Chapter 10
Library
Longbourn
Darcy followed Mr. Bennet through the hallways, working to keep his thoughts hidden behind a wooden mask.
His mind was awhirl from the conversation he was leaving behind him in the drawing room.
He did not blame the Bennet girls for being stung by the condescension and rudeness of Bingley’s sisters, but their claim was fantastic.
There had been no whisper of rumor that Mrs. Bennet was the daughter of a viscount, and while it was possible that the worthy citizens of Meryton were so used to this fact that they did not feel it worth mentioning, Darcy could not quite believe it.
On the other hand, being deceptive in such a claim would be foolhardy in the extreme, for it would be easy to disprove.
For all the Bennets knew, Darcy himself was acquainted with Viscount Langdon; that he did not know the man was mere happenstance, since both men moved in the upper echelons of English Society.
Even if it was a rapid fabrication on the girls’ part to impress a haughty new neighbor, such a charade would crumble at once in London under the scrutiny of a Season.
Thus, he was inclined to accept that Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth spoke truly.
Neither young lady evinced a tendency to fabricate stories or spin fantastical tales to lead on their hearers.
It was a fascinating thought that the innocuous Bennets in their little country abode were in fact closely connected to the nobility.
“This way, Mr. Darcy,” Bennet said, and Darcy shook himself and stepped into the library after his host.
The door swung shut behind them, and he paused to look around with pleasure.
The glories of the library had not been exaggerated; it was wonderful, especially considering the house it graced.
Longbourn was typical of a mid-income country house, but here, here was treasure.
Shelf upon shelf of books lined the walls, and sat in careful stacks upon tables, and all but covered the surface of the desk.
There were even a handful of books between porcelain bookends on the mantel over the fire.
The room smelled of books too, of leather and paper and oil.
The air was warm, with a fire lit in the fireplace crackling industriously.
Two chairs had been drawn up before the hearth, both wingbacks upholstered in leather.
A small table sat between them, presumably for libations for the inhabitants of the chairs, but it too bore a small stack of three well-worn books.
“Sit down, Mr. Darcy, please,” Bennet said with a gesture toward the fireplace. “Would you care for a drink of brandy?”
“Thank you, yes,” Darcy said obediently and slowly, walking to a chair by the hearth even as his eyes darted here and there. He battled the desire to pull a few volumes off the shelves. That would be rude. But it was difficult because he saw a number of books which were unfamiliar to him.
“You have an excellent library, sir,” he said, lowering himself into the wingbacked chair and accepting the brandy from his host.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Darcy,” Bennet replied and then added with a grin, “Of course, I am well aware that compared to the library at Netherfield, almost any library seems good.”
Darcy chuckled, took a sip of surprisingly good brandy, and nodded. “That is true enough, but my library at Pemberley is the work of many generations, and I confess that the sight of so many unfamiliar books here is both impressive and enticing.”
“You are certainly welcome to borrow a few tomes,” Bennet said generously. “I hate to think of a fellow reader not having any books to read.”
“Well, as to that, my sisters and I visited the bookstore in Meryton yesterday and purchased a few books and borrowed a few more. But you definitely have a wider array of subjects than are easily available at the bookstore.”
“I do,” Bennet agreed, looking around with pleasure, “though Lizzy tells me that you have a copy of The American Practical Navigator, which I have never laid my hands on.”
“It is the only compelling book in the library at Netherfield, and quite frankly, I do not know how it came to pass that such a work found its way into such a pathetic collection,” Darcy said. “If you would like to look it over, I am confident that Bingley would be pleased to lend it to you.”
Bennet shook his head and said, “That is kind, but truly, I have no particular desire to wade through equations. I do read scientific books on occasion, but I am more interested in biographies and plays. By the by, there are rumors that Southey is writing a book on Admiral Nelson. Have you heard anything about that?”
“I have not, but that would be fascinating,” Darcy remarked. “Have you read The Fall of Robespierre?”
“I have!” Bennet replied. “It was well written, but I cannot imagine it working well as a play…”
***
Bingley Carriage
On the Way Back to Netherfield
Half an Hour Later
It truly was a glorious day, especially for October. The gold and orange and red foliage that crowned the trees lining the road was a magnificent contrast to the deep azure of a cloudless sky. The sun seemed unusually warm for this time of year, beaming down happily on the world.
Serena wished she had the leisure to enjoy the view rolling past the carriage windows, but alas, the conversation within the carriage demanded her full attention.
She was seated next to the right-hand window with Miss Bingley beside her and Mrs. Hurst on the other side.
Across from them, the gentlemen rode facing back.
No one else was paying the view any mind, as they were entirely focused on the heated discussion.
“It truly seems impossible!” Miss Bingley said indignantly. “How could Mrs. Bennet be the daughter of a viscount! Mrs. Nicholls never mentioned such a thing, after all!”
“Perhaps they have been keeping it quiet for some reason?” Mr. Bingley suggested.
Mrs. Hurst huffed and said, “Nonsense, why would they do that? Mark my words; they made the whole thing up to make themselves seem more important.”
Mr. Bingley frowned heavily. “I do not think the Bennets are that sort of family, to lie about something so easily disproven.”
“What do you think, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley demanded. “Do you know Viscount Langdon?”
“I do not,” Serena’s brother said. “However, it seems unlikely that the Bennets would prevaricate about such a claim. It would be easy enough to disprove, after all.”
“Well, I think they are making it all up,” Miss Bingley said with a huff and a tilt of her nose. “They wish to show off; that is plain enough.”
“It is possible,” Fitzwilliam agreed, “and given that we will be likely interacting with the Bennets often, I intend to write a letter to my aunt, the Countess of Matlock, asking for details about Viscount Langdon and his family. Until I receive a reply, it would be best to accept the claim with at least the appearance of complaisance. Keep in mind that the Bennets are long-standing inhabitants of this area, and we are newcomers. It is unwise to cast aspersions without definite proof.”
Serena cast a nervous look at Miss Bingley, who was seated next to her, and was not surprised to see a grimace of distaste on the lady’s face.
However, Fitzwilliam’s words seemed to reach some hidden depths of sense in Miss Bingley’s heart, and she said, “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I am confident that the residents of Longbourn are being deceptive about the entire thing, but I will be silent until we have proof.”
“So will I,” Mrs. Hurst said with a sniff.
Serena looked away out the window, her shoulders relaxing.
She thought that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would end up regretting their disdainful treatment of the Bennet family.
She agreed with her brother and Mr. Bingley; the Bennets did not seem the type to fabricate such a story.
As for Miss Bingley's disdainful accusation of showing off, well, she herself was demonstrably more prone to that activity than were the Bennet ladies.
Serena pondered what she knew of the residents of Longbourn.
Miss Bennet was a very beautiful blonde whose looks had apparently been inherited from Mr. Bennet’s first wife, who had died when the eldest daughter of Longbourn was very young.
Thus, Miss Bennet was not related to a viscount by blood, but to have a viscount's daughter for a stepmother would be enough to give her a certain prestige. Admittedly, it would be odd for a viscount’s daughter to live her life quietly buried in the country, especially with five daughters to wed off respectably, but then, the Darcys were the nephew and nieces of an earl and spent much of their time in the country as well.
Yet Pemberley was grand. The Darcys were prudent with their wealth, but they did not hide it.
No one visiting Longbourn would guess that the family it cradled could afford a Season for even one of the many daughters, much less two, or perhaps even all of them, in due time. It was all rather mysterious.
In any case, time would tell, and for now the Bennets' secrets were their own.
Let Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sniff and sputter and doubt and whine.
For Serena's part, she felt only joy at the news that the two eldest Misses Bennet would be launching into Society during the same spring that she would be making her debut. She liked the Bennets, as she so rarely liked other people. They were genuinely kind, not calculating their friendships based on connections and self-serving interests as so many ladies of the haut ton, or those with aspirations to the same, were prone to do. Even if Serena’s launch did not ‘take,’ or if she only ‘took’ because she was the well-dowered niece of an earl, it would be a blessing indeed to be able to count on having the two eldest Bennet daughters to stand as her true friends.
***
Dining Room
Longbourn
Dinner Time
Elizabeth took a bite of roasted pheasant, chewing slowly and savoring the flavor as she did.
Pheasants were her favorite meat, and these were fresh and delicious.
Mr. Bennet had been out shooting the past couple of days, and the table bore his efforts as well as vegetables from the garden and a loaf of steaming golden bread.
Elizabeth, who enjoyed a hearty appetite, was sating her hunger with obvious enthusiasm.
She was also largely staying out of the dinnertime conversation.
Mary and Jane were having a discussion; a disagreement, really.
Both young women were soft-spoken and sweet-natured, so any argument between them seemed merely a mild debate.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the subject under discussion was their earlier callers.
“I am certain it was a great surprise to Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst,” Jane said doggedly.
“After all, there are very few families in Hertfordshire who have the connections and financial ability to send their daughters on a Season. Indeed, I did not know until a few days ago that the money could be spared for such an endeavor!”
“I know that is true, Jane,” Mary said, “but the way that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst looked around our drawing room, and the remarks about our need for frugality, seemed very pointed, not to mention intentionally rude.”
Jane sighed, looked at Mrs. Bennet, and said, “What do you think, Mamma?”
“I think that Mary is correct, my dear,” Mrs. Bennet said. “The words and intonation of the older ladies were suspect, in my view at any rate.”
Jane’s face fell at this assessment, and Elizabeth said, “At least Miss Darcy and Mr. Bingley are entirely charming. Father, you took Mr. Darcy back to your library. What do you think of the gentleman?”
Mr. Bennet took a long sip of dinner wine and then said, “He is obviously a very learned individual and was gratifyingly complimentary about the library. He is not as outgoing as his friend Bingley, but then again, who is?”
This provoked a chuckle on the part of Elizabeth, and even Jane smiled.
“Where is the money coming from?” Kitty piped up and then blushed as everyone looked at her.
“I mean,” she continued, “I know that Longbourn has a good income, but I did not realize that … that…”
She trailed off, her face now very red, and Mrs. Bennet glanced at Elizabeth and said, “That is an entirely reasonable question, Kitty. The truth is that my first husband, Elizabeth’s father, left some money in trust for Lizzy.
When she turns one and twenty in January, she will have access to that money, and there is enough to permit a Season for both Jane and Elizabeth. ”
“But not for Mary and Kitty and me?” Lydia asked boldly.
Again, Mrs. Bennet looked at Elizabeth, who said, “Mary does not wish for a Season, and there is no reason to hurry in making decisions about you and Kitty. There might be enough for you both, but you are still quite young, you know. We will see what the situation is in a few years.”
“I understand,” Lydia said. “Indeed, given how very beautiful Jane is, she might marry a very wealthy gentleman who will pay for all of us to be launched into Society!”
Kitty’s eyes grew round at this statement, and Jane turned pink and said, “Well, I do not suppose that in London I will be special at all.”
“We will see, dear one,” Mrs. Bennet said. “For now, we will prepare to hire a house in London for next spring, which is still many months away. Now…” and here it was obvious that she was changing the subject, “how are you coming along with your French, Mary?”