Chapter 6
Breakfast Parlor
Netherfield Hall
“I am sorry you did not enjoy the assembly last night,” Georgiana said timidly.
Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose as the door closed behind the three gentlemen and said, “Well, as to that, I suppose that it was not so very bad. As Mr. Darcy said, the local families are largely what I would expect in such a small town. Dull and pretentious, most of them, but we can expect little better.”
“Do you happen to know whether Meryton boasts a bookstore?” Serena asked, more out of a desire to change the subject than with real hope that her hostess would know.
“I have no idea,” Caroline Bingley said with a toss of her curls, “though I doubt it. Meryton is very small.”
“I see,” Serena said quietly.
“I have not looked in the library here at Netherfield Hall,” Louisa Hurst said kindly. “Perhaps there is something there to your liking.”
Serena suppressed a grimace and said, “I did look, but there are not very many books, sadly. It seems that the owner of Netherfield is not a great reader.”
“Well, I daresay that compared to the glories of your family library, not many libraries are pleasing to you, Miss Darcy,” Miss Bingley said with a saccharine smile. “I declare I have never seen anything quite so wonderful as the library at Pemberley. You must be very proud of it!”
Serena was not proud of the library, which she had no hand in creating and maintaining, but she was grateful for it.
“We can ask the housekeeper about a bookstore or lending library,” Mrs. Hurst said and rose to her feet. “Now, Miss Georgiana, would you be interested in playing on the pianoforte? It was tuned this morning.”
“Oh yes,” Georgiana said and turned to her older sister. “Serena, will you not accompany me?”
“Of course,” Serena replied. She was not particularly musical, without the ability to play the harp or pianoforte or read music with ease, but she had a pleasing voice and valued making music alongside her little sister.
***
Netherfield Park
A Few Minutes Later
“What do you think of the estate, Darcy?” Bingley asked as he pulled his gray gelding to a halt.
Darcy reined in his own horse, Phoenix, bringing them to a standstill, while Mr. Hurst, who was eager to find hunting grounds for pheasants, continued on ahead of the pair on his own chestnut mare.
“The house seems in reasonable shape,” the master of Pemberley said, reaching up a hand to wrap his scarf a little more tightly around his throat. It was a sunny day and not overly cool, but there was a tiresomely brisk wind.
“I agree,” Bingley said, “but what of the fields and the Home Farm? I realized only after I signed the lease that I did not ask any questions about fences and drainage and things like that.”
Darcy regarded his younger friend fondly.
Bingley was reasonably intelligent and blessed with a happy, congenial disposition.
He was, in many ways, the perfect gentleman, far more so than Darcy.
Bingley was sure of being liked wherever he appeared, whereas Darcy and, to a lesser extent, his sisters were sufficiently uncomfortable in company as to often give offense without meaning to.
Yes, Bingley was an admirable fellow, but he had one significant weakness, and that was his penchant for extremely hasty decisions.
He fell in love with many a blonde lady upon first sight, so to speak, though he always fell out of love quickly too.
And when he had come across Netherfield Park, with a fine manse, and located less than thirty miles from London, he had leased it without much consideration.
It was not particularly wise of Bingley, but…
“It seems in reasonably good heart,” Darcy said, gently touching his heels on the flank of his horse, who began walking forward. “We have not toured the entire park, of course, but the fencing appears sturdy, and I see no signs of poor drainage.”
“Well, praise God for that,” Bingley said, spurring his own steed into action. “I ought to have consulted you first, I know, but Caroline and Louisa have been harassing me about leasing an estate, and this one seemed so suitable.”
Here was another problem in Darcy’s view. His friend was far too prone to act based on the demands of his sisters, who were stronger-willed than their brother, especially the younger lady.
“I think it is suitable,” he said. “If you like, we could sit down with the steward and go over the ledgers tomorrow.”
Bingley’s face fell a little, but he said, “Yes, I would appreciate that. It does not sound nearly as enjoyable as visiting our neighbors or going for rides, but I know it is important for the master of an estate to keep a close eye on the books.”
“It is,” Darcy agreed just as Hurst, who was some twenty feet away, pulled his mare to a halt and looked over his shoulder to call, “I think there are coveys beyond here, Bingley! How marvelous!”
***
Mrs. Bennet’s Dressing Room
Longbourn
Eleven O’clock at Night
The house was quiet, as most of its inhabitants had gone to their beds for their well-earned rest. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and Mrs. Bennet sat relaxed on her loveseat, gazing into the heart of the flames.
Her bed stood ready and waiting for her, and she was attired appropriately to slip between her sheets.
Her dressing gown was tied over her flannel nightgown against the evening chill, and the satin ribbons of her nightcap were tied in a fetching bow beneath her chin.
She was not, however, quite ready to sleep just yet.
It was Mrs. Bennet's habit to sit awhile before bed and ponder the events of the day.
Her days were usually full; perhaps not so much as those of the tenant wives, who had no servants to help them, but she arguably had more responsibilities.
She was the mother of five young ladies who needed to be raised with all the knowledge and gentility of their station, the wife of a gentleman and the mistress of his estate.
These were solemn responsibilities, and Mrs. Bennet took them seriously.
Today had been more than ordinarily busy, for the Lucases had come to call for several hours.
It was well understood that the residents of Lucas Lodge and of Longbourn were equally welcome to spend the day at either house, for the families of the two estates were longstanding friends.
Mrs. Bennet genuinely liked Lady Lucas and her daughters.
Charlotte Lucas was a sharp young woman, observant and clever, traits she had inherited from her mother.
Their opinions on the newcomers to Meryton were valuable.
Elizabeth's knowledge of Mr. Darcy's sisters did shed new light on his early departure from the assembly, if not his proud and disagreeable behavior while he was there.
Rumor had it that Mr. Darcy was master of a great estate and was nearly related to the nobility, and thus he was likely no threat to pursue her daughters.
Mr. Bingley, a son of trade with aspirations to the gentry, was more dangerous.
Charlotte had been correct that Mr. Bingley had danced twice with her beautiful Jane.
Quite likely it meant nothing at all. It was entirely natural that a gentleman should wish to dance again with the prettiest girl in the room.
On the other hand, Mrs. Bennet could not dismiss her feelings of unease.
Truly, it was no use worrying. She knew this. What did the Good Book say from the fourth chapter of Philippians?
Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
The door opened, and she turned in surprise, which gave way to a smile of pleasure.
“Good evening, Husband,” she said, patting the seat next to her.
He sat down and reached out to take her right hand in his left.
“Good evening, Annabelle,” he replied. “Are you well?”
She wrinkled her nose and said, “I am well enough. I was just thinking about Jane and Mr. Bingley, and worrying about it, and then reminding myself that it does no good to worry.”
“You are concerned the gentleman is like your first husband?” Bennet asked.
She sighed deeply and said, “Yes, though I realize … the situations are not identical, certainly.”
“They are not,” her husband agreed. “I do not pretend to know Mr. Bingley well, but he has the air and manners of a gentleman, whereas based on your description, Mr. Harper did not.”
“No, he did not,” Mrs. Bennet said with a shake of her head. “Not at all.”
“Belle,” Mr. Bennet continued, “there is another thing I want you to remember. Your first marriage was arranged between your father and old Mr. Harper. I have no intention of allowing Jane to marry without being certain that her suitor is a good man, and Jane is sufficiently loyal that she would never dream of wedding absent my blessing.”
Mrs. Bennet tilted her head thoughtfully at these words. That was true enough, but…
“What are you thinking about?” Bennet asked in an amused tone. “Surely you do not imagine that Jane would elope to Gretna Green?”
“No, of course not,” she replied, turning to gaze into her husband’s eyes. “I was thinking that if Jane begged you for your blessing, you would give it. I think you find it difficult to say no to Jane.”
Her husband looked startled, and then anxiety crept across his features. “I love all my girls, including Lizzy. Jane is not my favorite.”
“You have been a far better father to Lizzy than Mr. Harper ever would have been,” Annabelle said promptly. “It is just that Jane is so gentle, and sweet, and kind, and selfless, that it would be hard to refuse her, would it not? Especially given how few eligible gentlemen there are in the area?”
Bennet bit his lip in thought, and then said, “You are correct, of course. I would find it difficult to deny Jane.”
“Nor is it likely necessary that such a thing will come to pass,” Mrs. Bennet said, straightening her back and lifting her chin.
“There is every chance that Mr. Bingley is merely flirting with the most handsome girl in the area, and if he and Jane should fall in love, perhaps he will be an appropriate husband.”
“But you are worried.”
“I am, but I am aware that it is because of my own life experience, Thomas.”
Bennet hesitated, and then said, “Do you want me to visit Bingley regularly to learn more about him?”
This was, Annabelle thought, entirely heroic of her husband, who, while perfectly polite, did not enjoy spending considerable quantities of time with other men.
“That is kind of you, my dear,” she said, “but there is no reason for you to sacrifice yourself in such a way, or at least not yet. I do intend to visit Netherfield tomorrow morning with the girls in the hopes of learning more about Mr. Bingley through his sisters.”
The clock chimed the quarter hour, and Mr. Bennet said, “It is late, and we had both best seek our beds.”
“Indeed,” she agreed and rose to stand. He followed her, kissed her forehead gently, bid her a courteous farewell, and left on quiet feet.
She wandered into the adjacent bedchamber, climbed into warmed sheets, and snuggled contentedly into bed, her mind shifting from her present concerns to the past.
She and Mr. Bennet had been married almost twenty years now, and given that both of their first marriages had been unsuccessful, she could only thank God that they were so well matched.
Mr. Bennet was very intelligent, though he was also, occasionally, a trifle lazy.
Annabelle found her husband’s penchant for spending most of the day in his library annoying at times, but compared to gambling and drinking, such behavior was easy enough to accept.
After all, she was hardly a perfect wife either.
She was prone to worry, while sufficiently pretty, was not a great beauty, not like the first Mrs. Bennet.
She had also failed to provide an heir for Longbourn, though Mr. Bennet never criticized her for providing him three daughters before never conceiving again.
The first Mrs. Bennet would probably have borne sons if she had survived.
But it was what it was, and she adored all her girls, including Jane. Mr. Bennet had been setting aside savings for years for his daughters, and Elizabeth was a very wealthy heiress. All would be well.
Mrs. Bennet drifted off to sleep.