt to change their minds," she said seriously—hoping that, if Jane was on the road to falling in love with Mr. Bingley, small comments would be enough to give her pause—then added, "Mama was worried about that when he left for London so suddenly."
"Yes, but he was not being flighty—he was collecting a party."
Elizabeth suppressed a snort. "I am not quite sure why Mr. Bingley brought them to the assembly—they did not seem to enjoy it very much."
"Perhaps they were merely fatigued by the journey," Jane said after a moment's hesitation.
"They arrived several days ago. Do you really think their constitutions are so frail as to be still overset by a journey of some thirty miles?"
"You are twisting my words again. They may have had a reason for not feeling up to an assembly—indeed, Mr. Bingley told me that his friend is quite agreeable with his intimate acquaintances."
"Only you could see the best in someone like Mr. Darcy."
"Is his comment still bothering you? You know that he was quite mistaken?"
"Yes, and that it was very rude of him to say such a thing," Elizabeth said, a smile playing 'round her lips.
"You are right, of course," Jane admitted. "It was very rude, but perhaps he was having a bad day. Everyone has bad days now and then."
"Yes, but the rest of us know better than to inflict our bad days on other people. I am still not sure why he came."
"He must have wanted to please his friend—which would be quite admirable."
Elizabeth once more restrained herself from snorting, but it was a near thing. Jane was so determined to see the best in everyone. Usually, she found the quality endearing. Tonight, however, she could not separate herself from the tangle of thoughts and feelings engendered by their new neighbours enough to appreciate it.
"I was very much flattered by Mr. Bingley asking me to dance a second time," Jane continued. "I did not expect such a compliment."
Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up. "Did not you? I did for you. But that is one great difference between us. Compliments always take you by surprise, and me never. What could be more natural than his asking you again? He could not help seeing that you are five times as pretty as every other woman in the room. No thanks to his gallantry for that," Elizabeth said. She briefly considered telling Jane that Mr. Bingley had said she was "the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld," but discarded the idea. If Jane married Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth wanted it to be because he was a good man and Jane loved him, not because their mother and everyone else in the neighbourhood paired them up.
"Dear Lizzy!" Jane said warmly.
Elizabeth squeezed her sister's hand before changing the topic. "Kitty and Lydia seemed to enjoy themselves," she remarked.
Jane smiled. "Yes, they danced every set. And did you hear what someone said about Mary?"
"No, Mary was saying something about it after we got home tonight, but I was distracted," she replied.
"Someone told Miss Bingley that Mary is the most accomplished girl in the neighbourhood."
"I am sure Mary was more than gratified by such praise," Elizabeth said dryly. Their younger sister was always eager to display her accomplishments. Sadly, despite the fact that her pianoforte playing was technically correct, as was her singing when she sang in her range, all she did lacked heart.
Jane smiled. "She was thrilled, yes."
"Jane," Elizabeth began hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"I know that it is quite likely that Mr. Bingley will develop a tendre for you—"
Jane started to protest.
"No, we both know that you are quite the loveliest girl in the neighbourhood."
"Lizzy, I am almost of an age with Mr. Bingley, and you well know that I have little dowry—"
"And Mr. Bingley is a very amiable gentleman of independence, who would be able to marry you even without a dowry." She held up a hand. "I realise it is not certain. Just—be careful."
"What are you worried about?"
"That he may be as fickle as Mama is worried about. I have no particular reason for thinking so, and I do not mean to judge him too quickly. I am merely concerned for your heart, especially since, if Mama continues on as she has begun, your name will be linked with his regularly."
"I promise that I will not be too hasty. When have you ever known me to act precipitously?"
"Never. That is my province," Elizabeth said with a chuckle. "What did you think of Mr. Bingley's sisters? Their manners are not equal to his."
"Certainly not—at first. But they are very pleasing women when you converse with them. Miss Bingley is to live with her brother and keep his house, and I am much mistaken if we shall not find a very charming neighbour in her."
Elizabeth listened in silence, unconvinced—their behaviour at the assembly had not been calculated to please in general. They had held themselves aloof from the majority of the attendees and seemed singularly unimpressed by the assembly and all the people there. Only time would prove which of them had measured the sisters accurately. More importantly, only time would prove how closely Netherfield's inhabitants measured up to the letter-writer's characterisations.
Fitzwilliam Darcy cautiously descended the stairs, heading towards the breakfast room at a muted pace—he refused to think of it as "sneaking." After the strain of last night's assembly, he was desperately in need of a quiet morning. In fact, had he not slept later than his wont and awoken ravenous, he would be skipping breakfast to go for a ride. Hopefully, as his hosts continued to keep town hours (despite being in the country), he could finish his breakfast and flee to the outdoors before anyone else was up and about.
Darcy entered the breakfast-room, then stopped short at the sight of Bingley sitting at the breakfast table, staring blearily into a cup of coffee.
"Darcy! I was hoping to catch you before you were off." He stifled a yawn. "Figured you would be up devilishly early."
"Bingley, eight o'clock is hardly devilishly early," Darcy returned dryly.
"Yes, yes, I know—you get up before the sun rises when you are at Pemberley. Not my cup of tea." He shuddered theatrically. "Or coffee," he added, staring balefully into the cup.
"A fact I am well aware of."
Bingley grinned. "Nothing good happens before ten o'clock in the morning." He waved towards the breakfast buffet. "You may as well get your food before it gets cold."
Darcy bowed in answer, then moved towards the buffet and fixed himself a plate. Once he had settled himself at the table across from Bingley, he turned his attention to the young man. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this early in the morning?"
Bingley stifled another yawn. "Do not talk about how early it is. I am attempting to convince myself that it is at the very least after ten o'clock. I believe I shall fall asleep wherever I am if my body realises the exact hour."
Darcy merely raised an eyebrow.
"It has been so hard to get a free minute," Bingley complained. "What do you think of Netherfield?"
Darcy settled back in his chair. "I believe it is—"
"Good morning, gentlemen," came a voice from the doorway.
Darcy stifled a sigh as he stood and bowed to Miss Bingley. "Good morning, Miss Bingley."
"Good heavens, Caroline! Why are you up this early?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Charles," she replied. "I trust you slept well, Mr. Darcy?"
"Yes, thank you."
Miss Bingley smiled. "I am very glad to hear that." She turned, collecting a plate of food for herself, then moved to sit beside Darcy. "Would you like more coffee, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, flicking her eyes to his coffee cup.
"No, thank you. It is still fresh."
"Then I am in good time."
Bingley grimaced. "What are you doing up this early, Caroline?"
"We are in the country, are we not?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"When in Rome . . . well, I thought it high time we kept country hours."
Bingley groaned. "We are not keeping country hours, or at least, not yet. Give us time to adjust."
Darcy hid a smile. He was tempted to tease his friend but had no desire to agree with Miss Bingley.
"What do you think, Mr. Darcy? Is it not the duty of those who live in the country to keep country hours?"
"Duty, Miss Bingley?" he asked, one eyebrow raised. "I had always believed it was the joy of those who lived in the country to rise in time to partake of its delights."
Miss Bingley's smile grew slightly forced. "How poetic."
Darcy gave a slight nod, then focused on his meal. Perhaps, if he appeared occupied, Miss Bingley would leave him to it.
"What do you have planned for this morning, Caroline?" Bingley asked.
Miss Bingley delicately set her coffee spoon on her saucer. "I had not decided, although Mr. Darcy has quite inspired me to take a turn about the garden this morning. After all, if I am to enjoy the delights of a country morning, I ought to see it in all its glory. Would you care to join me, Mr. Darcy?"
Darcy flicked a glance at Bingley. He was unsure what his friend had wanted, but he had enough experience with the Bingley family to know that Bingley would likely rearrange his plans to suit Miss Bingley—or rather, to avoid Miss Bingley's sharp tongue. "I believe we have business this morning. Perhaps this afternoon?" he suggested.
"Business?" Miss Bingley queried in a sugar-sweet tone. "I thought you came to rest from business."
"Indeed. However, I am quite willing to look over the business of Netherfield."
"I see," she said, her mouth smiling, but her eyes looking daggers at him.
"Caroline, after that triumphant introduction into Meryton society last night, what do you have planned?" Bingley asked.
Miss Bingley shuddered delicately. "If you can call it society."
Bingley waited.
"I believe we shall visit our—neighbours. My maid told me that we have already received several invitations."
Bingley straightened. "Well, we shall leave which invitations to accept or to decline to you." He turned to Darcy. "Perhaps you would like to join me in the library to look over Netherfield's account books after breakfast?"
Darcy suppressed a sigh. He would much rather a blistering ride to try to work the lingering stress from last night's ball out of his body. "It might be more beneficial to look over the land without prejudice first. If we have examined the account books, we may only see what is rather than what may be."
Bingley grinned. "You are just itching for your morning ride. Very well! I shall change and meet you down at the stables in say—half an hour?"
Darcy inclined his head.
"Well then, we shall see you afterward, Caroline," Bingley said, standing up. "Darcy, I shall see you in half an hour."
"I hope so," Darcy rejoined.
Bingley grinned. "Mitten can get me outfitted in time."
"It is not Mitten's talents that have me concerned," Darcy shot back.
Bingley chuckled. "Just for that I will see you in twenty-five minutes," he said, then rounded and left.
Darcy could hear his swift footsteps after he left. Knowing Bingley, there was still no need to hurry, but he had no desire to linger with Miss Bingley. Refocusing on his breakfast, he began eating as quickly as possible while still remaining courteous.
"Are you sure you do not require more coffee, Mr. Darcy?" Miss Bingley asked.
"No, thank you. I too must take my leave if I am to meet your brother in twenty minutes."
"There is no rush. Charles will not be ready for ages." She brightened. "In fact, I rather suspect we would have time for a short stroll about the gardens before he will be ready."
"He may be late, but I make it a point not to be." Darcy forced a slight smile. "After all, what good is a man's word if he fails to keep it?" With that, he stood, bowed to Miss Bingley, and left. If he was lucky, Netherfield's business would prevent all but the very shortest garden stroll this, or any other, afternoon.
A mere two weeks after the assembly, Elizabeth was out walking the grounds of Lucas Lodge with Charlotte in an attempt to keep her friend from running herself ragged preparing for the dinner the Lucases were hosting tonight. The neighborhood was still agog at Mr. Bingley's presence, and so tonight promised to be yet another social event of greater magnitude than was the norm for their small community—despite it being the fifth such event held over the past three weeks.
"Do you think Mr. Bingley has a tendre for Jane?" she asked Charlotte.
"He certainly admires and prefers her—and has from the first—and Jane appears to be well on her way to being in love with him," Charlotte replied. "Although, if she is not a bit more proactive, I do not know that anything will come of it."
"What do you mean?"
"You and I can see that Jane is yielding to her preference of Mr. Bingley, but can anyone else?"
Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "Perhaps not, but her manner guards her from the suspicions of the impertinent. Jane does not believe it is quite modest to let the world see her affection."
"It may perhaps be pleasant to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded," Charlotte replied. "If a woman conceals her affection with the same skill from the object of it, she may lose the opportunity of securing him, and it will then be but poor consolation to believe the world equally in the dark. There is so much of gratitude or vanity in almost every attachment, that it is not safe to leave any to itself. We can all begin freely—a slight preference is natural enough, but there are very few of us who have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement. In nine cases out of ten a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Mr. Bingley likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on."
"But she does help him on, as much as her nature will allow." The letter-writer's assertion that Jane's heart was untouched flitted through her thoughts. "If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too—and I have yet to be convinced that Mr. Bingley is a good choice for her anyway," she added hastily in answer to the letter-writer's avowal.
Charlotte had opened her mouth to retort, but hesitated at the end of Elizabeth's statement. "Eliza, what do you mean? Mr. Bingley is more than able to support a wife."
Elizabeth slowed, reaching out to pick a leaf off a nearby bush. She fingered the leaf, trying to devise a reasonable answer. It all came back to the letter, and this she was not ready to divulge. "How do we know that Mr. Bingley will not disappoint her hopes? Young men are, after all, apt to be somewhat fickle."
"We do not. But Jane will never know one way or another if she does not go farther down this path. Eliza—Mr. Bingley is wealthy enough even to help your own family, if something were to happen to your father. He is worth some risk."
Elizabeth sighed. "Yes, but I do not want to see Jane hurt."
"Nor do you want to see her an old maid."
"You are right. Jane will not change her comportment though, and if Mr. Bingley is truly the sort of man who is worthy of her love, he will pursue her. He will find out her regard."
"Perhaps, if he sees enough of her. But, though Mr. Bingley and Jane meet tolerably often, it is never for many hours together; and, as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses."
"Your plan is a good one where nothing is in question but the desire of being well married; and if I were determined to get a rich husband, or any husband, I dare say I should adopt it. But these are not Jane's feelings; she is not acting by design. As yet, she cannot even be certain of the degree of her own regard, nor of its reasonableness. She has known him only a fortnight. She danced four dances with him at Meryton, saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined in company with him four times. This is not quite enough to make her understand his character."
Nor for me to do so, Elizabeth added mentally. She had studied the man almost as much as Jane had, trying to puzzle out if the writer of the letter had actually known Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, or had merely heard of them. It had been her conclusion—particularly after Mr. Darcy's rude comment at their first meeting—that the letter was naught but a practical joke put forward by someone who knew little more than Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's names and that Mr. Bingley had sisters. However, she desired more certainty than her own wishes, and, unfortunately, she had not made headway. Mr. Bingley remained amiable and well-mannered. His sisters remained supercilious and false, regardless of Jane's impression. None of this left her any closer to ascertaining whether Mr. Bingley was likely to break her sister's heart or not.
"Not as you represent it," Charlotte said dryly. "Had she merely dined with him, she might only have discovered whether he had a good appetite; but you must remember that four evenings have been also spent together—and four evenings may do a great deal."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Yes, these four evenings have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce. I am not aware of what that says about either of their characters, but if it is enough for Jane to know Mr. Bingley's character, she is more knowledgeable than I. With respect to any other leading characteristic, I do not imagine that much has been unfolded."
"Well," said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance."
Elizabeth stared. Happiness in marriage merely a matter of chance? She sincerely hoped not. Having both her parents' example and her aunt and uncle's example before her, she herself was determined to choose a life-partner she could be happy with or not to get married at all.
"If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least," Charlotte continued. "They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life."
Elizabeth relaxed, realising her friend could not possibly mean what she had said. She chuckled at such a characterisation of one's relationship with one's husband. "You make me laugh, Charlotte, but it is not sound. You know it is not sound, and you would never act in this way yourself."
"Eliza, you are not yet at an age where one's ideals about marriage are stripped away by the desire for a home of one's own."
Elizabeth's brow furrowed. "I know you desire a home of your own, but consider: is a home of your own worth the loss of felicity that comes from a poor marriage?"
"One may choose to find contentment."
"Yes, but to settle for contentment when one can find true felicity—"
"Felicity is not everyone's lot in life. Better true contentment than constant unhappiness."
"Charlotte!" Maria Lucas called from the back entrance.
"I am afraid I shall have to go," Charlotte said ruefully.
Elizabeth smiled at her friend. "Do try not to overwork yourself this afternoon. You will not enjoy the party if you are already exhausted."
"I should hope that party preparations would not be enough to exhaust me," Charlotte said stoutly.
"Yes, I am aware of your considerable talents," Elizabeth replied as she walked away from her friend. "I look forward to seeing you tonight."