Chapter 4
The carriage rolled onto a gravel drive that stretched across the entire front of the manor.
It formed a broad arc, part of a large circular sweep that enclosed a neatly kept lawn and edged a modest lake.
Rapping on the roof, he brought the chaise to a halt, wanting to take in the full view of the house.
Though the main building was certainly post-Restoration, its recent renovations were in a much later style.
The facade’s symmetry was heightened by four curved Flemish gables framing the attic windows, with additional gables accenting the western wing.
Tall, graceful brick chimneys—likely designed a century and a half ago—rose above the roofline.
To the west lay a formal garden; a lily pond divided the space neatly in two, both sections bordered by yew hedges.
Fitzwilliam Darcy was well content with the view.
Certainly, Netherfield, the estate leased by his friend Charles Bingley, held a pleasant aspect: the extensive grounds—by his estimate—of about fifteen acres, and a much larger landscape park and wilderness of some hundred and fifty acres, suitable for slow rambles and relaxing in the Hertfordshire air.
“Darcy!” cried Bingley, as the carriage came to a halt before the portico. “You are earlier than I expected, for we are about to take nuncheon.”
“My eagerness to leave London was aided by the easy roads. The turnpike to St. Albans was particularly in fine condition.” Darcy was shown into a wide hall, paved with stone flags and panelled in oak—though the walls were dark, the space was well illuminated by two tall windows which stood on either side of the door.
A wide fireplace was opposite, the fire laid in the grate but currently unlit, the house warmed by the afternoon sun shining through the south-facing windows.
They entered a well proportioned parlour or morning room overlooking the drive, itself pleasantly sunlit.
Darcy bowed to the two ladies seated in the room. “Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley, it is a pleasure to see you again.”
These were Bingley’s sisters, both elegant women with a clear sense of fashion.
Mr. Hurst, their brother-in-law, rose and bowed in greeting.
Formal introductions were unnecessary, as they had often dined together in London.
Miss Bingley was a handsome woman, generally good-humoured when it suited her, agreeable when she wished to be, and, Darcy noted, in possession of a dowry of twenty thousand pounds.
Altogether, he mused, a collection of admirable qualities for any woman.
While Pemberley hardly needed more money, her dowry would certainly help offset his sister Georgiana’s thirty thousand.
Both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had attended one of the top private seminaries in town—the very place where, some few months earlier, Darcy had enrolled Georgiana to complete her education.
The Bingleys hailed from a respectable northern family, and Mr. Hurst, as heir to a baronetcy—though not of the peerage—had further raised their standing in society.
Bingley, having inherited nearly a hundred thousand pounds, had decided to establish himself with a country estate.
Darcy, now free of his own encumbrances, thought a period spent helping his friend manage Netherfield—and perhaps seeing whether he and Miss Bingley might suit—could be agreeable.
The five years since his father’s death had not been easy.
First came the year of mourning and comforting his beloved sister, their mother having died when Georgiana was but a young child.
After the mourning period, Darcy had thrown himself into the management of Pemberley, focusing especially on untangling the complex web of investments his father had left behind.
“It appears to be a very fine house, Bingley. The building is in good repair, of ample size for entertaining, with extensive grounds for pleasure and sport, and close to Meryton and the turnpikes to London. How do you find it, Miss Bingley?”
Miss Bingley turned from the window, her expression composed but eager to impress.
“It is a most agreeable house, Mr. Darcy,” she replied, her tone refined.
“The rooms are spacious and well-proportioned, and I find the air here much fresher than in town. The gardens, of course, require a little more attention—though I dare say a few weeks of proper care will restore them to their former glory.” She glanced briefly at her brother, as if seeking his approval before continuing, “And the neighbourhood is not without its amusements. There is to be an assembly Tuesday—I do hope you might attend, Mr. Darcy. I suspect we shall not lack for society.”
Mrs. Hurst, slowly stirring her tea, added, “It is pleasant to be away from the noise and press of London for a time. Netherfield is well situated, and I must confess I have grown quite fond of the view from the morning room. That lake in particular is charming, especially in this weather.”
Bingley, ever cheerful, grinned. “I am exceedingly glad you think so! I confess, Darcy, I was anxious until you had seen the place for yourself. I hoped you would approve of my choice.”
Darcy smiled, warmth softening his features. “You have done well, Bingley. I have little doubt that Netherfield will suit you admirably—and with such accomplished company to grace its rooms, I expect the house will soon be the envy of Hertfordshire.”
Miss Bingley coloured slightly at the compliment, but recovered herself with only a flutter. “You are very kind, Mr. Darcy. I trust you will not find the country too dull after the excitements of Town?”
“On the contrary,” Darcy replied, taking a seat near the window, across from the lady, “I welcome the quiet. After these last years, I find good company and conversation particularly restorative.”
* * *
Darcy, never at ease among strangers and finding such society awkward, felt the full discomfort of attending a country assembly where he knew almost no one.
Still, he privately conceded that the gentlemen were well presented and the ladies looked charming in their white muslins and soft pastels, adorned with lace, ribbons, and delicate embroidery.
Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, attired as if for a London soirée, were perhaps a touch overdressed for a rural gathering, but Darcy thought this distinction fitting—it marked their higher consequence, and their polished manners set them apart from the rest of the company.
He hoped that Georgiana, under the careful guidance of her school, would someday grow from the shy girl she was into a woman as poised as the Bingley sisters.
Bingley, with his pleasant expression and genuinely easy manners, quickly acquainted himself with the principal figures in the room.
Darcy felt obliged to accompany his friend’s sisters, especially since Mr. Hurst had already vanished to the card room.
He danced once with Mrs. Hurst and again with Miss Bingley.
Observing that gentlemen were in short supply, Darcy considered it only courteous to ask some of the other ladies to dance, though he would have preferred to keep to his own party.
His ambivalence was noted by his friend, who came to chivvy him along.
“Come, Darcy,” Bingley said, stepping away from the dance. “You must dance, or people will decide you’re proud and disagreeable. I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manner.”
“Oh, very well,” his friend replied, looking about the room. “I’ve already danced with your sisters, and you are partnered with the only other handsome girl in the room. If you should make way for me, I would be pleased to dance with her.”
“Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! She is the eldest of five sisters; the next younger is in Town and only one other is attending this evening—the two youngest are not yet out. All the family are rumoured to be very pretty, and I daresay her sister, who is sitting just behind you, is very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
Just then, an express rider entered, unmistakable in his livery, and Darcy was pointed out by Sir William Lucas, the evening’s host. The rider’s presence drew immediate attention and a flurry of speculation.
Darcy took the note, broke the seal, and read swiftly, his brow tightening with concern.
“Darcy, what’s happened?” Bingley asked. “It must be serious for a post rider to brave the London road at night.”
“I must return to Town at once!” Darcy said, heading immediately for the exit. “May I borrow your chaise to Netherfield? I’ll have it returned straight away, but I cannot delay—this is urgent.”
“Surely whatever it is can wait until morning. Even with the full moon, travelling at night is dangerous.”
“It’s Richard—he’s just returned from the Peninsula, gravely wounded. He’s nearly a brother to me, Bingley. I must go to him immediately—they fear he may not survive the next few days.”
“Your cousin, the colonel? A fine man—go, and may he not be as ailing as you fear. The ball has lost its charm; I’ll accompany you to Netherfield.”
“No, Bingley,” replied Darcy, instructing an attendant to fetch the carriage.
“You should stay. This is your new home, and leaving early might give the wrong impression, as if you’re dissatisfied with the neighbourhood.
I’ll send word as soon as I know more about Richard’s condition.
Pray for his recovery. His mother, the countess—all his family—will take it very hard otherwise. ”
In the sudden commotion, Miss Bingley pressed forward, her eyes wide with curiosity and a hint of alarm. “Mr. Darcy, what can be the cause of such urgency?” she enquired, her tone pitched loud enough to draw the attention of several onlookers.