Chapter 17
“Oh, good morning, Miss Elizabeth!”
“Good morning, Clem. How is Daisy today?”
“I believe she is well, Miss. I thought yesterday that she was limping a little on her off side fetlock, but she seems better today. We are continuing to examine her carefully to be certain she was not injured when she threw Mr. Collins.”
“Please do be careful,” Elizabeth instructed anxiously. “You know she is a difficult girl, and I would be most distressed if someone else was hurt.”
“We are being cautious, I promise you. She is well behaved for Coachman Jack.”
Elizabeth nodded and walked down the center aisle to the end, where a mounting block was situated. She stepped up on it, ruefully irritated with her own diminutive height which made it impossible to see over the side of the stall without assistance.
“Good morning, Daisy,” she crooned at the filly, who moved from the other end of the loose box toward her. Elizabeth watched her carefully and was pleased to observe that Daisy seemed to be walking normally. She reached into her pocket and offered an apple with one hand while she stroked the horse’s golden head with her other.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
“Yes, Clem?”
“I am sorry I saddled Daisy for Mr. Collins. He ordered me to, you see, but ...”
Elizabeth turned and gazed down at the stable boy with concern, “Clem, do not worry about it. You had absolutely no choice. He gave you a direct order.”
The youth looked miserable, “I tried to warn him, I did, and so did Mr. Gregory, but he would not listen! I feel that it is my fault, Miss. I never should have let him ride her.”
Elizabeth sighed, “It is not your fault. Mr. Collins made a foolish, arrogant decision and reaped the tragic consequences.”
/
“Did you hear the latest about the Bennets of Longbourn?”
George Wickham, quickly downing a glass of beer at the militia’s favorite drinking establishment, pricked up his ears and looked across the table at Lieutenant Pratt, a genial redheaded man of some three and twenty years.
“What about the Bennets?” Captain Denny inquired lazily, waving a hand to catch the attention of a serving maid. He had already drunk two full glasses of beer and was clearly only getting started.
“The eldest Miss Bennet is quite the prize now! She is the heiress to Longbourn!”
Wickham set down his glass with a bang and frowned into the younger man’s face, “I thought Longbourn was entailed to the male line.”
“It was,” Pratt agreed with relish, enjoying the attention of all those around him, “and the heir was that tiresome rector who attended the party at the Philips residence a week ago or so. He took a toss off a horse and died, and the entail died with him. Miss Bennet will now inherit!”
There were soft whistles from the men around Wickham, and Denny sighed as the serving maid brought him a new glass, “I suppose it is interesting enough, gentlemen, but we will not have much of a chance with Miss Bennet. She is one of the loveliest creatures alive, and now that she is an heiress, someone will snatch her up.”
“I heard that Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Hall has shown substantial interest in her,” another soldier murmured.
George Wickham sat back in his chair and thought hard. He was, he knew, a fine figure of a man and eminently charming. He had initially discarded all the Bennet girls as possible marriage partners due to their lack of dowry; well, it appeared that Miss Bennet, at least, was now worthy of his attention.
/
“Good evening, Mr. Bingley,” his valet said courteously.
“Good evening, Michaels,” Bingley replied, turning to allow his man to remove his coat. “I hope your cold has diminished?”
“I am very well, thank you, sir,” Michaels answered, rejoicing again that he served such a generous and kindly master. Michaels was some forty years of age and had served for more than a decade under an autocratic and irritable baronet. When the man had passed away after a drinking binge, Michaels was fortunate enough to find employment with Mr. Charles Bingley, who was an unexacting and courteous gentleman. Michael knew his place, but he also knew that he was permitted more lenience than many an upper servant. He was currently the recipient of information that would be of much interest to Charles Bingley, even if it was in the way of gossip.
“Mr. Bingley,” he continued cautiously as he helped Bingley out of his boots.
“Yes?”
“There was talk in the Hall about a most remarkable occurrence in Meryton society, one that pertains to the Bennet family.”
Bingley, whose mind had been wandering in the direction of a certain handsome blonde lady, turned abruptly to face his man.
“The Bennets? What occurrence?”
“It seems that with the death of Mr. Collins, the entail on Longbourn has come to an end. The common understanding is that the eldest Miss Bennet will inherit the estate when Mr. Bennet passes on.”
Bingley face lit up with interest, “Will she indeed?”
/
Caroline Bingley cast an irritable glance at the parlor door behind which Mr. Darcy was already sequestered for the evening. She had hoped that with her guest’s foot injury, she would have many hours available to charm the master of Pemberley with her beauty and accomplishments. Regrettably, the man found it necessary to spend too many hours resting in his bed and the remainder of the time he seemed to be at Longbourn, assisting those tedious Bennets with their foolish problems. It was exasperating.
She stalked up the stairs to her own room where her lady’s maid was waiting in attendance with her night robe laid out in preparation. It would be good to get out of her dress, which was more fashionable than comfortable.
“Miss Bingley,” Agnes said, her nimble fingers unhooking the buttons on the back, “your sister, Mrs. Hurst, is waiting in your sitting room for you.”
Caroline frowned in surprise before forcibly smoothing her face. It would not do for her to develop wrinkles, after all!
“Very well, Agnes, be quick now.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Five minutes later, the girl was dismissed, and Caroline stepped into her private sitting room where Mrs. Hurst was gazing absently into the fire.
“What do you want, Louisa?” Caroline inquired fretfully. “I am tired and wish for my bed as soon as possible.”
“Well, I want you to stay up a little longer,” Louisa replied with uncharacteristic firmness. “I have something important to discuss.”
Curiosity warred with obstinacy, and curiosity won.
“What is it?” she demanded, sinking down across from her sister near the fire. The November winds were cold tonight and Netherfield was chilly.
“I heard a most curious piece of intelligence from my maid about the Bennets.”
“I care nothing for the Bennets, Louisa. You know that. Nor should you be gossiping with the servants!”
Her sister’s lips quirked in amusement, “My dear Caroline, the servants usually know far more than their employers about what is truly going on in the area. I cultivate my maid most carefully as a gatherer of information. In any case, this is of interest. With the death of Mr. Collins, the entail on Longbourn is broken, and Mr. Bennet will be making Miss Jane Bennet his heiress.”
“I suppose that is moderately interesting,” Caroline announced, “but I fail to see why it is of such import that you are preventing me from retiring to my bed.”
“Do not be absurd, Sister. Jane Bennet is now much more eligible since she is not only a gentlewoman and beautiful, but an heiress as well.”
Caroline considered this for a moment and sighed, “I suppose there is some truth to that. But do not concern yourself, Louisa. We have successfully steered Charles away from other women who were not worthy of him. I have no doubt we can do the same this time.”
“And I am suggesting that perhaps we should not discourage, but encourage him, to offer for Miss Bennet.”
For a moment, Caroline Bingley’s mouth merely gaped open unbecomingly, and then she recovered her wits sufficiently to snarl at her sister.
“Are you mad? The Bennets? Mere country folk with little beauty or refinement? They are nothing! You cannot be serious in thinking that Charles should marry into such a family, with connections to trade no less. The mere thought of it is causing a pain in my head.”
“ We have connections to trade, Caroline,” Louisa returned impatiently. “Our own father made his fortune in trade, whereas Mr. Bennet comes from a long line of gentlemen. I understand Longbourn has been in the Bennet family for more than two hundred years!”
“That matters not! Charles must marry a woman of true refinement with excellent connections, you know that.”
“That is your ambition, Caroline, not mine. Nor is it Charles’s ambition. He has already attained all that he wants and more thanks to his friendship with Mr. Darcy. What he desires in a wife is that she be handsome, charming, and kind, and Jane Bennet is all of those things.”
Caroline pounced at this, “Yes, Mr. Darcy. Exactly! Do you really imagine that the master of Pemberley will marry me if Charles marries a handsome, poorly connected simpleton like Jane Bennet? You must be mad.”
Louisa Hurst took a deep breath and braced herself for an explosion, “Caroline, Mr. Darcy is never going to marry you.”
Again, her sister’s mouth gaped open in astonishment for a moment.
“Of what are you speaking?” the younger sister gasped. “We are meant for one another! I am handsome, accomplished, and will bring a large dowry into the marriage.”
“That will make no difference. There are literally dozens of women who would gladly marry Darcy, women who are beautiful, accomplished, wealthy, and are the daughters of gentlemen or even nobles. No, dear sister, you must lower your sights.”
“I will not,” the other woman hissed, froth bubbling unpleasantly from the corners of her mouth. “You think I should marry such a one as Mr. Hurst, who lies around drinking and eating all day?”
Louisa’s lips tightened but she forced herself to remain calm, “My marriage to Hurst was one of convenience, you know that. I wished to marry a gentleman and he needed my dowry, unlike Mr. Darcy, who is one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom. I am content enough. Hurst and I deal well with one another, and he is a kind husband. There are plenty of men far worse.”
“I am meant for more than an obliging drunkard.”
Louisa Hurst rose to her feet and pulled her warm shawl closer to her shoulders, “You are free to believe what you like, but keep in mind that if Mr. Darcy wished to marry you, he could have offered for you long ago.”
“He is merely waiting for ... for ... oh! Go away!”