Chapter Nine #2
“Did you not, Lizzy?” Kitty asked.
Knowing that without her aunt and uncle her own situation would have been nearly as perilous, Elizabeth had felt only sympathy for their situation. “I did not, Kitty,” she replied. “It was a pity, though. Had they had simply reached out in honest friendship, they would not have been so alone.”
Elizabeth had happened to glance at Amanda as the gleeful announcement was made and her friend’s expression had merely been thoughtful. Elizabeth was certain their opinions were the same.
As her sisters fell silent, each considering her story, Elizabeth’s mind was on the next step.
How to deal with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley?
Their fortunes seemed secure, if Meryton gossip was to be believed.
They were neither desperate nor did they have actual precedence.
There was, then, no such excuse for looking upon the people here as inferior.
Instead, it should have encouraged a display of good manners.
It was a conundrum. Amanda’s fortune was larger than theirs combined.
Her mother had died at her birth and she had no other living siblings, so her father’s complete war chest was hers.
Yet Amanda was quick to find common ground with people rather than look down on them.
Well, Elizabeth thought, I shall simply have to pay attention to their point of attack.
Perhaps I can help to protect Jane a little.
She gazed at Jane, who had begun to work on her needlepoint.
It was truly a shame Mr. Bingley was saddled with such sisters.
Then, at the thought of saddles, she excused herself to go for a far more congenial visit—to see Kensington and take her for a ride.
Jane had offered a rare demurral, but Mary had consented to accompany Elizabeth.
Kensington was skittish, held back by the plodding nature of Homer, the only horse available for riding today.
It was difficult to discern a breed with Homer, for he was stout and gray and entirely unremarkable.
Her father still used him in the fields, but Homer was well past his best years.
Elizabeth was sure the beast was half-blind, and she determined to take up the business of a new horse again.
Homer should be allowed to retire to the pastures around Longbourn; he had served the Bennets well and earned his rest.
Mary wanted to walk to Oakham Mount, but Elizabeth had been firm that she needed to take Kensington for some exercise, so they had come to a compromise. They would ride the horses to the bottom of the hill and allow them to rest while they walked to the top.
They dismounted with the help of a convenient boulder that marked the beginning of the trail.
“Will Kensington run off?” Mary asked.
“No,” Elizabeth said fondly, stroking her neck and offering her a carrot. “She is too well trained for that. The worst she would do is find her way back to Longbourn.” She dropped the reins so they trailed on the ground. “Are you not concerned about Homer?” she asked with a smile.
Mary laughed. “Homer barely moves when I force him. I could probably walk home more quickly.”
“Well then,” Elizabeth said drolly, “shall we?”
Oakham Mount was no more than a large hill, and they were soon atop it. Because the ground sloped down in both directions, though, it afforded a good view of Longbourn on one side and Netherfield on the other.
“Are you looking forward to your visit with the Netherfield party, Lizzy?” Mary asked after they had admired the vistas.
Elizabeth laughed. “Not at all, Mary, but it would be churlish to refuse the invitation, as Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley have done nothing to prevent my accepting it.”
Mary nodded slowly. “I suppose that is correct.” She sighed and looked away. “I must confess that I was a little jealous when the invitation did not include me.” She sat gingerly on a stone. “Then I thought about what an afternoon with those two women would be like, and my heart was soon mended.”
Elizabeth was distressed. She had not considered it, but she did spend a great deal of time with Jane.
She and Jane had been the best of friends when she lived at Longbourn, and of all her sisters, Jane had been the one who always wrote.
She had been Elizabeth’s connection to the Bennet family.
Mary was always welcome, of course, and Jane did spend time with Mary alone, but certainly not as often as before Elizabeth had arrived. “I am sorry to hear it, Mary.”
“Well,” Mary continued reluctantly, “Jane and I have always been a pair, you know. She is four years older, but since I left the nursery, it has always been the two of us together.” She toyed with the ribbon of her bonnet.
“It has not bothered me to have you here, Lizzy, you know I adore you. It is just…”
“Different,” Elizabeth finished. She sat next to Mary and took her hand. “I understand.” Still, she felt afraid. She hoped Mary would not ask her to stop spending time with Jane. She was not certain she could do that, even at Mary’s request.
“I blame myself,” Mary replied with a tight shake of her head. “I am too old to be so childish. I do not even want to know the ladies at Netherfield, yet I pout not to be included.”
“I am just the same, Mary,” she assured her sister.
“Will you tell me all about it when you come home tomorrow? I know Jane will see everything, but only report it in the best of terms.” Mary removed her bonnet and swept her hair back from her forehead.
“Of course,” Elizabeth said, grateful that Mary seemed assured of Jane’s affection despite having to share her time.
She evaluated her sister. Mary had the same heart-shaped face as Jane, but her skin was just a shade darker, her nose a bit longer, her lips not quite as full.
Mary’s light eyes, somewhere between a blue and a green, reminded her of a stormy sea.
There were conflicting emotions rising in them now, like growing waves.
She was a pretty girl, but not one men would immediately see as beautiful.
Her face was too interesting for that, especially now, as she waged a battle against her darker emotions.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch and she stood abruptly.
“I need to draw you, Mary,” she said. “Let us go home.” I really should carry my sketchbook with me.
Mary frowned, still sitting. “You want to draw me? Why?”
Elizabeth gave her an unladylike shrug. “Because I must.” She set off at a furious clip, Mary struggling to replace her bonnet and catch her up.
Bingley and Darcy were returning from a long ride when they spotted, from a distance, two horses grazing contentedly at the bottom of a hill.
There were no riders in sight. It did not raise the same interest a single wandering horse might have done, for it was far less likely that two riders had been thrown.
Still, Darcy noticed the disparity of the mounts, one a beautiful Arabian mare like those bred at Pemberley and the other, well, nag was perhaps the most fitting term.
“I say,” Bingley whistled in admiration, “that is a pretty mare.” He dismounted immediately to have a closer look, and Darcy sighed.
“It is not our horse, Bingley,” he called, but his friend was either out of hearing or not listening.
He rolled his eyes and dismounted, following Bingley to where the horses stood.
As he approached Bingley, a cloud of dust billowed up from the path to their right, a young woman stepping quickly behind it.
Darcy froze. The first thing he saw through the haze was a trim waist in a fine, chocolate-brown riding habit.
As his eyes adjusted, he spied a few mahogany curls escaping from a jaunty bonnet, cheeks rosy with exertion, and dark eyes sparking gold in the direct sunlight as she glanced at them.
The jacket of her habit was pulled tight, following the curves of her chest. He swallowed reflexively.
The lady was magnificent. It took a moment, but he remembered her from the assembly.
“Miss Bennet,” he said, startled.
She skidded to a halt, the dust cloud drifting away from her and in his direction.
He coughed slightly as the dust tickled his throat and settled on his clothing.
She eyed him carefully before saying curtly, “I am sorry sir, I do not believe we have been introduced.” She turned to his friend.
“Mr. Bingley, it is very good to see you again.”
Darcy felt his face and the back of his neck grow warm. For a moment he had forgotten. Bingley spoke incessantly of his angel, and he knew she was the angel’s sister. Bingley was squelching a laugh at the set-down, and Darcy frowned.
“Lizzy!” came a call from just out of sight.
A younger girl with dark blond hair was hurrying down the final stretch of the path.
She appeared around the turning, where she, too, came to a sudden stop as she saw the men.
Her riding habit was a touch too long and the chest of the jacket cut too generously.
Borrowed, he thought. If it were handed down, it would have been altered to fit.
“Oh,” she said, and then pressed her lips together. “Good day.”
Bingley stepped up to the two young women with a smile. “Ladies, may I present my good friend Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Darcy, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Mary Bennet.”
Darcy removed his hat and bowed. “Ladies.”
Miss Mary walked toward them until she stood at her sister’s shoulder.
They both offered a quick curtsey. “Mr. Darcy,” they said.
Miss Mary leaned over to whisper in her sister’s ear.
Bingley broke the awkward silence by asking about the horse that had caught his eye.
“I say, ladies, is the Arabian your father’s horse? ”
“Oh,” Miss Mary replied, “she belongs to Elizabeth. Lizzy is by far the best rider among us, though Jane enjoys riding as well.”
Bingley’s smile stretched wide.
Absurd, Darcy sighed inwardly. In love again.
“I am pleased to hear it,” Bingley said. “I myself enjoy riding.”
Of course he did. He would enjoy riding on his head if he thought it would win the lady’s favor.
Miss Mary’s lips twitched, and Darcy noticed. A sensible girl. Miss Elizabeth’s response was all in her expressive eyes, and there he saw many emotions all at once. She was not as easy to read as her sister.
Darcy returned his attention to the mare. “She looks a great deal like the Arabians we breed at Pemberley,” he offered, replacing his hat. “What is her name?”
He was surprised when Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.
“Kensington,” she replied simply.
“Ah.” What was he to say to that? “An unusual name.”
“Perhaps. I think it suits her admirably.”
There was a mischievous, challenging lilt to Miss Elizabeth’s voice, as though she expected him to argue the notion with her. He could not help but smile. “Clearly, as you are the one who named her.”
He was unaccountably pleased when she laughed outright. “I suppose I must concede the point,” she told him, but then touched her fingers to her skirt nervously. “I am sorry to rush off, gentlemen, but Mary and I have an appointment back at Longbourn.”
Miss Mary gave her sister a look that made Darcy believe the appointment was not fixed, if indeed there was one at all.
He glanced over at Bingley, but his friend had not noticed.
This is new, he thought. Most women of my acquaintance cannot be prised away.
Still, Miss Mary did not contradict her sister. Soon they had mounted and were off.
Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth handle the Arabian with a practiced hand.
She was very comfortable with the mare, he thought, and then recalled that he had wanted to ask where she had obtained it.
It was not the type of animal he would expect a country squire to own, but the question had flown out of his head when she told him the horse’s name, one eyebrow arched as if in expectation of a quarrel.
He shook his head. This was madness. He would not find the woman he needed in Hertfordshire. He tried to turn away but took one more lingering look before the women disappeared behind a stand of trees.