Chapter 6 #2
“That is true,” Darcy agreed. “The people in this area do not have the manners of the haut ton, but they are pleasant enough, and it is important that Bingley have an amicable rapport with the nearby gentry.”
“I would hardly call them gentry,” Lady Bingley sniffed, “but I acknowledge your greater understanding of the situation, Mr. Darcy.”
It was a blessing, and not a small one in Darcy’s opinion, that the lady finally fell silent. Her constant barrage of insults quickly grew tiresome.
He took a deep breath and turned towards the window, twitching back the drapes to look out.
The lights of Meryton were warm and welcoming, with lamplight glowing beside shop doors, while candlelight and firelight gilded little cracked-curtain stripes on the windows of homes.
Darcy tamped down a sudden rush of homesickness, as it was all very like Lambton, the small town nestled against Pemberley.
He did not often have need to go there at night, but often enough that he knew the looks of it well, and Meryton had much of the same charm.
On some level, Darcy could understand the older woman’s disdain.
Most of the gentry of this little area of Hertfordshire were mere provincial squires and their wives, honest and unrefined, with none of the polish that good breeding and Town manners instilled.
Nonetheless, if he, Darcy of Pemberley, was not too proud to associate with these country folk, who was Lady Bingley, the wife of a tradesman, however noble of heart he may have been, to turn up her nose at gentle folk?
Lady Lucas was a peer of Lady Bingley, and the Bennets were, strictly speaking, their social superiors.
However irritating Lady Bingley might find them, she would do well to remember that she was not native to her position; that it was arranged by George Darcy in gratitude for the courage and quick action of her husband, and she was an incidental beneficiary through no virtue of her own save that she was married to a brave and kindly man.
It was a mercy that her attitude had not infected her daughters, as Caroline had none of her mother’s pride and conceit. She tended towards quietude and good sense, having learned well how to smooth over feathers ruffled by her mother’s unpleasantness.
If their engagement was in earnest, Darcy would not find her a burdensome wife.
Darcy was not remotely in love with Caroline, nor did he experience transports of passion and adoration in her presence, but she was good company, not foolish or tiresome, and her character was impeccable.
He would be able to rest easy with Pemberley in her hands as mistress, and his anxiety over her duty to bear his heirs would be no greater than any other ordinary husband’s concern for his wife.
Caroline was a healthy woman, hale and well, as opposed to, say, his cousin Anne de Bourgh.
Anne had always been sickly from her infancy onward, prone to prostration at every illness and delicate of health between such terrifying incidents.
Though Darcy cared for her with all the natural duty and affection of a cousin, he felt even less attraction to her than to Caroline, and he was glad not to be sworn into an engagement that way.
Such had indeed been the dearest hope of her mother, Lady Catherine, and Darcy’s own mother, Lady Anne.
This plot between the sisters had run quite abruptly into an obstacle with the advent of Mr. John Bingley on the scene.
He had burst into the lives of the Darcys like one of the knights of old, a heroic rescuer from dastardly villains.
Highwaymen, an entire band of them, had swooped down on the richly-appointed Darcy carriage carrying George Darcy and his twelve-year-old son home to Pemberley.
A footman had been shot before anyone had realized what was happening, and then, though the remaining servants gave good accounts of themselves, they were soon overpowered.
The robbers were heavily armed, and the situation was looking dire indeed for Mr. Darcy and his young son, when a shot had rung out from further down the road, and the bandit reaching for the carriage door had crumpled into the dust. The robbers’ attention had snapped towards the newcomer, and their bullets after.
The man on horseback had jerked as he was struck by a shot, but courageously raised his pistols again, firing two more shots, and another of the highwaymen had dropped.
The rest had sprinted for their horses and taken to their heels, leaving their dead companions behind.
Mr. Darcy had leapt from his carriage, rushing to assist his rescuer in dismounting, the footmen and coachmen working to free themselves from the ropes bound around their wrists and ankles.
Bingley had been in the process of using his cravat to bind up the bleeding wound in his shoulder but had paused to cheerfully introduce himself.
Natural gratitude and a desire to do service to his rescuer had inevitably led Mr. Darcy to spend more time with Mr. Bingley, and a sincere friendship had formed.
Between their sons, a similar friendship had grown.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was a quiet, retiring sort of young man, while Charles Bingley had his father’s sunny nature and easy manners.
Each had been as proud as the other when George Darcy’s influence won for John Bingley a knighthood.
Caroline and Louisa, Charles’s younger sisters, were equally delighted.
No one, however, was more pleased than the new Lady Bingley.
She had been even more ecstatic when her husband and Mr. Darcy made a pact that their two houses would intermarry.
Tiny Georgiana was destined to be Charles’s bride when she was of age, and Fitzwilliam would choose between Caroline and Louisa to be his wife.
Then, of course, some years later, Louisa had received an offer from Hurst, and Fitzwilliam, who was then still a young man, had assured the family that he was more than happy to wed Caroline when both were ready, and that was that.
That was still that, despite Caroline’s private assurances to him that she had no desire to marry him.
In the eyes of the Law and man, the two were legally engaged, and though the wedding could be and was delayed, they were bound together until such time as they were joined in holy matrimony or she called the engagement off.
Personally, Darcy found this no hardship.
He knew how much men in his position were pursued by matchmaking mamas, and no woman had ever touched his heart or his interest.
Unbidden, Miss Elizabeth Bennet rose before his mind’s eye.
A curious thought, that. He had seen many beauties in Town, though admittedly, few to none on the level of Miss Jane Bennet.
Miss Elizabeth, while quite pretty, was not the equal of her elder sister, but Darcy far preferred her to the more serene Miss Bennet.
Miss Elizabeth was lively, and charming, and witty, and her conversation marked her as a woman of intelligence.
Meryton proper fell behind their carriage, the driver turning into the deeply shadowed wooded lane that led to Lucas Lodge.
Darcy let the curtain fall shut and sat back, giving his head a clearing shake and bracing himself.
In all honesty, he was not remotely excited about this little dinner party, either.
It would likely be an insipid affair, and he did not relish parties at the best of times, anyway.
Still, he knew his duty. Bingley needed to be on good terms with his neighbors, and though he was an amiable man with no difficulties in making friends on his own account, it would not be to his credit if his entire party was perceived as stiff and proud.
Georgiana was quiet and shy by nature, which could hardly pass unmarked, and Lady Bingley could not be depended upon to be charming when she considered the company beneath her.
Caroline would in all likelihood spend part of her time managing her mother.
To Darcy it would fall, then, to exert all his efforts in being outgoing, and amiable, and charming, to support his sister and his friend.