CHAPTER 2 DARCY STEPS IN
Fitzwilliam Darcy spread marmalade across his toast, half-listening to Bingley extolling the delights of Hertfordshire society.
The morning room at Netherfield was pleasantly warm, catching the early September sunlight.
Bingley’s two sisters, Caroline and Mrs. Hurst were still abed, and his brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst had gorged himself full of ham and fallen asleep in the library.
“You must admit, Darcy, how delightful I found the local families,” Bingley said, recalling the dinner when he hosted the Bennet family. “They may lack London polish, but they are warm and enthusiastic. Miss Bennet, especially showed such sweetness of temper and a happy disposition.”
“Indeed,” Darcy replied, not bothering to mention that one graceful daughter hardly compensated for a mother whose voice could shatter crystal and three younger girls with a complete lack of manners or restraint.
He had endured an evening of giggles, pedantic piano playing, explosions of maternal matrimonial scolding, and could only dream about retiring into a peaceful library far from the fray.
“Miss Elizabeth possesses a vivid way with words,” Bingley continued, undeterred by his friend’s laconic response. “Her conversation with Caroline was most amusing. I’ve rarely seen my sister so thoroughly matched in verbal sparring.”
Darcy’s mouth quirked at the memory. The second Bennet daughter had indeed displayed a quick wit, her fine eyes sparkling with intelligence as she had deftly countered Caroline Bingley’s thinly veiled condescension.
Still, liveliness of mind did not compensate for inferior connections and a lack of fortune.
He had resolved to waste no further thought on Elizabeth Bennet, regardless of how memorable her verbal barbs and expressive eyes.
“When does your sister arrive?” Bingley asked, shifting topics like a weather vane. “Tomorrow, is it not? I’ve instructed Mrs. Nichols to prepare the blue suite. The morning light there is particularly fine.”
“I expect her any day now, depending on how her journey from Ramsgate proceeds,” Darcy replied with a singular focus on the patterns on the teacup. “I expect she will be glad to leave the seaside. Ramsgate has gotten too fashionable lately, and Georgiana has never been comfortable in crowds.”
In truth, he had decided not to join her at Ramsgate this year, trusting her care to a Mrs. Younge, a widow of a baronet who had come highly recommended.
Georgiana at fifteen was no longer a little girl easily amused by collecting seashells and building elaborate sand fortifications at low tide.
As a young lady, she would be better entertained in the company of women at musical gatherings and taking the sea air during morning promenades along the seafront.
Mrs. Younge had assured him that Georgiana had been diligently practicing her pianoforte, sketching the coastal views, and enjoying select gatherings at the Pump Room, where the best society still lingering at Ramsgate would assemble for concerts and refined conversation.
Besides, Bingley’s need for guidance in estate management had seemed the greater necessity, and Darcy was always pleased to be of assistance to a friend.
The same couldn’t be said about the presence of Bingley’s two sisters.
Miss Caroline Bingley’s increasingly transparent attempts to secure his attention were the price he paid for his friend’s agreeable company.
“I look forward to her company,” Bingley said. “Perhaps she might enjoy meeting some of the local families? The Bennets have daughters near her age.”
Darcy suppressed a grimace. The notion of exposing his sister to the younger Bennet girls—particularly that unchecked flirt, Lydia—was not to be contemplated.
“Georgiana is exceptionally shy, Charles. After that unfortunate business at her London school, large gatherings cause her considerable distress.”
He had hoped that Hertfordshire might offer a gentle reintroduction to society—quieter gatherings with carefully selected company, rather than London’s calculating scrutiny or that dreadful school where daughters of nobility had proven that refined breeding guaranteed neither kindness nor character.
He would need to be selective about which local families were suitable for Georgiana’s acquaintance.
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a local boy in mud-splattered clothing.
The butler appeared in the doorway, his disapproval evident in the rigid set of his shoulders.
“A messenger from Meryton for Mr. Darcy, sir.”
Darcy nodded for the boy to approach.
“From The Rose a gentleman’s sister was not to be left unattended in coaching establishments, regardless of how excellent their luncheon might be.
“Nevertheless, I prefer not to leave her waiting,” he said firmly. “Vernon, have the carriage sent to Meryton at once. My sister awaits at The Rose & Crown.”
The servant hurried to comply, and Darcy strode toward the stables, Bingley still following with the persistence of a man unaccustomed to having his suggestions dismissed.
“I shall take Maximus,” Darcy informed the head groom.
“Why not take the carriage yourself?” Bingley asked, squinting in the sudden brightness of the stable yard. “Georgiana isn’t going anywhere if she’s stranded at the inn.”
Darcy suppressed a sigh. “It’s a coaching inn, Charles. While respectable enough, it remains hardly suitable for a young lady of Georgiana’s station and temperament.”
“Isn’t Mrs. Younge with her?” Bingley persisted, immune as always to subtle hints. “Or shall I wake Caroline? She’d be out the door in a heartbeat to assist your sister.”
The thought of Caroline Bingley descending upon Georgiana in her current state—all effusive flattery and sharp observations—made Darcy’s jaw tighten. “Mrs. Younge will accompany her, but I prefer to ensure Georgiana’s comfort myself.”
“Ah, the trials of having a younger sister.” Bingley chuckled. “This hardly calls for a rescue mission.”
Darcy swung himself into the saddle, looking down at his friend’s cheerful face. “We shall return before luncheon, I expect.”
The whitewashed walls of the Rose and Crown came into view. A mail coach sat in the courtyard, and several horses were tethered to the post. Darcy dismounted Maximus and handed his reins to a stable boy.
“See that he is properly cooled and watered.” He pressed a coin into the boy’s palm. “I shall not be long.”
The inn’s common room buzzed with the muted conversation of travelers taking refreshment. Darcy’s arrival drew curious glances from several patrons, his fine clothing and commanding presence marking him immediately as a gentleman of consequence.
The innkeeper approached with a deferential bow. “How may I assist you, sir?”
“I am Miss Darcy’s brother,” Darcy replied. “Which room has she been given?”
“The young lady? Yes, sir. Room 7, down the corridor on the ground floor.” The innkeeper gestured toward a passageway behind the main staircase. “Past the private dining room, then left at the end.”
“Have her trunks removed,” Darcy ordered. “My carriage should be along momentarily.”
The inn’s interior was a warren of passages that spoke of decades of haphazard additions to the original structure.
Darcy followed what he believed to be the directions, finding himself in a dimly lit hallway with doors on either side.
A small private dining room occupied one side of the passage, but there was no turn to the left, only a storage area stacked with crates and barrels.
He retraced his steps and tried another corridor, only to find the room numbers stopped at 4.