Fitzwilliam Darcy
Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Netherfield was beautiful as Bingley had described, and the pastoral scenes as well as the break from George Darcy's presence had Darcy finding himself more relaxed than he'd felt in months. Their party was small, just the Hursts, along with Miss Bingley, although Bingley had thought to offer for Colonel Fitzwilliam to join them if he was so inclined, which he was.
Fitzwilliam arrived with much fanfare, riding a dashingly handsome gray gelding instead of coming by carriage.
"Did you ride all the way from your station in Brighton?" Bingley asked as the other man dismounted with a flourish. The gelding pranced in place but steadied under Fitzwilliam's hand. Bingley and Darcy had come out to the stabling yard to see Fitzwilliam arrive. The Hursts and Miss BIngley had remained within.
"This is a fresh horse, but the short answer would be no. It was only in the last few miles, from Meryton, that I rode," Fitzwilliam said with a smile, giving his faithful gelding a gentle pat before letting one of the stable boys lead him away. "I find it always a good recommendation to ride in the fresh air for a time before one arrives. It gives good color to the cheeks, and lends oneself the mien of an outdoorsman."
"It also allows you to wave at all the prettiest of ladies without the encumbrance of a carriage that might not slow down at your instant command, unlike a horse," Darcy said in a dry tone, for he well knew his cousin's unwavering affection for the gentler and fairer sex.
"You wound me, Darcy," Fitzwilliam said, although his jovial chuckle put to rest any concern for actual upset. Together the three men walked into Netherfield's grand entrance hall. "Quite the pile of stones," Fitzwilliam said with admiration as he looked about him. Bingley smiled, pleased at the compliment.
"A nice change from London, without the sounds-"
"Or the scents," Darcy muttered darkly. Fitzwilliam let out a laugh as they entered into the drawing room. There Miss Bingley sat, lounged on a divan in a precisely studied pose that Darcy had observed her take when she might be chanced upon by an eligible gentleman. He had seen her pose in such a manner in London, to the best display her figure and form, and Bingley had once privately joked that she had learnt it while at the school for girls and other of society's young women. Apparently the school had placed a greater importance upon posing and preening, than the great arts of language and the study of poetry.
Mrs. Hurst sat by the fire, Mr. Hurst ranging to and fro in front of it as he discussed some matter of politics that fell on Mrs. Hurst's deaf ears.
Immediately, Miss Bingley got to her feet and gave an elegant curtsey, the skirts of her blood-red dress rustling in a pool around her. She did look quite the picture, if Darcy had to admit, the rich color of the silk she wore setting off her luminously pale skin, and the golden tones in her hair.
She would make someone, not him, a handsome wife, if the man could get around her petty scheming to enjoy her. For his part, Darcy found Miss Bingley was all too eager to cut her fellows in private conversation when she would emerge to appear their better, and he was not fond of such a cruelty.
In his estimation, a friend was a friend, and one did not cut the legs out from under them when they were out of hearing. Even those who had wronged him merely were to be excluded from his life, not gossiped about in the smoking rooms of the club. But then most women were like Miss Bingley, short-sighted and small-minded in their attacks on their fellow ladies, and on any man who dared ignore the flutter of their fans at a ball. He inclined himself to her before turning away from her with a sigh and his cousin sent him a meaningful look before bowing to the lady as well. Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst exchanged the same niceties with them and then Bingley threw himself down on one side of a chess set, indicating that Darcy should take the other seat.
"Come on, old man," Bingley teased with a good natured smile. Darcy felt an itch in his spine and wasn't particularly in the mood to be playing a game of chess just then, and it must have shown in his face. Fitzwilliam clapped him on the shoulder.
"Leave our Darce alone, I will take you on, Mr. Bingley, and trounce you solidly as we English trounce the French in battle." Fitzwilliam walked over and sat himself down across from Bingley, who grinned despite the change in opponent.
"I welcome any lessons in military strategy you might have to teach me, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Bingley said. They began playing and Darcy tuned them out, in favor for taking in the well appointed drawing room.
"It is lovely, is it not?" Miss Bingley had come to his side as he regarded a well hung piece of art. He glanced at her and she afford him a smile, dipping her chin in a maidenly show of modesty. He cleared his throat.
"Yes, I am rather fond of Wilson's work," he said, and she just nodded. He assumed she was unfamiliar with Wilson, but he was not so unkind as to point it out.
"So I heard that your Season was not so successful as mine?" she commented with a sly little smile. He raised an eyebrow at her, for as far as he had been aware, there had been no offers for her.
"Oh, and should I be offering congratulations to you then, Miss Bingley?" he asked. She laughed, a delicate little noise that hung in the air.
"Oh not quite yet, although I have it under good authority that there is a gentleman who finds me quite charming, to say the least." She smiled at him, her eyelashes fluttering, and he wondered for a moment why she was setting her cap for him when she already had a man waiting in the wings.
"Ah, then I will reserve my congratulations for when the banns are read, but I wish you luck in the interim," he said politely.
"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam called, a happy interruption. He looked up at his cousin, who was scowling at Bingley. "Come settle this play, for I insist it is against the rules."
"You only say that because I have you in check," Bingley retorted with good cheer.
"You best sort it before they are reduced to brawling," Miss Bingley commented with a smirk as she flipped open her fan. He sighed and settled his shoulders, before walking to where his friends sat.
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