Chapter Twenty-Four
Netherfield Park
Darcy
Matters of business detained the gentlemen at Netherfield through the morning, the drawing room transformed into a temporary study.
Papers lay stacked upon the sideboard, maps unfurled, and a fire blazed cheerily in the hearth.
Bingley, seated near the writing desk, held a letter in one hand and frowned over a sheet of parchment.
“Darcy,” he said, setting the papers aside, “I have resolved to make one more alteration to the marriage articles before the final draft is prepared. Only a small clarification regarding the jointure."
Darcy nodded with approval. “Prudent. ’Tis best to have everything set forth clearly now.”
“I have also received a packet of correspondence from an agent in the North; he sends word of five estates, all within fifty miles of Pemberley. I thought I might settle nearer to you.”
Darcy regarded Bingley with interest. Such a choice would certainly aid his own cause with Elizabeth; being so near her dearest sister must prove highly agreeable. “Let us look at them.”
Bingley spread the papers, and Darcy read each aloud:
Ashbrook Hall — Located in Cheshire, this estate comprises a modest manor set on 520 acres, with twelve tenant farms and a gently sloping park. The house is in fair repair, though the dower house requires renovation. The nearby village provides both a school and a church.
Windmere Grange — Set in Derbyshire, only twenty-five miles from Pemberley, Windmere Grange offers 700 acres, fifteen tenant farms, and a late Tudor manor with substantial stables. The estate includes a well-kept dower house and excellent roads. The library is reputed to be impressive.
Netherby Downs — In Nottinghamshire, this estate encompasses 470 acres with ten tenant farms, and a rather grand Queen Anne manor. The house is beautifully maintained and boasts a small ornamental lake. There is no dower house, though a detached guest cottage might be converted.
Highmere Park — Near Bakewell, also in Derbyshire, Highmere consists of 610 acres, thirteen tenant farms, and a weathered but dignified manor house dating from the reign of Charles II. The estate includes a mill, and the dower house has been recently reroofed.
Rosegate Manor — Situated in southern Cheshire, Rosegate features a modern Palladian-style house, 450 acres, eight tenant farms, and extensive flower gardens. The house is in excellent repair, but the estate lacks woodland and has no dower house.
Darcy studied each summary carefully. “Windmere Grange and Highmere Park are both strong candidates. Ashbrook has promise, but the work required may not justify the cost.”
Bingley tapped his fingers. “I agree. And Rosegate is charming, but lacks substance. It has too many gardens, and too few fields."
“Then let us set aside Ashbrook, Rosegate, and Netherby Downs. I shall accompany you in touring Windmere and Highmere, and together we can determine which suits you best.”
Bingley gave a grateful smile. “Your help means more than I can say.”
Just then, the butler entered with a tray. “A letter for you, sir,” he said, presenting it to Darcy.
Darcy recognized the hand at once. “From Georgiana,” He excused himself and withdrew to his chamber. There, he sat by the window and broke the seal.
Dearest William,
It has been far too long since I have written you anything of length, and I am determined to amend that now. Mrs. Annesley encouraged me to sit and take my time, and so I do, with her smiling at me from across the room as I begin this letter.
My days have been quite regular, though not unpleasant. Aunt Matlock has been most attentive, taking me to visit acquaintances and lending me books from her library. I am presently studying Italian with renewed interest and have even begun composing short pieces anew.
I have been practicing some particularly challenging works—Dussek’s Grand Sonata in F-sharp minor has tested my patience, and Haydn’s Andante with Variations continues to elude perfect execution. But Mrs. Annesley says she sees progress, and I must trust her ear.
My companion has been wonderfully patient. I cannot express enough gratitude for her guidance. She knows how to lift my spirits without flattery, and though I still struggle with moments of melancholy, they are fewer now.
Aunt has also expressed her approval of my diligence, and last week she brought me a folio of sonatas by Clementi. They are light and pleasant, and I find them a welcome contrast to the more demanding pieces. I played one for her yesterday, and she declared I had improved since Michaelmas.
The household here is kind and orderly. Evenings are spent in reading or music. I have begun copying passages from Richardson into my commonplace book. As Aunt says, it will improve my penmanship as well as my moral sensibilities. I believe she means it affectionately.
The garden is dull this time of year, but I have taken to walking the gravel paths after breakfast. The hellebores have begun to open in the south corner—such brave blooms.
I am eager to hear more from you, dear brother. Your last letter was so short that I feared you were unwell or troubled. Please tell me what occupies you. I long to know how your days are spent, and whether you are happy.
With all my love,
Your devoted sister,
Georgiana
Darcy folded the letter and held it a moment, his heart full. He drew out his own paper and began his reply.
My dearest Georgiana,
Your letter was balm to my soul. I cannot express the joy it gave me to read your thoughts at such length.
I must first apologize for my recent neglect.
My days have not been idle, but I ought to have written more faithfully.
You are very dear to me, and though you are well attended by those who care for you, I should never let distance become an excuse for silence.
You asked what occupies me; dearest sister, I continue my visit with Bingley, and I believe, with every certainty in my heart, that I am in love.
It has been twelve days since I began giving small gifts to the lady who has captured my heart entirely.
Each day I have chosen something thoughtful and personal—tokens meant to delight her and to discreetly convey the depth of my admiration.
A fan of painted silk, a length of violet ribbon, a volume of poetry, a finely embroidered shawl, silver combs, a pearl necklace, a diamond locket that belonged to our grandmother…
To-day, I sent her eleven sapphire hairpins. To-morrow, the final gift.
Her name is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I have mentioned her in my letters before, if you recall.
She is clever and lively, her wit sparkling yet tempered with wisdom.
Her eyes—oh, Georgiana, her violet eyes—lovely and luminous, seem to speak volumes when her words fall still.
She walks with dignity, converses with elegance, and holds to her principles with steadfast resolve.
There is a light in her that makes the world itself seem warmer.
What astonishes me most is how she perceives the truth of character. She has not been dazzled by wealth or name. She has teased me, challenged me, and perhaps unknowingly, healed something within me.
We have not spoken of these things openly yet, but I feel a certainty growing between us.
I confess I began these tokens in secret, for I was not certain she would welcome such attentions.
Yes, my dear sister, she is singular, caring not a jot for being Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley unless she felt sincere attachment to my person.
Now, however, I hope—I dare to hope—that she may return my affection, and I intend to make my offer before I quit Hertfordshire, though I find myself more anxious than when engaged with her in our sharpest exchanges of wit.
I wish you could meet her. I believe you would find her a kindred spirit.
Her devotion to her sisters is admirable, and she speaks of music and novels with great pleasure.
She once spoke so warmly of a sister who plays the pianoforte, and I longed to tell her of you. I restrained myself, but only just.
Pray that I may soon bring her into our family, to call her not only my wife, but your sister. I think she would love you very well, and you, her.
On another note, a certain person will no longer trouble us. I will tell you more, but do not wish to mar this missive with thoughts of him.
I will write again soon—with good news, I trust. And if all goes as I desire, my next letter may contain not merely my wishes, but the beginning of a new chapter for us all.
Ever your loving brother, William
He closed the letter, signed it with a flourish, then sanded and sealed the missive. It would go out with the post, and when he wrote again, it would be to announce success. Georgiana would not wait patiently; she had longed for a sister and would wish to know immediately when he knew success.
The dining room at Netherfield was unusually subdued that evening.
The fire crackled in the grate, and the candles glimmered upon the silver.
Only two places were set for dinner; he and Bingley sat across from one another, each sunk in thought.
The footman served a hearty fare: a roast saddle of mutton with red currant jelly, buttered turnips, and a game pie, the repast concluding with a custard tart.
Bingley glanced around the room as he sipped his claret. “I must confess, Darcy, I find I miss the chaos of Longbourn. Meals there are never tame.”
Darcy allowed a rare smile. “Indeed. Lively does not begin to describe it. I own I am quite fond of their company.”
“Fond? I see you are less rigid with the Bennets, but fond? I never thought to hear it from you.”
“You are not the only one surprised, They have a way of endearing themselves, almost unawares. I believe, above all, they are genuine, which is more than I can say of many in the first circles.”