“It was after he heard that Darcy was to stay in the neighbourhood for several months, assisting Mr. Bingley with management of the estate, that Wickham seemed to think his opportunities here were too limited. That he had a far greater chance of making his fortune elsewhere.” Mr. Denny was quiet for a moment. “Indeed, I heard him muttering that‘thirty thousand pounds, she for the plucking—and with Darcy gone…’”
Elizabeth’s heart stilled. Wasshethe young fair-haired girl on his arm?
“W-Wick… Wickham spoke of finding a rich heiress,” said Mr. Chamberlayne. “W-w… we laughed, for all of us wish for such good fortune.” A blush travelled up his neck, the tips of his ears pinking adorably—Elizabeth understood Lydia’s attraction. Poor boy, just that moment realising hisfaux pas,speaking of heiresses when accompanying a lady for whom he held a strong affection.
No! she could not solve all the problems of the world. Surely, the girl had a guardian, a companion who would protect her from predators such as Mr. Wickham. Particularly, if her fortune was thirty thousand pounds—no one would leave such a young woman vulnerable and without adequate protection.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I must turn and return home. Enjoy the remainder of your walk.”
Elizabeth hurried away. The chaos of Longbourn awaited her—particularly, Mrs. Bennet’s shrill voice as she attempted to force her daughters into some semblance of elegance, if not prettiness, for the evening’s entertainment.
* * *
Chapter 2
Netherfield
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley had retreated upstairs to ready themselves for the ball—an endeavour so elaborate it would occupy them all afternoon, with maids shuttling buckets of steaming water up from the kitchen for their baths. Bingley had vanished into his study, and Darcy sat alone in the day parlour, once again gripped by a familiar boredom. There was still time to slip away—perhaps not as far as London, but Watford might do. Yes, a timely escape, before anyone in the house could talk him out of it.
“Darcy, you old grouch!” The door burst open, and there stood his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
“Good God, Richard! What are you doing here? I thought you were still on the Peninsula,” Darcy exclaimed, rising sharply, caught off guard.
“War business, I’m afraid: wringing more men, supplies, and—most importantly—money from a particularly stingy Lord Liverpool. I’ve spent the last week haunting the halls of Whitehall. I swear, I could navigate the place with my eyes shut. Lord Wellington recommended we take some leave. Frankly, I’d rather face French cannon than the bureaucrats in Horse Guards.”
“But why here? Couldn’t you have spent your respite with the Earl and Countess?”
“They’ve retreated to Matlock,” the Colonel explained. “I thought I’d call on my favourite cousin—though I must say, it’s very quiet. Where is everyone?”
“You’ve arrived in time for the grand entertainment: Bingley’s hosting a ball this evening. His sisters are upstairs, busy with their preparations.” Darcy rang the bell for refreshments. “I didn’t hear a coach. Did you ride in from London this morning?”
“A bit later than I intended, but Garret—you remember my batman? We had an easy journey. Found some decent horseflesh in the earl’s stables; they needed a good run. Not quite Apollo’s calibre, but he’s still in Lisbon.” Richard grinned. “By the way, your last letter—which I managed to intercept in London before it could go on a grand tour of Europe—mentioned a lady. Has the famously unapproachable Darcy finally met his match?”
Darcy hesitated. With Richard, pretence was impossible—they understood each other almost as well as twin brothers. “It’s nothing. A fleeting infatuation, that’s all. There’s not much society here—certainly nothing refined. She just stood out against the rest. Attractive, clever, dances well…”
At that moment, Darcy’s valet, Evans, appeared in the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir. You asked to see me—shall I prepare your things for departure?”
Darcy shifted in his seat, caught out. Evans knew his moods better than Darcy himself. “Not just now, Evans. As you see, the Colonel has come. It’s best to stay. Would you lay out my clothes for the ball, please? The blue waistcoat—do you agree?”
Evans allowed a small smile, nodding to the Colonel before slipping out, well satisfied that the blue was perfect for the evening’s festivities.
“Oh, Darce! Running away?” Richard chuckled. “Of course, I’d forgotten Miss Bingley is here. Lucky for me I’m only asecond son with no inheritance—otherwise she’d have her sights set on me, not just the earl’s nephew.”
“You may laugh, but you’ve never had to deal with her, Richard,” Darcy replied. “She seldom lets up; follows me everywhere. Just last night, while I was writing to Georgiana, Miss Bingley kept praising my neat handwriting and the length of my letter. She wouldn’t stop—offered to mend my pen, started talking about her table-painting plans for Georgiana, as if my sister would care. She can’t take the hint, and Bingley’s no help—all he does is grin, just like you’re doing now. It’s maddening!”
The Colonel’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “But I suspect there’s more to it. You’re not just avoiding Miss Bingley—you’re running from thatinfatuationof yours. In your letter, you hinted that the lady’s family is, shall we say, less than proper? Tainted by trade, I believe you put it. Yet, she’s clearly made quite an impression. I’m eager to make the acquaintance of this paragon. She’ll be at the ball, I assume?”
“They’re the leading family here, for all their lack of propriety. They’ll certainly be present. Nevertheless, the two older daughters are elegant and graceful—there is nothing at all wanting in them. Bingley, I think, is quite enamoured with the eldest. The youngest is little more than a child—barely educated, shouldn’t be out. Their mother, a solicitor’s daughter from Meryton, seems to make it her mission to throw her daughters at any eligible man, never mind his fortune.”
Richard watched his cousin’s discomfort with delight; a rare experience. “Well, it’s much the same as in Town, only with fewer pretences, perhaps. At least here the matchmaking is straightforward. In London, mothers would just as soon arrange a compromise as have their daughters simply dance with you.” He glanced toward the mantel clock. “I’d better see to my regimentals—and you’d best smarten up, too. The blue will do nicely, especially if it happens to match a certain younglady’s dress. How does Evans always know these things? Shame he doesn’t speak French—he’d be invaluable for unearthing Napoleon’s secrets.”
* * *
As Elizabeth, wearing her blue silk gown—a gift from her Aunt Gardiner—entered the drawing-room at Netherfield, she saw there were only two other families yet present: the Gouldings and the Longs. William Goulding, a young man of about twenty years, approached.
“My apologies, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. “Would it be possible to have a word with you, perhaps later in the evening?”
She sighed. Already she was being sought after, and only two minutes in the house. There was little she could do but accept her situation. It was rare that the four and twenty families of the neighbourhood would be gathered in one place, and a ball was, in many respects, a place where a man and a woman, with propriety, could converse with some privacy—either during a set or by the refreshment table.
