Chapter 1 In Which Lizzie and Darcy Arrive at Netherfield Park at Last #2
“Absolutely not! I forbid it!”
Mr. Bennet didn’t often go to the trouble of forbidding things, so Lizzie was genuinely shocked when he showed no sign of
relenting. He did write to Graves, of course, and the shadowy man came to Gracechurch Street and left with Lady Catherine’s
note and a promise that he himself would stand in the church all afternoon if he had to. But Lizzie knew it wouldn’t work.
And she’d had the bitter satisfaction of being proven right days later when Graves returned to tell them he’d waited six hours,
but she’d never shown. After that, Lady Catherine had gone strangely silent. Mr. Bennet had been satisfied that they’d finished
with the whole dreadful business, and Darcy had been somewhat sheepishly relieved . . . but Lizzie had only grown more and
more frustrated.
None of them imagined what would come in the next letter.
And that was why Lizzie, her mother, Charlotte, and Darcy now stood before Netherfield Park, a carriage with Mr. Bennet and
the rest of her sisters not far behind.
“Don’t be fooled,” Darcy said now in response to Bingley’s remark about Lizzie’s unwillingness to leave London. “We practically
had to force her into the carriage.”
Lizzie shot him a sour look. “You’re one to talk about forcing me into the carriage.”
She pretended not to notice her sister or Charlotte wincing at her tone.
Mrs. Bennet was, as usual, oblivious to the mood. “Oh Lizzie, don’t be cross with Mr. Darcy for insisting that we all get out of London! I’ve been trying to convince Mr. Bennet that we ought to take this trip weeks sooner.”
“Be happy you had what little honeymoon you got,” Lizzie said in an undertone to Jane.
Jane looked desperate for a change of subject. “Speaking of Papa, where is the other carriage?”
“Oh, they weren’t a quarter mile behind us last time we stopped,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Mr. Darcy’s horses are far superior to
those that Mr. Bennet rented for the journey.”
Lizzie scowled at her mother’s indelicate praise. Ever since Jane’s engagement had been announced, her mother had not been
subtle about her compliments to Darcy, and at least half the comments touched upon his wealth, as if insinuating to Lizzie
that she must not let such a suitor slip from her grasp. It was a wonder Mrs. Bennet hadn’t proposed marriage to him herself.
“Come, we’ll call for tea so that it’s ready by the time they catch up,” Jane said, gesturing toward the entrance to the house.
It was about then that Lizzie remembered she’d dropped Guy’s leash upon arrival, and now she turned about, looking for the
dog. “Guy!” she called. “Guy, here!” Not five minutes at Netherfield, and she’d lost him already!
Darcy nudged her arm. “He’s not gone far, see?
” He pointed to the pristine lawn beyond the drive.
The small dog was lounging on his back in the grass, tongue lolling.
The sight brought a smile to Lizzie’s face.
Aside from a few public parks, there wasn’t much grass in Cheapside—that is, not any that Lizzie would want him rolling in—and the Bennets didn’t have a large garden back home.
The little dog rolled back onto his belly as Lizzie continued to call his name, and then reluctantly got to his feet and trotted over to Lizzie.
“Good boy,” Lizzie told him, then added more quietly, “Now don’t go running off.
We might not ever find you again in this large a park. ”
Lizzie and Guy trailed after Charlotte and Darcy toward the entrance of the house, but not before passing by the line of servants
standing off to the side. In all her excitement to finally be free of the carriage and hug her sister once more, she hadn’t
paid much mind to the receiving line. They hadn’t moved from their severe formation, except for the footmen who were now scurrying
to the luggage with a sharp nod from the butler. Lizzie tried not to look shocked at the sheer number of them—more than twenty
people, all for this old house and their small house party! Lizzie smiled, trying to catch anyone’s eye, but everyone from
the lowliest of maids to the housekeeper kept their eyes downcast. Lizzie recognized a number of faces—Grigson, the Bingleys’
butler from London; Mrs. Reed, the housekeeper; and Jane’s lady’s maid; and more than a few of the maids and footmen. Lizzie
felt her smile falter as she moved past them—the stiff formality of the finer houses in London was not what she was accustomed
to. At home, they had a maid and a cook who’d chat idly with Lizzie and occasionally shoo her along if they were busy.
But Jane was a Bingley now, with all the accoutrements of wealth to show for it.
“You brought many of your London staff with you,” Lizzie remarked to Jane.
“We had to send for Mrs. Reed and a few others not long after we arrived,” Jane said. “Charles’s great-aunt had only one servant
at the end, can you believe it?”
Lizzie could not—especially when she stepped inside the house. The entrance hall of Netherfield Park was even grander than
the facade, if possible. It was all gleaming dark wood and polished marble, and Guy’s toenails clicked daintily as he followed
her into the house. There was a gently sloping grand staircase leading up from the ground floor to the first floor, wide enough
that one could steer that hypothetical phaeton right into the house and up the stairs—that is, if horses could pull carriages
up staircases.
Mrs. Bennet gasped, and the sound echoed. “Mr. Bingley, what a fine house! And to think this was in your family all this time
and you never knew!” She shot Jane a conspiratorial wink, which Jane pretended not to see. “How fortuitous for you!”
“Mama, I hardly think you can call the death of Bingley’s great-aunt fortuitous,” Lizzie hissed.
“Oh, he knows what I mean,” Mrs. Bennet said with a wave of her hand.
One thing Lizzie appreciated about her new brother-in-law was his ability to blithely ignore Mrs. Bennet’s more impolite remarks.
“I’ve always known of the estate, but had no reason to believe it would ever pass into my possession.
The entail was broken ages ago, and it was never a guarantee that Great-Aunt Honoria would leave it to me, although my father certainly hoped she would.
He named Netherfield Shipping after the place. ”
“A bid for her good favor?” Darcy asked.
“Likely, although it didn’t do him much good. We never had an invitation. I grew up hearing stories about how she’d married
my great-uncle for his wealth, taken over the family home, and left us all out in the cold.”
Bingley certainly didn’t need the inheritance now. Although his family was of good standing, they’d fallen on hard times two
generations previously. It wasn’t until Bingley and his late father had built up Netherfield Shipping that they’d been able
to restore their family to the upper echelons of society. Bingley had good manners, a good business (even better ever since
Lizzie and Darcy had solved the small piracy problem that had been plaguing him more than a year earlier), and very favorable
connections. He hadn’t needed a family estate in the country, but two weeks before Jane and Bingley’s wedding, he’d received
word that Mrs. Honoria Bingley, the wife of his grandfather’s brother, had passed away and bequeathed the entirety of her
estate to the only living male Bingley heir.
Darcy had handled the legalities with Mrs. Bingley’s solicitor, naturally, so Lizzie knew a bit more about the matter than she likely would have otherwise—there hadn’t been very much money, but the true value had been Netherfield Park and its surrounding farms, which had been in the care of a steward for as long as anyone could remember while Netherfield Park sat closed up to all except its elderly mistress and a small handful of loyal servants whose numbers had dwindled to just one at the time of her death.
Lizzie had expected a dilapidated old country manor house with drafty windows and soot-stained walls and perhaps mice. Lots of mice.
She hadn’t expected vaulted ceilings and gilt-framed artwork.
“We had no idea what we were walking into when we arrived,” Bingley continued, smiling fondly at Jane. “Not quite the honeymoon
we’d imagined.”
“Nonsense,” Jane said with a faint flush as she smiled back at her new husband. “I didn’t mind in the slightest.”
Lizzie didn’t know whether to grin or roll her eyes.
“The house was built in the sixteenth century,” Bingley continued as he led them deeper into the echoing hall. “My great-grandfather
constructed the west wing and made repairs to the central areas of the house, but I’m afraid the east wing suffered a fire
some decades back and has fallen into disrepair—my great-aunt wasn’t one for renovations, apparently. For everyone’s safety,
we’ve closed it off.”
Lizzie couldn’t help the arch of her brows at that. Jane caught her look and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not as though the entire
wing is about to collapse.”
“So you claim,” a voice said, echoing through the hall.
They all looked up to see Caroline Bingley floating down the grand staircase.
The sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on her golden hair, and if Lizzie had been the betting type, she’d have put money on Caroline planning her entrance.
“I can hear the entire house creaking throughout the night, as if it’s going to tumble down with a stiff breeze. ”
No one laughed, which was just as well because judging by Caroline’s sour expression, Lizzie didn’t think she would take kindly
to it. Bingley just shook his head good naturedly. “She’s exaggerating, of course. There are a few odd creaks and moans, but
it’s nothing more than an old house settling. And I have a builder coming up from London to inspect the east wing and recommend
the necessary repairs.”
“Is my daughter safe here?” Mrs. Bennet asked, placing a hand on Jane’s shoulder.
“Mama, it’s safe as long as we don’t go into the east wing!” Jane rushed to assure her. “We’ve been quite busy renovating
the rest of the house. Caroline’s help with the decorating has been invaluable, of course—you must see the paper she picked
out for the drawing room. We’ve done the main rooms, and although we haven’t gotten to the bedchambers yet, I think you’ll
be comfortable.”
“Even if the décor is a bit baroque,” Caroline added.
Jane winced, and Lizzie felt her protective instincts kick in. “That’s all right. Baroque furniture never killed anyone,”
she said with false cheer.
“Is everything always so violent with you?” Caroline asked. “No one said anything about killing.”
“Caroline,” Bingley said reprovingly, and at the same time Mrs. Bennet laughed.
“Oh, don’t mind Elizabeth. She’s been involved in some rather violent business as of late, but that’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Caroline asked. “I’ve seen the papers.”
So had Lizzie. In fact, she was convinced all of London had seen the papers. Although she wasn’t able to publicly claim credit
for solving Leticia Cavendish’s murder, her name had been printed in the notice of her death, as she and Darcy had been the
ones to discover her body. And then there had been the case that Lizzie had taken after that, which had resulted in a hostage
crisis at the Pantheon. Danger and scandal follow the young lady solicitor wherever she goes, one rag had written.
Danger the ton might have forgiven. But scandal? Well, that was much harder to overlook.
“I don’t know why everyone must make a simple case into a grand ordeal.” Lizzie could feel her cheeks growing warm. “It isn’t
as though I go searching for danger.”
“Well, you certainly don’t do anything to discourage it,” came Caroline’s muttered remark, just loud enough that everyone
could hear it.
Lizzie did not, as a general rule, assign much value to Caroline Bingley’s opinions, but this remark cut deep. What did everyone
expect—for her to give up her work and just sit idly at home because of some gossip?
Luckily for her, she could always count on her mother to interject with inane questions. “Jane, have you been able to find good tradesmen this far from London? If you need a drapier, I have a recommendation from Mrs. Smith—you don’t want to use the one on Fulton Street!”
Jane led them all to the drawing room, and Charlotte fell back and took Lizzie’s arm. Lizzie squeezed her best friend’s hand.
“I wish she’d find a husband already and torment someone else’s family,” Lizzie muttered, which was quite ungenerous of her
and she knew it, but if one couldn’t gripe about tedious people to one’s best friend, then what was the point of friendship?
“I’m sure she feels just as trapped as you do,” Charlotte said mildly. “After all, she swears she was within moments of a
proposal when—”
“I know,” Lizzie sighed. It had not been on purpose that Lizzie had spoiled Caroline’s prospects with yet another suitor,
but the other girl clearly wasn’t ready to forgive Lizzie any time soon. Caroline had been in attendance at the Pantheon,
and her suitor had abruptly left London following the resolution of the evening’s excitement. There had been whispers that
he’d been involved in the counterfeit art scheme Lizzie had helped her client uncover and he’d left town to avoid arrest.
Lizzie was of the opinion that Caroline had dodged an unhappy marriage with an opportunist, but the other young lady clearly
did not share that view.
“Ignore her,” Charlotte advised. “Have you ever stayed somewhere so fine in all your life?”
“No,” Lizzie admitted with a small smile. “Repairs and redecorating aside, it truly is very impressive.”
“And can you just imagine how lovely the grounds are bound to be? We can go on long walks every day with Guy, and get far away from Caroline.”
Guy’s head tilted up when he heard his name in close conjunction with his most beloved word—walk. “All right, yes, you’re right.”
They were still lingering in the hall, and Darcy poked his head out of the drawing room. “Coming?”
Lizzie felt her smile slip as she looked at him. He’d been very quiet the entire carriage ride, and nearly impossible to read.
In the last week, he’d made a habit of avoiding her gaze, but he didn’t now. Lizzie stared into his eyes—eyes that made her
feel deliciously light-headed and breathless when she recalled all their shared kisses, and the quiet moments when he’d drawn
her close and she’d lost herself into the depths of his eyes . . .
But she wasn’t thinking about that right now.
“Coming,” she said shortly.
Darcy turned and went back into the drawing room without another word, and Lizzie didn’t need to look at Charlotte to know
that her friend was giving her a doleful look. “Oh, Lizzie. When are you going to put him out of his misery and forgive him
already?”
“I don’t know,” she responded crisply. “I haven’t decided yet.”