It was indeed fortunate. Since Lord Westland’s death, she had managed her son’s estate with admirable judgement, and by marrying a neighbour, she would remain near to oversee its affairs until the young earl came of age. Yet Darcy doubted that convenience had governed her decision. Aware of her past, Darcy was certain she would not marry without affection.
That is why it has taken her more than a decade to marry once more,he mused. It had been four years since Elizabeth's own loss. Both ladies had their reasons for delaying matrimony once more.The comparison stirred him; some half-formed thought hovered at the edge of his recollection, only to vanish as Miss Bingley continued to speak. With a low breath of impatience, he abandoned the effort and resigned himself to the trivial conversation that filled the remainder of their drive to Netherfield.
Chapter Twenty-Six
12 November 1811
Netherfield Park
Elizabeth
Suzanne’sfirstfortnightatLongbourn had been filled with evening parties, card parties, and rambles in the countryside. Arthur kept himself busy with his studies; his tutor had supplied ample work to keep him occupied until his return to Eton.
A letter from Netherfield Park interrupted their quiet morning. Addressed to Jane and read aloud for all to hear, it proved to be from Miss Bingley.
Netherfield Park
12 November 1811
My dear Miss Bennet,
Be so good as to dine with me and Louisa to-day. Having kept each other’s company these past several days, we are desperate for another diversion. Lady Westland and Mrs Fiennesare of course included in the invitation. The more, the merrier, as they say, and with the gentlemen dining with the officers, there is plenty of room at the table. Send a note along with the footman, I beseech you, telling me of your acceptance.
Yours, etc.,
Caroline Bingley
Mary was not included in the invitation, a slight that drew Mrs Bennet’s indignation. “It is the height of rudeness—inviting two sisters while leaving the other out.” Her hands trembled faintly, a remnant of nerves from former days. She interlaced her fingers to still the shaking and drew a deep breath. The action steadied her.
“It is of no matter, Mama,” Mary did not look up from the volume in her hand—a weighty philosophical work recommended by her father. “I have no qualms about remaining at home. It looks like rain, and I would rather stay here than make the journey to Netherfield.” Her brow contracted as her eyes moved across the page.
“Shall we attend, ladies?” Suzanne surveyed the sky through the window, a mischievous twist playing about her lips. “The weather appears threatening, as Mary observes. Perhaps we ought to remain at Longbourn.” Her glance shifted towards Jane, speculative and amused. “The gentlemen are dining out as well. What a disappointment.”
“I wish to go,” Jane’s tone carried firm resolve. “Miss Bingley has been so good as to accept the hand of friendship offered. She is new to the area and lacks the advantage of long acquaintance that we possess.”
Elizabeth’s smile held a spark of playfulness. “And I dare say Mr Bingley’s connexion to your hostess has no bearing on your desire to dine at Netherfield.”
A gentle bloom brightened Jane’s cheeks. “He is very amiable, and I like him exceedingly. Why should I not cultivate a friendship with his sisters? He has not asked for a courtship, despite Mama's declarations, but should he do so, I wish to encourage his affection in every proper way.” Jane lifted her chin slightly. “Is it wrong to behave so?”
“Not in the least.” Suzanne’s manner was forthright. “We ladies have so little command over our own fates. If you like him, Miss Bennet, and believe him to be a worthy husband, then by all means, use your womanly influence to secure his attachment—without deceit, of course. It is not in your nature, that much is clear. But there is no harm in revealing what you feel. Leave Mr Bingley in no doubt of your sentiments. And if uncertainty remains, a long courtship and betrothal will afford ample time to know him better. One can only learn so much of another without living in the same house, after all.”
Elizabeth listened in part as the conversation went on, yet her thoughts wandered. The very talk of marriage filled her with a sense of dread.Dear Lord,she prayed silently,why can I not let this go?That word summoned too many associations—anxiety, pain, anger—wounds long suppressed. Refusing to let such recollections disturb her cheerfulness, she employed her old remedy: she gathered those thoughts as though binding them in a parcel and set them aside in the farthest recesses of her mind.Think of the past only as its remembrance brings you pleasure, Elizabeth.It had long been her maxim, practised until it became habit. Yet now, instead of soothing her, the familiar thought left an unsettled feeling within that she could neither define nor dismiss.
Jane glanced towards her sister. “Lizzy, are you quite well? You seem miles away. Will you come to Netherfield with us?”
Elizabeth started, her thoughts scattering. “Oh…yes. I beg your pardon, I was wool-gathering.”
A reply to the missive was promptlywritten and returned by the same footman who had delivered it. The ladies prepared for their outing, casting wary glances towards the window as the sky grew ever darker. When the carriage was announced, Lady Westland’s equipage stood ready. The trio entered hastily, the door closing just as the first drops of rain struck the panels.
“Well, it will be a wet ride for the footman and driver,” Lady Westland observed with regret. “I shall see they are given something warm to drink when we reach Netherfield Park.”
“Mrs Nicholls will see to it.” Elizabeth’s gaze lingered on the rain-spattered glass. “She is ever attentive to those matters.” The housekeeper was a treasure—thorough, loyal, and devoted to the family. She knew the estate belonged to young Miss Fiennes—unlike many of the servants—and that it was held in trust by her mother. Elizabeth took comfort in knowing that while Mrs Nicholls remained, neither house nor servants would want for care.
“’Tis a pity the gentlemen are dining with the officers,” Suzanne remarked, her glance turning speculative. “It would have been pleasant to speak with Darcy again.”
Elizabeth met her friend’s eyes, turning from the window and giving her own glance of arch amusement. “The gentlemen have called at Longbourn four times since your arrival. Should I write to your Mr Blythe and tell him you have discovered a gentleman whose company you much prefer?” To forestall offence, she tempered her words with a playful smile and a wink.
Suzanne laughed outright. “You may, if you wish. He will not believe you—his own attempts at courtship were difficult enough to render such tales impossible. I rather thought it wasyouwho might wish to see Darcy.”
