Mr. Hurst’s Return (Netherfield Returns #2)

Chapter I

Curious was the only word Elizabeth could summon when she saw it.

It was the day of the Christmas party at Lucas Lodge, an annual soiree that Sir William Lucas considered the very pinnacle of local society.

That year differed from the previous years because of certain events in autumn, the most notable of which was the arrival of the party at Netherfield.

That the Netherfield party had stolen away like thieves in the night, only a few days after the ball they had hosted, was a facet of recent events, as was her sister Jane’s continued low spirits at the absence of Mr. Bingley, the man who had paid her so much attention all those months.

To own the truth, that departure without even the courtesy of leave-taking, a serious breach of etiquette, made what Elizabeth saw that much more peculiar, for she had not thought of seeing anyone from Netherfield return to the neighborhood.

But there he was, sitting in a corner, nursing a snifter of brandy, appearing to care little for the company yet anticipating the delights of Lady Lucas’s table, which always groaned with the bounty of succulent foods at these parties.

The figure she noticed was, of course, none other than Mr. Gerald Hurst, Mr. Bingley’s brother-in-law and one of the dullest men Elizabeth had ever met.

Were Elizabeth to deliberate on it, she would concede that of the five who had stayed at Netherfield Park until only a few short weeks ago, she would have thought Mr. Hurst the least likely to return unannounced.

A determined bore and a man who cared for nothing but good food and spirits in abundance, she had always considered him a man who would follow the most readily available source of those things he found important.

In this case, she thought that person was Mr. Bingley, a man of easy temperament and a desire to please.

Even Mr. Darcy, the haughty friend who had accompanied Mr. Bingley to Hertfordshire, was more likely to return than Mr. Hurst, a man who could become soused anywhere he pleased.

“I know little of it, Lizzy,” said Charlotte when Elizabeth raised the subject with her friend. “Mr. Hurst returned to Netherfield Park alone, or so I understand. It was only by chance that my father learned of his presence in time to invite him to join us tonight.”

“And Mr. Hurst has given no reason for returning alone?”

Charlotte shrugged, showing her indifference. “Not to my father. Mr. Bingley and the rest of the party remain in London, or so he said. Why he has come alone I cannot say.”

Then Charlotte changed the subject and spoke of her upcoming wedding to the man Elizabeth had refused, her father’s cousin Mr. Collins.

Though Elizabeth supported her friend, she knew why Charlotte had accepted a man who could not be an agreeable companion, and it had nothing to do with those values that formed Elizabeth’s wishes for entering the marriage state.

One item of interest was Charlotte’s invitation for Elizabeth to join her father and younger sister in visiting her new home in the spring.

The thought of enduring Mr. Collins’s silliness for six weeks was not palatable to Elizabeth’s sensibilities, but when she considered it, she realized she would not object to some precious time in her friend’s company and was curious to see how she would get on in her new situation.

Thus, she accepted the invitation with little hesitation.

When Elizabeth and Charlotte drifted apart from each other, she found herself near Mr. Hurst by chance later that evening, and as the man did not appear opposed to speaking to her, she took the opportunity to say a few words.

In truth, Mr. Hurst spoke before Elizabeth could think of something to say.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said the man in the gruff tone he used. “I hope you have not found yourself lost in the paths of your father’s estate, abusing your petticoats in your wanderings.”

It was a comment that could be construed as insulting, given what Elizabeth was certain those at Netherfield had said about her after her arrival at the estate that November morning when Jane had become ill.

The man, though a bore, was not devoid of humor, and the slight upturn of his lips suggested he meant it as a tease, little though she had experienced anything similar from him in the past. This allowed her to respond with composure rather than a reprimand.

“Not at all, Mr. Hurst. The winter is too cold for walking, and I never abuse my petticoats without reason.”

The man responded with a grimace that might also be taken for a smile. “That is well, then. As my family is not in residence, you will have no reason to walk to Netherfield. That is for the best.”

Elizabeth regarded him with no little curiosity. “It is a surprise to see you here, Mr. Hurst. Given the season, I might have thought you eager to remain with family.”

The gentleman regarded her for several long moments before he responded. “A man must know his limits. Though I will not speak of it, the situation in London was not comfortable, so I asked Bingley’s permission to stay here for a time.”

Curiosity aroused yet again, Elizabeth considered what she might say.

Mr. Hurst had already said he would not discuss what brought him here, and Elizabeth did not suppose she could pull that information from him, even if it had been proper to try.

Still, his turn of phrase suggested there was some strife in London, making distance desirable despite the Christmas season.

As more subtlety was required, she changed course.

“To own the truth, we were all taken aback by your company’s sudden departure from Hertfordshire. There were many in the neighborhood, myself included, who had not thought Mr. Bingley would leave without a backward glance. I thought he found his residence here agreeable.”

The way Mr. Hurst regarded her suggested either amusement or displeasure, and Elizabeth was uncertain which. It was several moments before he deigned to respond, and when he did so, it was most unsatisfying.

“While he was here, I would agree with you. But Bingley is a man who finds contentment in any situation.”

“As he told me himself,” said Elizabeth, disappointed he had revealed nothing more.

“Just so.”

“Do you suppose he will return?” Elizabeth affected a nonchalant smile. “After all, if he is content anywhere, why not at Netherfield?”

“That I cannot say. Perhaps he will, but when I left London, he gave every impression of being settled there for the moment.”

A wave of annoyance settled over Elizabeth, but before she could respond, another figure approached.

Mr. Wickham was the opposite of Mr. Hurst, as he was tall and handsome, slender and graceful, with piercing blue eyes to catch the attention of any maiden.

Though Elizabeth did not fancy herself in love with him, she liked him very well.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said the officer, bowing. “Your youngest sisters have persuaded Miss Mary to play so they can dance. Will you not oblige me by standing up for a set?”

“Of course, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth.

Then she turned back to Mr. Hurst, noting that his interested gaze was now fixed on Mr. Wickham. “I apologize, Mr. Hurst, but it is time for me to join the festivities. Should you write to your family, please pass the best wishes of my family on to them.”

Elizabeth had not meant to say it; even if Mr. Hurst was much of a correspondent—and she had her doubts—she did not suppose he would convey such sentiments to his party.

Though Elizabeth could not say why he was here, she was certain it had nothing to do with Mr. Bingley’s departure from Netherfield or Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy’s combined hope of keeping the gentleman away from her.

What she did not expect was for Mr. Hurst to all but ignore her, other than a curt nod, and focus on the officer.

“Mr. Wickham,” said he, sizing him up with a glance, or so Elizabeth thought, “excuse me if I presume, but unless I am much mistaken, you are acquainted with Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, are you not?”

Surprise flickered across Mr. Wickham’s face, then an expression that disturbed Elizabeth, one that she could only call calculation.

“Indeed, I am. I apologize, sir, for you have the advantage of me.”

“Gerald Hurst, husband to Charles Bingley’s sister, Louisa. Darcy is a friend of my brother—it was at Bingley’s request that Darcy was lately in residence at Netherfield Park.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Wickham with a look that was too knowing and a little disquieting.

“I had heard something of Darcy’s friendship with a man of trade.

” Mr. Wickham’s chuckle carried a distinct note of derision.

“That is Darcy without a doubt—surround himself with those he considers inferior so that he may bask in his self-importance.”

Elizabeth stared at Mr. Wickham in astonishment.

That she had no good opinion of Mr. Darcy had never been in question.

In all the time she had known him, however, she had never considered his affection for Mr. Bingley anything but sincere.

When Elizabeth voiced this opinion, however, Mr. Wickham’s response was almost patronizing, as if she were naught but a small child.

“Perhaps you may think that, Miss Elizabeth, but I assure you that this is a common pattern for Darcy. When in town, he mingles with those who are his equal or greater in consequence, but he enjoys feeling superior when among those he considers his ‘friends.’”

Though Elizabeth thought to question Mr. Wickham’s perception, she caught sight of Mr. Hurst. The gentleman had turned away from the officer, and the slight shake of his head made Elizabeth reconsider her words. This allowed Mr. Wickham time to turn to Mr. Hurst.

“Then you know Darcy well, do you?”

“Enough to know much of him,” replied Mr. Hurst. “Bingley is his friend, but I associate with him enough to have an accurate sketch of his character.”