Conundrums & Coincidences (Mr Darcy’s Dilemmas)

Chapter 3

3

MISS BENNET!

S o that they might arrive at Oakwood in a timely manner on Thursday the eleventh of June, Elizabeth and Mr Bennet had taken rooms the previous night at the Knight’s Rest in nearby Slough. The mattresses in their rooms had been terribly lumpy and stale-smelling, and they had slept poorly.

In the morning, Elizabeth watched with commiseration as her tired, slouched father was jostled about on the rear-facing seat. Their carriage was ample in size but not particularly well-sprung, and the roads it traversed were in an atrocious condition.

At Hunsford, Mr Darcy had arrogantly asserted fifty miles was an easy distance by carriage. Humph. Perhaps where fortune makes travel comfortable and the expense of it unimportant, distance may be no difficulty. But such is not the case here and now.

As loath as Elizabeth was to admit it, she conceded that Mr Darcy’s confident manner was part and parcel of his attractiveness, and she certainly had no objection to the fact that he was in possession of a good fortune. How entirely agreeable it would be to travel in comfort. She, too, had grown weary of being jounced about on the hard seat.

When the horses were slowed from a jog to a walk and the carriage was turned onto a tree-lined lane with a sign indicating Oakwood Manor, she felt nothing but relief. Nose almost pressed to the side-glass, she caught her first glimpse of the old house, which spread outwards and upwards in various directions and styles. Its stonework, exposed wood frame, large chimneys, and steeply pitched gable roofs topped by finials suggested parts of the manor had been there for two or three hundred years. Already elevated since leaving Longbourn, the flutter of Elizabeth’s spirits heightened. And of this place I might become mistress. She patted her drowsing father’s arm as they drew to a halt on the gravel sweep. “Papa, we have arrived.”

Sitting up, Mr Bennet grinned at her. “Well, Lizzy, if adventure will not befall a young lady in her own village, she must seek it in Buckinghamshire, eh?” When the carriage door was opened, he climbed out first to assist his daughter.

As she stepped down, Elizabeth huffed at the rumpled state of the delicate netted reticule she had been tightly clutching since leaving the inn. Gazing then at the manor’s facade, she whispered to her father that she was equal parts eager delight and anxiety. “I shall not know a single soul here.”

Mr Bennet linked his arm with hers, and they climbed the steps to the front door. “My poor Lizzy. What a sad state of affairs that strangers never can be introduced at a house party.”

Elizabeth remembered having spoken similarly sarcastic words to Mr Darcy at Rosings. Why, at every turn, must I be reminded of my interactions with that man? The gentleman was in her thoughts more often than not, and she felt saddened by the notion their paths might never again cross. If nothing else, she owed him an apology.

At the arched entryway—graced by pots of deliciously fragrant pink and cream-coloured sweet peas—they were met by a familiar countenance and received with professions of pleasure. Middle-aged, Mr Monroe had a kind face and shortish dark hair greying at the temples. Although not considered a gentleman, the attorney’s manner was courteous and gallant.

Elizabeth assumed he would show no particular favouritism in regard to the competition, but she feared he, in consideration of her gender and age, might become protective of her during the se’nnight. I require neither coddling nor cosseting, thank you.

Beckoning them inside, Mr Monroe welcomed the Bennets to Oakwood Manor and presented them to Mrs Vincent and Mr Atwater, the housekeeper and butler. Those introductions were followed by inconsequential conversation until a pendulum clock chimed ten times, and Mrs Vincent hinted the guests might care to see Miss Bennet’s room.

Escorting them upstairs, the housekeeper showed Mr Bennet where he might refresh himself. “And,” she said, “Mr Monroe will be waiting for you downstairs, sir, whenever you and your daughter are ready. Now, Miss Bennet, please follow me to your bedchamber.”

Inside the room a maid curtseyed, then resumed unpacking Elizabeth’s small trunk.

“Rachel,” scolded Mrs Vincent, “why are the curtains still drawn?” The housekeeper went about opening them and letting in sunlight while speaking to Elizabeth. “Rachel will be at your beck and call during your stay, and another girl, Henrietta, will be Miss Kensett’s maid.”

Pleased to know she would not be the sole female in the competition, Elizabeth nevertheless took particular note of the solitary bed, the largest piece of furniture in the room. Although she and Jane shared a bedchamber at Longbourn, she dreaded doing so with a stranger. “Am I, then, to be accommodated with another lady?”

“Oh no, Miss Bennet,” said the housekeeper. “According to Mr Monroe, Miss Kensett insisted on having her privacy.”

Left alone then, Elizabeth took off her gloves, bonnet, spencer, and half-boots and changed into slippers. She wandered about the richly decorated bedchamber, touching furnishings and fabrics. It was not to her taste but spacious and spotless. Three tall, narrow casement windows with diamond-shaped panes looked down upon verdant lawns, lush gardens, and a wooded hill beyond.

When she flung herself upon it, the feather mattress passed her test for freshness and comfort, and she anticipated a better night’s rest than was had at the inn. At a sound from the door, followed by her father’s voice, Elizabeth sprang to her feet, smoothing her hair and gown.

“Well, well, Lizzy, what do you think of Oakwood Manor? I conducted a bit of an exploration and found eclectic furniture and all manner of whim-wham. Floral-design papers cover every second wall, and there are varying room heights, angled passages, nooks, crannies, and alcoves galore. From what I have seen, there is not much symmetry to be had. Still, it is quite the place you have here. Would it be too much to ask that you not wait until I am put to bed with a shovel to install your mother and silliest sisters here? I could use some peace and quiet at Longbourn before my eternal rest. ”

Accustomed to her father’s ill-natured aspersions about his womenfolk, Elizabeth bit her tongue and remained silent as they made their way downstairs. Full well she knew that certain members of her family left much to be desired, but she loved them all. And, because of that love, she suffered a measure of guilt. Her mother and younger sisters had not been told the true reason for her and her father going to Buckinghamshire. They had been informed only that Elizabeth and four more friends of the late Miss Phoebe Armstrong had been invited to meet, stay awhile at her house, and enjoy her gardens. Only Jane knew the truth.

Little interest, however, had been shown in the whole affair once they had examined Elizabeth’s bequest. Considering her daughter had saved the woman’s life, Mrs Bennet had declared the gift piddling. Lydia, of course, was in Brighton by then; but Kitty had laughed over Elizabeth owning a cane, and she thought the golden buckles downright garish. Mary, however, had said that one’s faith was more important than false ideas about the necessity of riches.

The thought of potentially being able to financially assist her family sent Elizabeth’s spirits soaring again as she and her father spotted Mr Monroe awaiting them in the vestibule.

There, with utmost civility, the attorney hinted it was time for Mr Bennet to be on his way. Beneficiaries were not permitted to entertain guests. “I am sure you understand, sir. And, as promised in London, I give you every assurance your daughter will be quite safe here at Oakwood. Miss Rigby, the chaperon, will ensure everyone behaves with propriety, and I shall make certain the proceedings are conducted fairly.”

Mr Monroe then turned to Elizabeth. “Take a moment to bid your father farewell before joining us in the grand parlour.” He indicated the massive room immediately to their left, excused himself, went through, and spoke to someone within.

“Well, my dear, I have been summarily dismissed.” Mr Bennet kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “Enjoy your adventure, and do your utmost to succeed. You have something more of quickness than your sisters, so I trust you to be a good girl and secure this house for them.” With a promise to return for her in a se’nnight, if not sooner, her father walked out into the spring sunshine.

Thank you, Papa, for placing that burden—which should have been yours—upon my shoulders. Now here I am, on my own and soon to be amongst strangers, four of whom will be my rivals.

No one observing her would have supposed Elizabeth had any wretchedness about her as she entered the grand parlour. The tumult of her feelings was carefully hidden behind fine eyes and a lovely smile. Within, she spotted Mr Monroe, Mrs Vincent, Rachel, another young maid, a lady of around forty years, a gentleman, and a strapping, liveried footman.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Bennet.” Mr Monroe shot to his feet.

The other man—reluctant, it seemed, to set aside a plate heaped with an assortment of cakes—stood more slowly. Elizabeth then was presented to Miss Rigby, the genteel chaperon whom she immediately liked.

Next was the gentleman, Mr Peter Fordham, another beneficiary. He resided with his wife just over two miles distant in Slough. Bowing, he said only, “Miss Bennet, how do you do.”

Elizabeth curtseyed. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Now, my dear,” said their host, “sit and have some tea and cake with us.” Consulting his watch, Mr Monroe said, “ The other three participants should arrive directly. I shall wait for them before explaining what will be happening over the course of the se’nnight and what rules will apply.”

With her insides in tremulous excitement, Elizabeth chose a chair situated diagonally opposite Mr Fordham, all the better to observe the competition. While her tea was served, the four of them chatted about the bucolic countryside and the deplorable roads. Mr Fordham, though, engaged not so much in the art of conversation but in the fine art of cramming food into his mouth. Elizabeth noticed his beverage of choice sloshed in a wine glass rather than in a teacup, and she hardly could credit it when he rose and piled his plate with more sponge cake. She suspected he was an indolent man with a decided taste for sedentary pursuits, living only to eat and drink. Probably fifteen years her senior and not a handsome man, Mr Fordham was on the short side of tall and about a stone overweight. He certainly is nothing to the fit— Oh, do stay out of my thoughts, Mr Darcy.

After a few minutes, over the rim of her cup, she caught Mr Fordham, in an unguarded moment, sitting back and contemplating her with a shrewd, calculating look, measuring her up and, she presumed, forming an assessment of her acuity. Elizabeth lowered the teacup and smiled at him. He simply turned away. I shall be cautious round that one.

His appearance and manner might once have established Mr Fordham in her mind as being unworthy of the slightest admiration. However, recently taught a valuable lesson, Elizabeth no longer prided herself on her discernment. First impressions often proved wrong. After all, she once had thought Mr Darcy devoid of every proper feeling and that Mr Wickham—the wolf in sheep’s clothing—possessed every virtue.

A commotion in the vestibule roused her from those thoughts and heralded the arrival of another beneficiary. Mr Monroe excused himself to greet them while those remaining in the room waited in silent anticipation.

Upon the attorney’s return to the parlour, he brought in with him a gentleman who stopped short and immediately cried out in surprised delight, “Miss Bennet!”