Darcy soon found himself in easy conversation with the young man. Elizabeth interjected here and there, but otherwise allowed the gentlemen to speak. Mr. Bennet peppered Darcy with questions about the management of estates, investments, and the future of the landed class.
“Change is coming, I assure you,” Mr. Bennet insisted. “More and more common men are making their fortunes through nothing but their own ingenuity. Others will follow, and soon there will be no tenants left to farm our land. I need to diversify my holdings.”
“Complete collapse of our way of life is hardly imminent,” Darcy countered. “This is how estates have been managed for hundreds of years.”
“And yet machines are replacing workers in mills and factories. Tenants are leaving the farms to work in the city because the wages are better.” Mr. Bennet nodded firmly and added, “Buying an estate is all well and good, but having another source of income ensures that should the worst occur, one’s livelihood will not fail.”
“Who taught the pair of you to debate?” Darcy asked at last, throwing up his hands in defeat.
“Our father,” Mr. Bennet replied, amused. “He will be the first to tell you that simply presenting your point is not enough. You must be passionate if you hope to win the day.”
“And you have enough of that for three men. I know when I am defeated.” Darcy smiled, his tone wry. “I confess, I have already sought to diversify my holdings. Pemberley is but one of my estates. Whilst it remains a tenant-managed property, I have raised sheep and livestock on the others. The wool fetches a fair price, especially now that textile mills are springing up everywhere.”
“Lizzy could tell you all about textiles,” Mr. Bennet said. “She must have read a book once. Do you recall the stories you used to tell, Elizabeth?” He turned to his sister, who flushed and looked down, clearly uncomfortable.
“I am afraid I do not remember,” she murmured. “Please excuse me.” She stood and moved away, takinga plate from the sideboard and adding a few tarts and biscuits to it.
“She always shies away from her past,” Mr. Bennet muttered. “Now Darcy–may I address you as such? Excellent. Let us discuss drainage. Do you have issues in the spring?”
Later, Darcy pondered Elizabeth’s response to her brother’s remark. Surely, she was not ashamed of her knowledge? Had she not debated him with spirit, then proudly declared herself a bluestocking? Yet something in Bennet’s words had unsettled her. After excusing herself, Elizabeth had left the room with her plate of refreshments and had not approached him for the remainder of the evening.
Bingley spoke only of Miss Bennet on the ride back to Netherfield Park, much to Darcy’s relief. His friend’s strange reaction to Miss Elizabeth had not been present that night. Still, in an unguarded moment, a shadowed look fell upon Bingley’s face, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Darcy knew instinctively where his thoughts lay.
Chapter Ten
Friday, November 1, 1811
Longbourn
Bingley
CharlesBingleyhadbeencalled many things, but insane had never been amongst them. Yet, as he watched Elizabeth Bennet flitting about the room, he could not help but feel a little mad. It was as if ghosts long dead moved around Longbourn’s drawing room, conjuring shadows of the past, and each turn of the lady’s head, each smile, caused another pang.
“Mr. Bingley?” Jane Bennet’s soft words reclaimed his attention.
“Pray, forgive my woolgathering,” he said, forcing a smile. “I find my thoughts wandering this evening. It is abominably rude of me to allow it, especially when the present company is infinitely preferable to my maudlin reflections.”
“I am sorry for the nature of your musings.” Miss Bennet blushed. “I do hope that I can cheer you. It has never been my preference to dwell on things that make me sad. Elizabeth is very much the same. ‘I am not built for unhappiness,’ she reminds me often.”
Bingley stiffened. How often had he heard Mrs. Montrose utter those very words?Another coincidence,he told himself. Turning to face Miss Bennet fully so that her younger sister no longer appeared in his line of sight, he said, “I understand from Miss Lucas that you were very young when your family came to Longbourn.”
Miss Bennet smiled. “Yes, we lived in Derbyshire until my tenth year. It was a surprise when Papa inherited, for we never expected it. He had an elder brother, but my Uncle Martin and my grandfather both perished in a carriage accident.”
“You look very like your mother,” he continued, “as does Miss Mary. Pray, whom do your brother and Miss Elizabeth favor?”
“Thomas is said to resemble Uncle Martin,” Miss Bennet replied. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Papa says Elizabeth bears a likeness to Mama’s mother. I never met her—she died before I was born.”
Something about Miss Bennet’s tone of voice told Bingley that she was not being entirely honest. She drew a deep breath before continuing.
“In truth, sir, Elizabeth is not my sister. She has been with us since before we came to Hertfordshire. Her parents died in a carriage accident, and we are her nearest kin.” Jane looked away. “It is not known here, and my parents treat her as their own child.”
He let out a breath he did not know he held.Elizabeth is their relation,he said.She is not a Montrose. Of course, she is not. That would be utterly fantastical.
“Thank you for confiding in me,” he said aloud. “I promise I shall not betray your confidence.” He caught a glimpse of Miss Elizabeth out of the corner of his eye and stiffened involuntarily. Though Miss Bennet’s words ought to have put his anxieties to rest, something within him still cried out against the notion that the second Miss Bennet could be anyone other than Elizabeth Montrose.
Later, as the carriage returned to Netherfield Park, Darcy cleared his throat. “When did you say your sister and Hurst were to arrive?” he asked.
“Monday.” Bingley kept his gaze fixed on the darkness outside the window as he attempted to convince himself that every suspicion he harbored about Elizabeth Bennet was unfounded. It proved rather difficult.
