Chapter 3
“Welcome, Darcy!” Charles Bingley exclaimed, striding out of the side yard with a broad smile on his face.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of the grand estate of Pemberley in Derbyshire, swung from his chestnut stallion Galileo and reached out to grasp his friend’s hand.
“Thank you for inviting me, Bingley,” he responded sincerely. He was pleased to be away from London and entirely ready for a change of scenery. More than that, Darcy wished to spend time with his always cheerful friend, Charles Bingley; the man was inveterately optimistic, and after the sorrows and struggles of these last months, Darcy needed someone to lift his spirits.
“I will take your horse for you, sir,” a stable boy suggested, running up to the pair. Darcy handed over the reins, gave Galileo a pat on the rump, and gazed around thoughtfully at the Netherfield mansion.
“It looks very pleasant, Bingley,” he said approvingly. He had been afraid that his friend would choose something Gothic and run down, but the building seemed modern and well built.
“It is,” Bingley agreed eagerly. “Do you wish to refresh yourself inside, or would you care to stroll around the gardens?”
“I would like to stretch my legs,” Darcy assured him, falling into step beside his shorter friend. A moment later, a red furry bolt charged around the corner of the house and began leaping and cavorting around Bingley’s boots. Seconds after that, a servant raced around the corner.
“Oh sir,” the man cried out. “I do apologize! He must have heard and smelled you, sir.”
“That is quite all right,” Bingley responded with a laugh, leaning down to pat the dog on the head. “Well, what do you think of Maxwell, Darcy? I purchased him only a few days ago for quite a price as both his parents are good pointers.”
Darcy knelt down on the dry grass to inspect the beast. Maxwell was a spaniel, his top coat and legs a rich red, his underside white. He had the short coat and feathered legs and tail of his kind, and his brown eyes were liquid pools of enthusiasm for life in general and his master in particular.
“He is indeed a fine specimen,” Darcy declared. “How old is he?”
“Five months,” his friend said with pride. “He is still young and in training, but I intend to do quite a bit of shooting, and the agent, Mr. Morris, assures me that birds are plentiful on the southwest part of the estate.”
“That sounds delightful,” Darcy said courteously. He was not a rabid sporting enthusiast like many of his contemporaries, but he liked it well enough; hunting was, at least, a good reason for getting outside and enjoying some exercise. Hunting would also provide a buffer from ...
“Mr. Darcy!” a shrill female voice exclaimed from behind them. “Sir, it is so delightful to see you again!”
Darcy turned around and bowed slightly to the lady, “Miss Bingley, it is pleasant to see you as well. Thank you for being willing to act as hostess while I visit.”
“Oh, Mr. Darcy!” the lady responded with a coquettish batting of her eyelids. “You know that you have honored us with your presence! The society here is unvarying and provincial – we are most grateful to have a distinguished guest like yourself.”
“Now Caroline,” Bingley admonished, “you are not being fair. All our visitors have been most friendly and welcoming.”
The lady tossed her titian hair, “Nonsense, Charles, you know that they care only about your fortune. Mark my words, every one of our visitors has a daughter or niece or cousin desirous of marrying a rich man. It is quite disgusting.”
Darcy suppressed a disdainful smirk with some difficulty. Miss Caroline Bingley had spent the last two years hunting him with the obsessive fervor of a wolf stalking a hapless sheep; she wished above all things to be the mistress of Pemberley and the Darcy fortune, though he thought it unlikely she cared at all about his own personal character and wishes. Her speech was a clear case of the pot calling the kettle black.
“Well, we will see,” Bingley said cheerfully. “There is an assembly in Meryton tonight and we will all attend. I look forward to meeting more of the local populace.”
Miss Bingley immediately rushed into speech, “Mr. Darcy, if you are too fatigued from your journey, or, more likely, have no desire to meet the occupants of this backwards town, I would be most pleased to stay behind at Netherfield with you. There will be little of interest for both of us at this tiresome gathering, I fear.”
“Now Caroline,” Bingley remonstrated, his usually good humored face disapproving.
“I will attend the assembly,” Darcy said stiffly. In truth, he had no desire at all to mingle with complete strangers, but he had joined Bingley with the understanding that his friend was far more sociable than he was. Furthermore, Darcy would not stay behind with Miss Bingley for fear of giving the lady even more ideas than she already had.
“That is splendid!” Bingley declared, his good humor returning. “I am certain we will have a charming time.”
/
Fitzwilliam Darcy stood, back against the wall, and moodily surveyed the assembly of people dancing and cavorting in the midst of the assembly hall in Meryton. The building was of reasonable size but of no particular interest from an architectural perspective, and the food and decorations were provincial and uninspiring.
The dance was but half over and he was already entirely weary of the affair; the men to whom he had been introduced were all commonplace, and the women were, with only one exception, without any real beauty. The exception was an exquisite blonde whose seraphic eyes matched her delicate blue gown. She was, Darcy admitted to himself, one of the most handsome women he had ever beheld, but it was all too likely that nothing of substance lay behind that gorgeous face. Bingley, being Bingley, had naturally asked her to dance, and they were now circling the room for the second time, gazing into one another’s eyes and apparently conversing cheerfully. The woman in question, a Miss ... Burnet (Bennet? Bent?) was one of a passel of daughters, overseen by a clearly vulgar mother who was one of the first to trumpet the wealth of the two new bachelors in their rustic midst. It was exasperating that he had entered this room only two hours ago, and already he heard the whispers from the occupants.
“10,000 pounds a year!”
“A large estate in Derbyshire!”
How weary he was of it all, of women chasing men for their money, of men pursuing women for connections and beauty. He was well aware that he and Georgiana were blessed in their wealth, but he had nearly lost his darling sister to a fortune hunter only a few months previously; there were times when he felt he would be more satisfied with a modest estate and fortune where he would no longer be pursued by unrefined matrons. But no, a simple life was not for him, Darcy of Pemberley.
“Come, Darcy!” the familiar voice of his closest friend cried out, causing Darcy to lift his miserable gaze to meet that of Charles Bingley.
The man clapped a familiar hand on his arm and smiled, “I must have you dance! I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
Darcy stood up even straighter to tower over his friend, “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room, with whom it would not be a punishment for me to stand up.”
“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life, as I have this evening; and there are several of them you see uncommonly pretty.”
Darcy fixed his eyes on the blonde beauty, now standing at the refreshment table speaking with one of her numerous sisters.
“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” he commented.
Bingley smiled even more broadly, “Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”
“Which do you mean?” the master of Pemberley inquired coldly, turning around to stare at the young woman sitting demurely on a chair against the wall. She was dressed in a pale green gown and her hair was not blonde, but light brown. She was, he supposed, pretty enough, but not nearly as handsome as her eldest sister. She was also absurdly youthful; he thought she ought be in the schoolroom as opposed to out in company.
“She is tolerable,” he said contemptuously, “but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”
Bingley caught his breath at these exceptionally unkind words and his gaze shifted uneasily to the young lady. She had clearly overheard his friend’s brutal speech and her beautiful brown eyes were filling with tears, her cheeks reddening. Bingley hesitated, uncertain of what to do, only to be rescued when another one of the Bennet sisters, who had been hovering nearby, stepped forward and blocked his view of the girl.
Charles Bingley shot an indignant look at Darcy but the man was looking especially haughty and irritable – it would do no good to remonstrate with Darcy now. But he would speak to his friend later on this matter. It was all well and good to be Darcy of Pemberley and to think himself superior to others, but it was not gentleman-like to make a pretty, young girl cry.
/
Elizabeth Bennet felt her whole body relax and she nodded gratefully to Lady Lucas, the mother of her good friend Charlotte.
“Thank you, Lady Lucas. I did not wish to leave Hannah without a position, but even a few pounds make a difference now, and we truly do not need her.”
“You are doing our family a great service,” Lady Lucas responded placidly. “I know Hannah is an excellent kitchen maid, and our cook is getting up in years. She will be a wonderful addition to our staff.”
“Hannah makes the most delightful biscuits,” Charlotte Lucas exclaimed, having walked up to them after an energetic country dance. “I truly do not know how you can part with her, Elizabeth. I only hope you will not waste away!”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to make an arch reply, only to stop as Mary and Kitty approached. Mary looked furious and Kitty was nearly crying.
“What is wrong?” Elizabeth demanded worriedly. “Kitty, are you ill?”
“No, she is not ill,” Mary hissed angrily. “She is hurt. That vile Mr. Darcy said the most insulting thing to her, Lizzy! He said that she was not handsome enough to tempt him to dance with her. How dare he?”
Kitty did start crying at these words, and Mary wrapped a protective arm around her younger sister.
“Truly, Kitty,” Elizabeth replied softly, casting an outraged glance at Mr. Darcy, who was now standing in the corner of the room next to the equally haughty Miss Bingley, “do not take it to heart. He may be rich and well connected, but his manners are those of an ill-favored pig.”
Lady Lucas gasped at this, but Kitty managed a watery chuckle.
“Truly, Lizzy, I know I am not as beautiful as Jane; indeed, no one is! But to have him look at me with such contempt ...”
At this moment, Jane and Mr. Bingley approached and all the women turned toward him, though Kitty remained close to Mary for protection.
Jane smiled at them all, though her brow was slightly wrinkled as she observed the tears in her young sister’s eyes.
“Mr. Bingley, you have already been introduced to Lady Lucas and Miss Lucas, I know. This is my sister, Elizabeth, my sister, Mary, and my sister, Kitty.”
Bingley bowed to all of them and bestowed a special smile on Mary, “Miss Mary, might I have the pleasure of the next dance?”
Mary looked startled; she was the least beautiful of the Bennet women and rarely was asked to dance when gentlemen were scarce, as they were this evening.
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley, I would be honored.”
“And after I dance with you, Miss Mary, might I have the pleasure of dancing with Miss Kitty?”
Kitty quickly ran a handkerchief over her face and nodded, “I would be honored, sir.”
“I believe the music is starting up, Miss Mary,” Bingley said, and held out his hand for her.
When he was well out of hearing, Elizabeth mused, “Mr. Bingley’s manners, at least, are without reproach. How odd that he should have such an ill-tempered friend.”
“Mr. Darcy is extremely wealthy, Eliza,” Charlotte commented, her eyes on the tall gentleman from Derbyshire. “That, combined with his fine figure and distinguished pedigree, no doubt makes him a good friend even if his temperament is not the best.”
“I suppose that is true,” Elizabeth sighed. “Come, Kitty, let us retire to the ladies’ room so you can refresh yourself before you dance with Mr. Bingley. I see Mother is finished with her discussion with Mrs. Long, and I know you do not wish to discuss your unpleasant interaction with Mr. Darcy.”
“Indeed, I do not!” Kitty agreed fervently, allowing her sister to draw her away.