When Darcy was fourteen and his sister two, their mother (Lady Anne, sister to the current earl) passed away. So deep was his sense of loss and the immeasurable grief he felt at losing his soulmate, their father had withdrawn largely from his son and daughter, and from society as well. Robert Darcy had followed his wife to heaven about five years previously leaving his son, at barely two and twenty, master of a massive estate as well as three satellite estates. Additionally, he, along with his cousin and best friend, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam,who served in the Royal Dragoons, had been appointed guardian over a then ten year old girl.
Darcy was tall, well over six feet in height, with dark wavy hair and piercing blue eyes. Being a fastidious man, he was always immaculately turned out wearing finely tailored clothing. His valet, Carstens, always made sure his master’s cravat was well knotted, not like the dandies who followed Beau Brummel’s every fashion choice, but an intricate knot none the less.
The other man, seated against the other side of the conveyance on the forward facing bench, was Charles Arthur Bingley, the son of a tradesman. He was trying to rise above his roots and join the ranks of the landed gentry, and Darcy was with him to advise him as he did in many areas of his friend’s life. This aim had led the two men to Netherfield Park this day, and then to the solicitor’s offices which they had very recently departed.
Bingley was the middle child of three who had been born to Arthur and Mavis Bingley of Scarborough—both taken by influenza some two years past. The late Mr Bingley had been a wealthy merchant who had been able to provide his daughters with dowries of twenty thousand pounds. Louisa, the eldest Bingley, had married Harold Hurst six months before the Bingley parents were called home. Hurst was from the minor gentry, not nearly high enough for the likes of the youngest Bingley, Caroline. The latter was extremely high in the instep.
Bingley had been left a fortune of close to one hundred thousand pounds and a charge in his father’s will to do that which Arthur Bingley had not lived to do—purchase an estate. The twenty plus miles from London to Meryton had been the first step Bingley was taking to fulfil his late father’s dream.
“You know Bingley, you could have thought about whether or not to sign the lease for more than a few minutes once we had seen the property,” Darcy admonished.
“It should be no surprise to you that when I decide to do things, I do them with speed. Did you not opine all was in order with the house and the estate and other than one or two inconsequential items, you found no problems?” Bingley verified.
“Yes, I did say that,” Darcy confirmed exasperatedly. “It would be better if you took some more time to consider things before making a decision, especially something as consequential as choosing an estate, even if only for a one year lease.”
“The estate met all my criteria. It is close to London, I could sign a lease for only a year, and the agent told me there was another party interested in the estate for longer than one year, so I had to sign now or lose the property,” Bingley explained.
“You are far too gullible at times,” Darcy averred. “Stating there are other interested parties is a common tactic to get someone to make a decision with alacrity.” Given his sister’s suffering, trying to explain the benefits of taking time with a big decision was further souring Darcy’s mood. He should not have left Gigi, even if it was with his aunt, Lady Elaine Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Matlock.
Bingley could see his friend’s mood darkening again, as it had since the summer past. At that time, Darcy had even rescinded invitations to join him at Pemberley in August—something he had never done before—and withdrawn from society even more than was his wont. He decided he needed to change the subject.
“You will join me when I take residence in a fortnight, will you not? You did agree to assist me in learning to manage an estate,” Bingley reminded his friend.
“As long as I am not needed for a family issue, I will keep my word,” Darcy promised, “however, if Miss Bingley does not regulate her behaviour towards me, or you are unable to checkher, I will take my leave.”
Miss Caroline Bingley who was three and twenty had set her cap at Fitzwilliam Darcy—or more accurately his fortune, estates, and house on Grosvenor Square from the time her brother spoke about his new friend—even before she had laid eyes on the man.
She was unfortunately rather crass, an inveterate fortune hunter, and social climber who had decided she would rise to the top of the first circles and gain membership to theTonby means fair or foul. From the time she had been introduced to Mr Darcy she would attach herself to his arm, ignoring the fact he never once offered it to her. She would not merely rest her hand on his forearm as was acceptable, but rather she wound her arm around his, and sank her talons in, so unless he was willing to physically separate himself from her—which he was—she would hold his arm possessively.
Once Bingley had come out of mourning, Darcy had invited him, and him alone to Pemberley, however, he had arrived with his sisters and brother-in-law. Bingley had had the decency to apologise saying he had given up in the face of his younger sister’s screeching when he had said the invitation did not include her. He had invited his older sister and her husband so Louisa could try to temper the youngest Bingley’s worst excesses of bad behaviour. Since seeing the estate, Caroline Bingley’s hunt only intensified. Darcy had come close to throwing her out of Pemberley due to the rude manner in which she treated his servants, and the way she acted as if she was the mistress.
So far, none of the times he had spoken to Bingley had resulted in a change of his younger sister’s behaviour. Due to the apparent lack of control Bingley exerted over his younger sister, no further invitations—other than the one Darcy had rescinded—had been forthcoming to Pemberley for the Bingleys. In London, after the only time Miss Bingley had been at Darcy House and her extreme fawning over his shy sisterhad made her decidedly uncomfortable, he only met Bingley at one of the clubs to which they both belonged.
“I have told her you are not interested and will not even give in to a compromise, but my sister hears and sees only what she chooses to,” Bingley stated plaintively.
“Then my friend, if she makes an attempt, she will ruin both herself and you,” Darcy responded with a shake of his head. “Unless you find a way to check her, you will end up paying for her behaviour almost as much as she would. I suggest you tighten the purse strings; it is the only thing which will garner her attention.”
“You may have the right of it,” Bingley agreed. “I will speak to the Hursts about this.”
“And Bingley, I suggest you do not make her the mistress of the estate,” Darcy recommended, “I can think of no one less suited for that role.”
Bingley was about to state it would cause a tantrum, but then he realised this may be a way to ensure his friend would not leave sooner than planned. “I will speak to Lulu…Mrs Hurst, and request that she keep house for me.”
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
“Netherfield Park is let at last,” Fanny Bennet crowed as she entered her husband’s study without him bidding her to do so. She was flapping her lace trimmed handkerchief as if she was in the Royal Navy and trying to signal another ship. “Oh Mr Bennet, what a fine thing for our girls.”
Bennet pinched the bridge of his nose at this unwelcome intrusion into his sanctuary. He needed to remember to lock the door. “Mrs Bennet, have you not heard of knocking?” Bennet demanded sharply. He ignored the affronted look on his wife’s face. He knew until his wife told him what she decided she needed to; he would not have a moment’s peace. Better to get it over with now. “What, pray tell, has a new tenant at Netherfield Park to do with our girls?”
“Hattie had it from Frank that a wealthy man from the north purchased a year’s lease,” Fanny gushed. “A wealthy man, Mr Bennet! He will do well for Jane; she could not be so beautiful for no reason.”
“He may be married,” Bennet riposted.
“Oh no Mr Bennet, Hattie assured me he is unmarried!” Fanny insisted.
“And we know your sister isnevermistaken with her information, is she?” Bennet stated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Unfortunately, in Bennet’s opinion, with her limited intelligence even after four and twenty years of marriage, Fanny Bennet did not understand her husband’s wit, and sarcasm went right over her head. Hence, he did not get the reaction he had hoped for.
“No Mr Bennet, my sister’s information is always accurate,” Fanny huffed and stamped her foot in a manner her youngest daughter was wont to do.
