Chapter Twenty
You did not seem to get on with Miss Farrington last night, Darcy. I confess myself disappointed, as I thought you and she might have a good deal in common!”
“Really, Aunt? What, exactly, did you think we had in common?”
“Why, she studies literature, Darcy! I told you that before they arrived here!”
Mr. Darcy scoffed. “She does not study literature; she reads novels.
I promise you, Aunt, that I did my best to establish common ground, but it was useless.
Poetry? No, she does not care for it. Shakespeare?
Overrated, says she. Belinda and Castle Rackrent are her favourite works.
I am not opposed to the reading of novels, Aunt, but this hardly qualifies the young lady to be described as ‘studying literature!’ Doubtless you will say that I am too nice. “
“Doubtless I will,” his aunt replied. “Let me see, now. To be a successful candidate for the highly desirable position of the Mistress of Pemberley, the young lady must prefer the country, have some understanding of country life, and be a scholar. Is that right?”
“The first two, certainly. She must be trained to be the mistress of an estate. I certainly do not require my wife to be a scholar, but she should not imagine that reading novels qualifies her for such a distinction.” His voice sounded petulant even to his own ears.
“Very well. Tomorrow night we dine at the home of Lord and Lady Stanford. They have two daughters, both of marriageable age.”
Mr. Darcy sighed. “Very well.”
“There is also a son; I understand he is courting a young lady from the country. She might be in attendance as well.”
“So three young ladies in total.”
“No; only two. The third is being courted by their son and is not available for your consideration. Did you not understand me, Darcy?”
***
Miss Stanford, the eldest daughter, was pretty enough. The second Stanford daughter, Miss Emily, was prettier yet, though she was too young to be of interest to Mr. Darcy.
But the young lady who was being courted by Mr. Stanford was downright stunning.
Mr. Darcy had seen a good many pretty young ladies in his life; only a few could be described as beautiful.
This creature, Miss Bennet, was beyond beautiful.
Her golden hair shimmered in the candlelight; her blue eyes were wide and innocent; her skin was pure porcelain.
She was quiet; she spoke only to answer direct questions.
Mr. Darcy was well aware that he was staring at her; he was also well aware that Mr. Stanford’s eyes were shooting daggers at him. But he could not help himself.
With a concerted effort, he dragged his attention to Miss Stanford. “Have you always lived in London, Miss Stanford?”
“No, not at all, Mr. Darcy. I prefer our estate in Suffolk.”
Well, that was encouraging. “What in particular do you like about country life?” Please do not say adorable lambs, he thought.
“I like the quiet and the clean air and water, of course. But more importantly, it is necessary that we be there. The tenants are crucial to our livelihood, Mr. Darcy. If we are not there to see to them, then they suffer. If they suffer, we suffer.” Her reply was clearly heartfelt.
“Surely your mother…?”
“Of course, she does a good deal of the work involved with being the mistress of the estate, but she relies on me to assist her. I do a good deal of the plain sewing for the tenants. My sister, Emily, manages the stillroom, though I am also trained in herbal remedies.”
Well, better and better! “And I suppose you play, Miss Stanford?”
“I do, of course, as all young ladies must, though I do not consider myself a proficient. I prefer to read, if I am honest, though I know this is not something my mother wants me to say about myself.” She smiled.
“I am a great reader myself, Miss Stanford, so you need have no concerns in revealing this to me. What sort of books do you prefer?”
“Oh! Poetry. Shakespeare, of course. Robbie Burns. And I freely admit that I read novels as well!” She shook her head at herself, laughing.
“There is nothing wrong with novels,” Mr. Darcy said, staunchly. He glanced, then, at Miss Bennet, who was smiling at something Mr. Stanford had said.
Miss Stanford followed his eyes and remarked, in a low voice, “She is extremely beautiful, is she not?”
Mr. Darcy began a half-hearted protest, but she stopped him. “No, no; it is simply the truth. And it seems she is as beautiful inside as she is outside, for we have never had a cross word from her.”
“It is easy enough to maintain such a facade during a courtship,” Mr. Darcy said.
“You are quite right, which is why my brother spends as much time with her as possible. He has taken her to every art exhibit in the City, and she had remained sweet, calm and even-tempered throughout.”
“Is she interested in art?”
“I do not know. She has not objected to the expeditions, but…” Miss Stanford shrugged.
“Is your brother serious about her?”
“He is much taken with her, of course, for who would not be? But she has no connections whatever and relatives in trade; her dowry has not been mentioned. I do not believe my father will allow the match.”
“I see. Where is she from?”
“A small town in Hertfordshire; I do not recall the name.”
“Hmm. I have a friend who has just leased an estate in that county, but it is unlikely to be in the same area.”
“You may ask her, of course.”
“Perhaps I shall.” With an effort, Mr. Darcy took his eyes from the glorious Miss Bennet. “But now, Miss Stanford, tell me more about yourself. Do you ride?”
***
Mr. Darcy found himself seated between Miss Stanford and Miss Bennet at dinner. He was careful not to neglect Miss Stanford, but he could not pass up an opportunity to speak with the blonde goddess on his left. “Miss Bennet, I understand your home is in Hertfordshire.”
“That is correct, Mr. Darcy.”
“A good friend of mine has recently leased an estate in that county; I believe it is near a small town called Meryton. Might you know of it?”
Miss Bennet smiled at him, revealing white, even teeth. “I know it well. And I imagine the name of your friend’s estate is Netherfield Park, and the man himself is Mr. Bingley.”
He gaped at her. “But how…?”
“My family’s estate is not three miles distant from Netherfield Park, and my sister, Elizabeth, has kept me informed about the new tenant.”
“This is astonishing!”
Mr. Stanford, on Miss Bennet’s other side, was clearly unhappy at the amount of time she had spent conversing with Mr. Darcy, so she turned her head and hastened to explain to him.
“Mr. Darcy’s good friend, as it happens, has leased an estate that borders that of my own family! Is that not an odd coincidence?”
Mr. Stanford agreed that it certainly was. “Do you plan to visit your friend there, Mr. Darcy, given that it is so close to London?”
“I have every intention of doing so, yes.” He could hardly say that his aunt would not allow him to leave until he had met every young lady on her list. Then he added, “My carriage is at your service, Miss Bennet, if you plan to return home soon. Of course, I would ride horseback.”
As it happened, the table had fallen silent just before Mr. Darcy spoke, and so everyone had heard his rather forward offer. Everyone stared at Mr. Darcy. He could have kicked himself. He had no intention of setting himself up as a rival to Stanford, but he had just done so.
Miss Bennet rescued him. “That is very kind, Mr. Darcy. But I do not know when I will return home. My aunt and uncle are happy to host me, and my parents have four other daughters to occupy them at home.”
“Of course,” he said at once, and then turned back to Miss Stanford.
***
That night, he received a scolding from his aunt. “I told you not to interfere with Stanford’s courtship!”
“You did, yes.”
“Then what on earth were you thinking?”
“I was evidently not thinking at all.” Mr. Darcy could only shake his head at his impromptu and ill-timed offer to Miss Bennet.
“Hmph. Very well. What of Miss Stanford, then?”
“She seems quite suitable.”
“Well! That is good to hear! What will you do, then?”
“Do?”
“Heavens, Darcy, are you simple? Yes, DO! Will you call on her? Take her for a carriage ride?”
Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I am too tired to think about it now, Aunt. I beg you to defer this discussion for the morrow.” With that, he went upstairs to write to his sister and then go to bed.
Dearest Georgiana,
I am still in London, obeying our aunt’s wishes.
Tonight I met a young lady who seemed in every way suitable to be the Mistress of Pemberley.
I should be preparing to get to know her better.
I should be planning to bring her a posy and then invite her for a drive.
But, dear sister, I just cannot seem to work up the energy for such an effort!
She is in every way perfect, yet something is missing. I cannot understand it.
I also met a very beautiful young lady who, oddly enough, lives quite near to Bingley’s estate! She is evidently being courted by the eldest son of Lord and Lady Stanford, so I have been warned off in no uncertain terms.
I am certainly not shallow enough to be interested in a young lady simply because of her looks. But it does seem an odd coincidence that she should live so near to Bingley, does it not? I am not so fanciful as to think of this as some sort of fate, of course.
And to the point you raised in your most recent letter; you are quite right that I regard such things as elevated heartbeat and tingling fingers as romantic fancies. The role of the Mistress of Pemberley is too important to be left to such nonsense!
I was delighted to hear that you are eating better! Your wellbeing remains my primary concern.
Your devoted brother,
William