CHAPTER 2
"Isn't it wonderful?" Bingley asked as he stepped out of the carriage to face his new home. Darcy followed quietly behind.
Netherfield was . . . quaint, but not altogether unpleasing. It was nothing compared to Pemberley. But Darcy had never found a house to equal Pemberley.
"Well?" Bingley demanded.
"It's quite nice, Charles."
"'Quite nice?'"
"Yes."
"All right. It's as good a compliment from you as I'll ever get. I suppose I'll accept it. Come, let's go inside," Bingley said as bounded up the stairs with his quick step.
Darcy followed slowly behind. He was soon shown his room by a servant and taken there to refresh himself. There he was greeted by his Valet, Solomon Slade. Solomon had come earlier that morning in order to prepare Mr. Darcy's quarters.
"Good evening, sir," Solomon said, giving Darcy a low bow before returning to the trunk of clothes he was places in the clothes press.
"Slade," Darcy replied in greeting.
Solomon had been Darcy's valet for almost 10 years; before that he had served Darcy's father. He had silver hair and bright blue eyes. Eyes that spot a loose hem, crooked cravat, or loose sock from across the room. Darcy found him invaluable. If there was a man to be trusted with his life, he would entrust it to Solomon. Though Darcy would never say that out loud.
"Did you have a pleasant journey, sir?" Solomon asked.
"As pleasant as a journey from London to the country can be," Darcy replied. "Here, I'd like to change."
"Yes, sir," Solomon said abandoning his current task to assist his master, "speaking of dressing, I have selected some attire for tomorrow night's ball. If you'd like to look at it."
Darcy tilted his head back in annoyance at the reminder of the ball, and clenched his jaw. The expression was not lost on Solomon.
"Will Mr. Darcy be going to the ball?" he asked raising one silver eyebrow at his employer.
"Yes, unfortunately I must," Darcy grumbled.
"Ah, nothing so tedious as spending an evening with lively, kind people and good music. You are unfortunate, sir."
Darcy shot a deadly look at his valet, who seemed altogether too invested in trying Mr. Darcy's fresh cravat. Darcy did, however, detect a small wry smile on Solomon's face.
"Solomon," Darcy said.
"Yes, sir?"
Solomon looked up from his work. Darcy could forgive the occasional cheeky comment from Slade, but he waited until Solomon met his eye to make sure that his valet knew Darcy did not approve of such a comment.
"Forgive me, sir" Solomon said, still smiling, "I was out of place."
Darcy cleared his throat and let Solomon continue to tie his cravat.
"Your father was the same way, you know. Hated balls and the like. Always was so quiet when I helped him dress for such occasions. You are like him in so many ways."
Darcy felt both pride and sorrow at the mention of his father. To be like his father was perhaps his deepest desire. Solomon finished tying the cravat and took a step back.
"Thank you, Slade," Darcy said.
Solomon bowed and returned to unpacking Darcy's things.
Soon Darcy was summoned for dinner. Darcy stepped out of his room and headed downstairs to find Bingley again before dinner. But instead of being greeted by his friend in the foyer he was greeted by a differently Bingley.
Caroline Bingley.