It all started a few days after my encounter (such as it was) with Mr Darcy at Lucas Lodge. The superior sisters invited Jane for dinner. She had the poor sense to open the letter at breakfast, so our mother became privy to the gentlemen dining with the officers. She thought that very unlucky and latched onto the terrible idea of sending my sister on horseback.
On a good day, there is nothing wrong with riding for such an engagement. In London, ladies ride Rotten Row just to show off their horsemanship and fashions. Jane was a skilled rider and quite fetching in a habit, so there was no harm in Mr Bingley seeing both. Our mother considered the likelihood of rain an opportunity for Jane to stay overnight, while I thought it a good way to look mercenary and ridiculous. There was a reasonable chance the kind-hearted Mr Bingley would not notice the impropriety, but his sisters and Mr Darcy certainly would, since they sought fault with all the zeal of an explorer. I vehemently opposed the horseback plan but was overruled by our mother, as usual. My father thought the whole affair amusing and refused to contradict his wife, so off to Netherfield Jane reluctantly went.
The previous summer had proven definitively that Jane was strong when she needed to be, but she still did not like to argue with our parents, while I just considered it good sport. Jane picked her battles carefully while I accepted almost every one that came my way and even initiated more than a few.
Jane had gone too far to turn back when the rain began. In short, she caught a chill, then spent an uncomfortable dinner being interrogated about our family, and the rest of the night being quite ill.
We received a note the next day with Jane’s understated evaluation of her condition. That she claimed to only feel mildly unwell, but was obviously too ill to ask Mr Bingley to send her home in his carriage, told me all I needed to know. Jane was most likely worse than she let on but did not want to send Longbourn into panic. Her note said one thing to me and quite another to the rest of the family.
Unlike the day before when nothing but my mother’s ambition drove Jane’s choice of transportation, that morning found the horses were required on the farm. My mother failed to comprehend that the home farm was where much of our food, clothing,and moneycame from, but I certainly did not. I frequently wished my father was more diligent in denying his wife the horses.
While Jane and I had gradually decided Mr Darcy was unlikely to recognize her, it still did not seem wise to be in his presence overly much until Jane decided if she liked Mr Bingley or not. What would happen if someone asked about Jane’s summer within his hearing, or his sister came up innocently in conversation, as seemed likely? Jane is a terrible liar, and all we needed was for Mr Darcy’s keen nose to get the scent of Ramsgate. We still had no idea if he would reward her with ten thousand pounds or call the magistrate, and no desire to find out. At the very least, a brother worried about his sister’s reputation would demand to know who exactly was privy to the debacle, and that discussion sounded unpleasant at best. Everyone protects their own, Mr Darcy seemed no exception, and we certainly did not qualify as his own.
At that point, Mr Bingley seemed all a gentleman should be (except of course for his unfortunate relatives and friends), but Jane spent a third of her attention keeping a wary eye on his companion. It was a poor way to execute a nascent courtship, but it had only been a fortnight, so time was on her side if theman had any resilience at all. Jane thought she might esteem him but needed to get to know him better.
The only way to resolve the issue was to spend time togetherproperly. Unless she was half-dying, it would be better for Jane to return to Longbourn to recover in her own bed then continue the acquaintance in the usual way.
With the determination to visit Jane established over my mother’s vigorous objections, and no horses available, I was reduced to walking. Ordinarily, I would consider the three-mile trek to Netherfield as a good morning stroll but was less sanguine with appearing at their doorstep covered in mud. In the end, I had little choice, so walk to Netherfield I did.
My luck was worse than I hoped, as I encountered Mr Dour-Darcy in the front drive. We managed half a minute of awkward conversation that mostly involved his shock that I traversed three miles on foot, before he escorted me into the house. Another clumsy few words in the breakfast parlour informed me Jane was ill, had seen the apothecary, and was confined to bed.
I was vastly relieved to exit the room, leaving behind a large group with only a single welcoming member. I half-hoped Mr Bingley would show himself unworthy so I could shun them entirely, but that was obviously sour grapes.
The next four days passed with a great deal of confusion and perplexity. Half the time I thought I understood everything, and other times the world seemed upside down.
Mr Bingley turned out to be exactly what he appeared: happy, jovial, and genuinely concerned for Jane’s welfare. I was convinced I could come to esteem him. He was too bland in his happiness to suit me, but he was just the sort of man for Jane. He seemed much like her, consistent in his manners, concerned for his guests, but unlikely to have the backbone to censure his sisters.
The superior sisters turned out in practice to be precisely as my generally reliable first impressions suggested: conceited, full of themselves, and seemingly unaware I outranked them socially. Miss Bingley could not fathom that she was the lowest ranked person in any drawing room in Meryton, short of the servants.
She also held the unreasonable (and unattainable) ambition to become Mrs Darcy (or more likely, Mrs Pemberley). I could not fathom her motives. Certainly, the man was rich as Croesus and highly placed in London society, but she was already wealthy enough for ten lifetimes. Why not seek someone more amiable, or better yet someone who needed her money? Mr Darcy would hardly notice her dowry, and he served as her most significant connection, but I knew kind and amiable men who would do anything for it.
The Hursts were as uninteresting as they first appeared, and nothing during those four days changed my opinion. Mr Hurst liked his food, drink, sport, and cards. Nothing else stirred him from his repose. Mrs Hurst had no thoughts of her own, so she simply borrowed her younger sister’s. That lady had plenty to spare, but most were simply repetitions of earlier musings. By the end of the second day, I had heard all she had to say.
Where things became confusing was with Mr Darcy!
The man was infuriatingly opaque and utterly confusing. His words comprised a mismatched jumble of the haughty insolence Jane experienced outside Ramsgate, with the odd kind word or phrase that went entirely against the grain. His voice, I had to sheepishly admit, was still the most alluring I had ever heard. Half the time it made my knees weak, and the other half it made me want to cringe or smack him—all depending on what he said more than how he said it.
For example, the very first day I overheard a conversation in the parlour where the superior sisters carried on at great lengthabout how our relations in trade were somehow inferior to theirs. In their minds, they were practically royalty, rather than two parvenus who did not even comprehend the rudiments of being mistress of an estate.
Mr Bingley, bless his heart, defended us. "If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside, it would not make them one jot less agreeable."
That was the kind of statement I expected from a suitor, regardless of its being early days, and exactly what I wanted from the gentleman. He at least seemed aware that the relatives in Cheapside had probably been his own relatives not so long ago. I had no idea if Jane’s approbation had surpassed ‘she likes him well enough’ but at least he seemed promising.
Mr Darcy, on the other hand, at least temporarily confirmed every ill feeling I had harboured against him since the summer with a haughty rejoinder. "But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world."
I had to wonder what he meant by ‘any consideration in the world’ and gnawed at it furiously for some time. He must be one of the two-hundred or so richest men in England. What would he judge as a man of consideration? The top five hundred? Thousand? Ten?
It was maddening, but the worst part was I could not guess whether he considered Mr Bingley one. The man was not even a landed gentleman yet! Though he was quite wealthy, his actual social status was at best a quarter-step above my uncle in Cheapside the sisters loved to deride, although Uncle Gardiner was five-times worthier than anyone in their party. The fastest way for Mr Bingley to acquire the status of gentleman would be to marry the daughter of one and purchase an estate. To do that, he had to find a gentleman’s daughter who was not well-enough placed to expect more. Wouldhebe a man of any consideration, and if so, would Mr Darcy dissuade the man from Jane? I wouldnot put it past him, but unless I queried him on his definition of ‘consideration’ I had no hope of learning.
Mr Darcy might indeed try to sink Jane (presuming she wanted the man), so I determined to study the Derbyshire gentleman like a naturalist with a peculiar new species.I might never get a better chance, and Jane’s happiness might depend on it!
The rest of the visit was filled with contradictory words that could not form any coherent whole.
We had a surprisingly pleasant discussion of literature and estate management the next morning before the Bingleys joined us for breakfast (at about the time we had luncheon at Longbourn). He became one of the half-dozen men I knew who did not assume his trousers automatically entitled him to win every argument. Of all the bad things I could say about my father, at least he shared that trait with the Derbyshire gentleman. Mr Darcy even admitted I was right after a second debate, which put him in even rarer company, especially since he admitted my reasoning was superior to his, so he would adopt mine and abandon his.
That experience made me slightly pensive. Charlotte and Jane mentioned that he looked at me a great deal, even as far back as the gathering at Lucas Lodge. I could not read his expression, but I did notice that he continued to gaze at me often for reasons I could not fathom. Charlotte suspected it might be admiration, and the theory was at least plausible, though I doubted I would ever know. It could also just be that I argued with him while most ladies sought his approbation, so he might just enjoy the novelty. Of course, I also worried he had enough of Jane’s face in the back of his mind that he found me naggingly familiar. There was also the possibility that he simply found me either more novel or less annoying than Miss Bingley.I supposed time would tell.
I became nervous when Miss Darcy came up in conversation in the parlour one evening. Miss Bingley did the lion’s share of speaking, though Mr Darcy made no effort to dissuade or contradict her.
