More Precious Than Gold (Darcy and Elizabeth Variations #15)

Chapter One

Elizabeth Bennet entered Longbourn amidst confusion and chaos.

She could hear her mother’s frantic tones coming from the parlor and so removed her spencer, bonnet, and gloves before proceeding down the hallway to investigate.

Mrs. Bennet often became overwrought due to fits of nerves and an abundance of excitement, so it could hardly be something serious.

Still, she moved toward the parlor, curious at the reason for her mother’s boisterousness.

“It is certain, Mr. Bennet! Netherfield Park has not been let—it has been sold! I have it from Mr. Morris, who was present when the papers were signed just this morning. It has been sold to a young man from the north, a Mr. Bingley. Is that not a fine thing for our girls?”

“I cannot imagine what you mean, madam.”

Elizabeth observed her father. He had a wry smirk upon his face—a certain sign he intended to tease his wife into a frenzy.

“Oh, Mr. Bennet, can you not?” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her handkerchief.

“Certainly, I am thinking of his marrying one of our daughters. If he can afford to purchase an estate, he can surely afford to take a dowerless wife.” The matron bustled to her husband’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You must visit him as soon as he takes possession of the estate. Nothing less will do.”

“What say you, Lizzy?” Mr. Thomas Bennet turned to his second daughter. “Should I hasten to Netherfield and call upon our new neighbor?”

“It would only be polite.” Elizabeth exchanged a mirthful look with her father.

She maintained an air of indifference, though excitement coursed through her.

Gentlemen were scarce in Meryton and the surrounding area.

Many had joined the military and gone off to fight Napoleon.

Those who remained were too young, too old, or not eligible matches in the eyes of her mother.

“There, you see?” Mrs. Fanny Bennet grinned triumphantly. “You must go to Netherfield and introduce yourself as soon as may be.”

Mr. Bennet shifted slightly. “Very well, my dear, you have my promise that when this Mr. Bingley takes possession of his new estate, I shall make myself known to him as expeditiously as possible. I shall even inform him he may have his pick of our five daughters. Perhaps we shall even sign a betrothal agreement at that time.”

Mrs. Bennet scoffed. “Oh, do not be tiresome! You will wait until the second meeting!” With a toss of her head, Mrs. Bennet glided away, clearly pleased at her rejoinder.

Elizabeth’s father chuckled. “Once in a while, her nerves give way to wit, and she surprises me.”

“You cannot blame her for her enthusiasm. Netherfield has been empty for so long. And to have it purchased by a young man from the north—that is very exciting.”

“Do you hope he will show an interest in you, my dear? You would leave your poor father alone in a house full of silly women?”

Elizabeth bent and kissed her father’s cheek. “If I am favored with the attentions of a good man, who am I to refuse? I shall marry only for inclination and mutual affection. If this Mr. Bingley can provide that, then yes, I shall leave you alone.”

Her father huffed. “At least I shall have the comfort of having you at the neighboring estate.” He rose to his feet. “If anyone has need of me, I shall be in my library.” With that, he left the room.

Elizabeth contemplated the news that the largest estate in the area had been sold at long last. It had been leased several times since the Mortons had vacated it.

In a stroke of good fortune that Mrs. Bennet still bemoaned to the present day, Mr. Morton had inherited a baronetcy in Surrey.

The accompanying estate was double the size of Netherfield and had at least seven thousand a year.

She wondered why Netherfield had been sold. It seemed foolish to part with a profitable estate that was not entailed. Besides a son, the Mortons had three daughters—why did one of them not inherit?

Perhaps they have fallen on hard times, she mused. Or perhaps the increase in their income had not taught the family prudence. Whatever the reason, there would be a new resident living just three miles away very soon.

Mrs. Bennet spoke of nothing else at supper but Mr. Bingley.

The family assembled in the dining room as the light waned outside, the long table gleaming with simple but well-kept china.

Roast, potatoes, and a dish of stewed apples sent up an inviting fragrance, yet every other bite seemed to be accompanied by Mr. Bingley’s name.

The room grew warmer with each exclamation, each hopeful flutter of Mrs. Bennet’s hands, each sigh from Kitty or Lydia.

“I called upon my sister, Mrs. Phillips. She has heard the gentleman has four or five thousand a year! Can you imagine such a sum?” She hummed happily as she cut her meat. “And now, with an estate, surely, he will have ten thousand!”

Mr. Bennet shook his head. “I beg you to be cautious in your hopes, my dear. Mr. Bingley likely used his fortune to purchase the estate—it is very likely his income is less now.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Bennet! No, I am certain he will be just as wealthy as we have been told.” Mrs. Bennet looked across the table.

“And you, my dear girls, are quite the prettiest ladies in the county. One of you will secure his affections—I have no doubt. Why, even Mary is handsomer than the plainest of ladies. Charlotte Lucas, for example—”

Elizabeth cut in. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley will come to the assembly next month.” Talk of dancing would stop her mother from denigrating one of Elizabeth’s dearest friends.

Mrs. Bennet paused only long enough to swallow a mouthful of potatoes, then plunged on, the unfinished slight toward Charlotte lost in the rush of a new thought.

“—so much already! Mr. Morris said the young man is very agreeable and uncommonly handsome, with the look of a gentleman and a fortune quite as large as we might wish. Only think of it, my dear girls—a handsome young man with so many thousands a year, come into this very neighborhood!”

Kitty nearly dropped her fork. “Did Mrs. Phillips say how old he is, Mama? Is he very young? I should not like him to be old.”

“Nor I,” Lydia chimed in, laughing. “An old man could not dance half so well, and I am determined that he shall lead me down the set at our very first assembly.”

“Lydia,” Mary said primly, “you speak as though it were already arranged.”

“And why should it not be?” Mrs. Bennet demanded before Lydia could answer.

“If your father will only do his duty and call upon him, there is no reason Mr. Bingley should not notice one of you above the rest. I shall be quite distracted if he prefers someone else’s daughters when we have five as handsome and accomplished girls as any in the county. ”

Elizabeth hid a smile behind her glass. Her mother’s definition of accomplished had always been a generous one.

“Did Mrs. Phillips hear anything of his temperament?” Elizabeth asked, more to satisfy her own curiosity than from any hope of a sober account. “Does he seem amiable?”

“Oh, vastly amiable,” Mrs. Bennet assured her, waving her hand.

“He smiled upon everyone, spoke to Mr. Morris and Mr. Phillips with the greatest good humor, and declared himself delighted with the prospect of living in the country. He has taken Netherfield with all its furniture, only sending his steward beforehand to make a few improvements.”

“I hope,” Mary interjected, “that his amiability extends beyond mere civility and that he proves to be a man of sense. It would be unfortunate if so fine an estate were held by someone of weak understanding.”

“There is no need to talk of sense, Mary,” Mrs. Bennet said impatiently. “Handsome and rich is quite enough. A man may buy all the sense he requires after he has secured himself a wife and a good establishment.”

Elizabeth could not help laughing outright at that. “Pray do not repeat that sentiment in Mr. Bingley’s hearing, Mama, or he may fear you intend to sell one of us to him like a new pianoforte.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Lizzy. Of course, we shall not speak of such things to his face.” Mrs. Bennet dabbed theatrically at her eyes.

“But what else is a mother with five unmarried daughters to think of when a young man of good fortune comes into a neighborhood? If only you girls understood the anxiety of having so many to dispose of, and so little to tempt a suitor!”

Jane, who had remained mostly silent, offered a gentle smile meant to soothe.

“I am sure, Mama, that if Mr. Bingley is as amiable as you say, he will be pleased by the society of the neighborhood and will find many friends among us. We must hope only that he may be as happy in Hertfordshire as Mr. Morton was before he left.”

“Mr. Morton!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “What is Mr. Morton to Mr. Bingley? A baronet in Surrey, indeed! I dare say he is already quite puffed up with consequence. I am done thinking of the Mortons. They had every advantage, yet they turned their backs on Netherfield without a thought for those of us left behind. No, my dears, from now on, it is Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Bingley!”

She rolled the name on her tongue as though it were a particularly fine morsel of pudding.

Elizabeth exchanged a look with Jane across the table—a look full of affection, amusement, and a trace of apprehension. Jane’s fair complexion was prettily suffused with color, whether from the warmth of the room or the subject of conversation, Elizabeth could not say.

“You must admit,” Elizabeth said later, when the younger girls had descended into overlapping exclamations about assemblies and gowns, “that Mama has at last found a new object. Poor Mr. Morton is at least spared from being endlessly lamented.”

Jane’s eyes sparkled. “I hope Mr. Bingley may prove worthy of such enthusiasm. It would be a pity if she wasted so much excitement upon a man who is unkind or disagreeable.”