CHAPTER TWENTY
Itravelled south, just behind a handful of express riders sent scattershot before me. For once, the road was not monotonous, and this, I attributed to the nature of my errand. I had a purpose, an unhappy one, and perhaps that had sharpened my wits more than pleasure ever could.
I arrived in Bath two days later in a state of grim readiness to relieve the Bennets of the particularly thorny problem of a wayward young daughter. At The Harington near the Roman baths, I met my secretary who had hired a private parlour in which I would conduct my business. The express, with the writ of guardianship executed by Mr Bennet the day after I left Pemberley, arrived while I ate dinner, and later I read a three-page account of Lydia Bennet’s suitor compiled by my secretary and a private solicitor.
In the morning, I went to Mrs Trencher’s academy, and the woman received me in her salon. She reminded me in the most visceral sense of Mrs Younge, my sister’s treasonous first companion and Wickham’s secret ally. I wondered how I had been such a gull, for rapacity has a tawdry, predatory smell I should have been capable of detecting.
Mrs Trencher greeted me with great solicitation, thinking I had come to find a wife, but when I sternly announced I was guardian for Miss Lydia Bennet come to look into the matter of a proposed settlement without benefit of the family ever having even heard of the man, her smile faded into a look of consternation.
“Oh!” she said, slightly startled, but then she collected herself. “Mr Fields is an excellent gentleman, sir. Miss Bennet’s family should be pleased he has made an offer.”
“Should they?”
“Of a surety. He is very respectable.”
“I would like to speak to Miss Lydia privately.”
“I should be present with her, sir, to guide?—”
“No.”
Mrs Trencher left the room in high dudgeon and returned a few moments later with Lydia Bennet. We were shown into the dining room, and when the maid shut the door behind us, I turned to see Miss Lydia’s facecontorted into a mulish pout. Mrs Trencher had apparently prepared her pupil to defy me and to demand to marry Mr Fields.
“I am Darcy. Your father has given me leave to negotiate with your suitor on the matter of marriage.”
“He cannot have done so. My family does not even know you.”
“Your father is spending the winter at my home in Derbyshire with my sister for company. I have spent a great deal of time at Longbourn and met Mr and Mrs Gardiner in London.” I motioned to a chair. “Will you not sit? We have important matters to discuss.”
She took a seat and stated her case all at once. “Iwillmarry Mr Fields, no matter what anyone says.”
I looked impassively across the table at her. Lydia Bennet was pretty, plump, and possessed of that robust quality most men would call lusty. If she were the spitting image of her mother, I saw very well how young Mr Bennet might have succumbed to such an enticement as a comely country lass swathed in lace who could bat her eyelashes in a kind of erotic invitation to sin.
“You may wish to hear what I have to say before you choose whether to marry the man or not,” I said, pulling a paper out of my pocket. This strategy momentarily surprised her and so I continued to speak.
“I have had the gentleman looked into, and here iswhat I know of him. Mr Frederick Fields has a house in Leicestershire, in the Harborough District on the border of Northamptonshire. He has his money from coal, and possesses an independent income of one thousand pounds a year.”
“He has told me so already, Mr Darcy.”
I continued as though she had not interrupted me. “The gentleman has a moderately sized house suitable for a man of his means with a total of seven servants, including a cook and housekeeper.” I looked up at the stubborn countenance across the table. “He lives with his mother.”
“Oh, well, many unmarried men do,” she said with a loud sniff.
“True. You might consider how well you would like to share a household with Mrs Fields. Perhaps she is a malleable sort who might defer to you in all cases. There is an equal chance that she would expect to rule you.”
Lydia Bennet blinked twice at such plain speaking.
“In any case, you may be tempted to raise this delicate subject with the gentleman. But be aware, most men have no idea how completely they are dominated by their mothers. Should he assure you that she is the soul of maternal goodness, you may wish to ask a few pointed questions.”
“Such as what?”
“You have only to apply your imagination, for the issue of a mother-in-law is secondary to the business at hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr Fields has a reputation for bawdy,” I said, flipping to the second page of my notes.
“He has a mistress?” She gasped, turning a bright shade of red.
