CHAPTER THREE
Two gentlemen sat across from each other in what would have been at that precise moment, and by no small measure, the most expensive coach in Hertfordshire. Both men were as rich as they were handsome and unattached. The first, his back pressed to the rear of the well-apportioned box, was lean and of greater-than-average height. His dark eyes, straight nose, and square jawline were softened by lips that curved delicately at the corners when he smiled. A tuft of hair the colour of chestnuts wafted across a broad and masculine forehead. This man carried himself with an air of confidence which was nearly as intimidating as it was attractive. The second man was an affable and lively man and also tall—though not as noticeably so as his friend. This one’s untamed and sandy-coloured curls matched with a winning smile to naturally draw the eye and may have had the unavoidable effect of masking a deceptively sturdy build. In the current moment, the second man found his naturally amiable disposition tested by his prudent friend’s calculated line of questioning.
“Darcy, for the life of me I cannot understand your constant aversion to all things quaint and charming.”
“And I cannot understand your insistence on taking a country home that will not suit you as a settled, permanent estate, particularly in a county such as Hertfordshire.”
Bingley sighed heavily and glanced out the carriage window. “The choice of an estate is an axial task for the future of my family, and great care must be exercised in its selection. I would be immensely regretful in my later life, had I made the selection of a heritable estate based upon youth and imprudence.”
“You may be young , Bingley, but you are certainly not imprudent ,” Darcy answered him.
“I am well aware that the two may, in fact, be intimately connected.”
“Be that as it may, I still say I am not persuaded by your selection of this particular location. Certainly, the society cannot be much… refined .”
“I have heard, my dear man, that this county is home to some of the most splendid beauties in the whole of England—”
“And so that is your design in settling here—to find yourself a bride among the unconnected and bucolic ladies of the countryside?”
“ Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so? However, I’ve always felt kindness and charm as particularly attractive qualities, and country girls are quite celebrated for both. Design! My aim at present, is to find a place where I may settle comfortably for a time , and the distance from here to town is not nearly as great an imposition as it is to Derbyshire. You must remember, Darcy, my father may have left me a fortune, but he did not leave me Pemberley . Thus, I feel it is my familial duty to make a sober and fully informed selection when I decide upon a permanent estate.”
Darcy only shifted in his seat and turned his gaze out the window.
“In addition, Netherfield has been vacant for some time, and if it lives up to its billing I may endeavour, with your aid of course, to achieve quite a bargain on its price.”
“A cheap house and pretty girls,” Darcy summed up his friend’s motivations such.
“An appealing price for a country home where I may,” Bingley shifted in his own seat, a strained smile quickly fading from his lips, “ take refuge from the… demands of my business. And while the girls are not my specific cause for taking the place, there is the possibility that I may very well fall in love with one of them.”
“I might dare to predict it so much as a likelihood.”
“And you would censure me for falling in love?”
“Of course not. However, I would hold you to account if you were less scrupulous in the choice of a bride than you were in the selection of a family estate.”
The two friends locked eyes momentarily before turning their respective gazes out their respective windows as the carriage rumbled forward over bumpy country roads.
“Well, I thank you, yet again, for coming from town to see the place with me.”
“You need not thank me. It is my pleasure to accompany you.”
The carriage pulled round a bend and from Bingley’s seat the house came into view. “Oh, there it is—and what a fine prospect!”
Darcy turned and looked out the glass on Bingley’s side. He had not expected to be affected in such a positive manner by the home’s appearance, but he was genuinely pleased by it on first sight. “Very fine, indeed.” Bingley looked quickly to Darcy’s face to measure his friend’s sincerity. He was rather pleased that Darcy seemed to genuinely admire the place, and for this reason his unparalleled smile appeared.
The gentlemen toured the grounds first on horseback and were quite impressed by the size of the garden, relative to the size of the home, and Bingley, in particular, by the row of tall hedges that ran from behind the stable nearly to the edge of the wooded acreage which bordered the property. It was his habit to come and go as he pleased, and preferably without being noticed. The layout of Netherfield and its property would allow him a measure of privacy that was simply impossible to attain in London. There were several outbuildings that, though they may have fallen into a degree of disrepair due to the property’s vacancy, were nearly out of sight and would not cost but a few dozen pounds to return to working order.
Equally impressive was the interior of the home. The well adorned parlour, sizable music room, and prodigious ballroom—again, relative to the size of the house itself, not say, in comparison to the ballroom at Pemberley—all particularly delighted Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy, however, seemed more concerned with noting imperfections in the home, as he perceived them, mostly with the intention of leveraging for a better price at the leasing table. The bedrooms were more commodious than Bingley had anticipated, and the master chamber was particularly impressive to his mind. The large corner windows granted a clear prospect both of the lane, and of the gardens. Through an alcove in the closet, a most convenient staircase had been constructed, leading directly to a door which opened to a portico near the garden. In but a few steps one might be, say, from the portico door to the gravel behind the hedge, and completely unnoticed from any vantage within the home.
“It is perfect!” Bingley declared. “Darcy, what say you?”
Darcy felt along the outer doorframe with two fingers. “It seems that there may have been some damage caused by water. It will take some repair.”
“Darcy, give me your opinion,” Bingley said.
“Depending on the scope of rot, perhaps ten pounds to repair properly.”
“The house , Darcy, not the door frame!”
“Oh, well, yes,” Darcy stammered. “It is a fine house, but there is work to be done, which, no doubt, will cost upwards of—”
“Shall I take it?”
“Are you asking my approval?”
“Not your approval, per se , but your opinion—as a friend ,” Bingley answered him.
“I would personally not take a house in this county at all, particularly not one that has been vacant for all this time.”
“But I like it,” Bingley said. “It suits my needs perfectly.”
“Then why ask my opinion?” Darcy asked, eyes still attentively searching wood and stone for signs of age or disrepair. Bingley’s shoulders heaved and he looked toward the earth beneath his feet. “I would not lease it at asking price, that is a certainty,” Darcy continued.
“And I would not let it slip away over a hundred pounds of repairs.”
“Fine, then,” Darcy replied. “Let us be off to Meryton and make the arrangements.”
“Splendid,” Bingley answered, a rapturous smile pasted across his face.
The two set off in near silence. When they arrived in the village of Meryton, Bingley had full intentions of taking the house outright. He was, however, met with some resistance in the solicitor’s office, and that resistance was all on the part of his friend Mr. Darcy. However, by the time all the business was concluded, Bingley had an agreement in hand and, thanks to some shrewd negotiation on the part of his friend, had paid twenty percent below the asking price.