5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
A Complicated Man
E lizabeth went in to dinner prepared to watch Mr. Darcy as her sister had suggested. As much as she liked to argue, Elizabeth had to admit that Jane may be correct. Only a complicated man would behave as Mr. Darcy had done since he arrived in Hertfordshire. Perhaps he would make an interesting study.
She sat next to Mr. Hurst who seemed more interested in his food than anything else. She almost mentioned to him that she had met his son earlier in the day, but she did not wish to get Peter’s nurse into trouble for allowing him to escape the nursery. She shared fewer than three minutes of conversation with Mr. Hurst, which consisted of his food preferences and his surprise at hers, and then she turned her attention to the other guests.
Miss Bingley was angling hard for Mr. Darcy’s attention, and she harangued him endlessly. The man bore it with surprising patience. Elizabeth would have liked to hear his inner monologue as he listened to his hostess prattle on about the gowns she had ordered and how much the lace had cost at her exclusive modiste. Elizabeth had a slight interest in fashion, and even she was bored by Miss Bingley’s monologue.
Mr. Bingley was his usual jovial self. The table was small enough that they were all able to share conversation if they wished. He asked Elizabeth how Jane was doing and hoped she found her room comfortable. Elizabeth assured him that both she and her sister were as comfortable as they possibly could be, and he proceeded to indirectly ask her about Jane.
“Do you and your sisters enjoy riding?”
“Jane is the most accomplished of all, though my sister Mary enjoys it as well.”
“Do you not ride, Miss Elizabeth?” asked Mr. Darcy.
She turned toward him, surprised that he had joined their conversation.
“I can ride when necessary, but I am no horsewoman. I prefer moving about on my own two feet.”
His mouth twisted in a way she almost thought was amusement, and he quickly hid behind his wine glass.
“Do you drive at all?” asked Bingley. “I have considered ordering a small phaeton for Caroline now that we are in the country.”
Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley drawing breath and her irritated expression, so she spoke before the other woman could. “I do not have a conveyance of my own, but the previous resident of Netherfield, Lady Whitcombe, had a small phaeton. She taught me to drive it some years ago. I was the only one of my sisters who wished to learn. Jane would often ride alongside whilst I drove.”
“You see, Caroline, it is perfectly natural for ladies to drive such a vehicle in the country.” He ignored his sister’s irritated expression and turned back toward Elizabeth. “Did Lady Whitcombe live here long?”
“Yes, my entire life until she moved two years ago. The house is owned by a cousin of hers, and she lived here at Netherfield for more than twenty years. Sir David Whitcombe died five years ago and, after a few years on her own, she decided to live with her daughter in Town.”
“So you were close with the family?”
“Somewhat. Sir and Lady Whitcombe had three daughters and two sons. The eldest girl was a few years older than Jane—she is the one Lady Whitcombe lives with now. Her eldest son lives on an estate he inherited in Devon. The next daughter recently married a gentleman from Shropshire. She and Jane were always good friends.”
“I am surprised she moved away with a son to help her manage the property, but I suppose he had to tend to his estate in Devon.”
Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy in surprise again. Was he not attending Miss Bingley’s conversation? She had heard the other lady speaking of something inconsequential. “Yes, we thought so at the time as well, but Mr. Whitcombe had other responsibilities, and she wished to be near her daughter and her new grandchildren. I suppose Netherfield is rather large for only three ladies, but we were all sad to see them go.”
“Do you keep up a correspondence with the family?” asked Bingley.
“Yes, quite regularly.” She was happy to continue talking about the Whitcombe family. It would avoid discussion of her own, and she knew she would not have half of Jane’s patience with their impertinent questions. “The third daughter is of an age with myself and staying with her mother and elder sister in Town. She is an amusing correspondent. The youngest son is in Cambridge, but he occasionally sends my father a letter.”
“Do you see them often when you go to Town?”
She smiled at Mr. Bingley’s subtle way of asking how often they went to Town. “We do. I have been Miss Amelia’s guest a few times in Mayfair, and they are friendly with my aunt and Uncle Gardiner.”
“Your relations in Cheapside?” asked Miss Bingley in a snide tone.
Elizabeth straightened her spine. “Near Cheapside, Miss Bingley. And yes, they enjoy a friendship with Lady Whitcombe and her children.”
Miss Bingley smirked as if she had scored a point of some kind and attended her meal. Elizabeth pursed her lips and cut her pheasant. She would not give the woman the satisfaction of showing her annoyance.
“What time of year do you generally visit London?” asked Mr. Bingley—his voice quieter so only she could hear him.
“We often go in mid-winter and stay through the beginning of spring. Occasionally we visit in autumn. It depends on our hosts’ travel schedule.”
“Do your relations travel often then?”
“Yes, my aunt is very fond of new places, and my uncle is very fond of her. They generally take an extended holiday each summer. Last summer they visited the seaside for a month, and Jane accompanied them. I will attend them next summer.”
“Ah. Do you know where you will visit?”
“They have discussed the Lake District, but Scotland has also been mentioned. I have some cousins there so it is a possibility.”
“What is the name of your Scottish cousins?” Mr. Darcy’s voice interrupted her quiet conversation with Mr. Bingley again.
She looked at him in surprise. She had heard him conversing with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and she had not thought he would be able to distinguish what she and Mr. Bingley spoke of since they had lowered their voices. “The Gordons and the Kerrs. We have not seen them in many years, but we maintain the connection.”
Darcy nodded, his expression impossible to decipher. What is he thinking so deeply about?
“Are they your mother’s relatives?” asked Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth took a breath to answer, but before she could speak, Mr. Darcy said, “The Gordons are one of the oldest noble families in Scotland. They are not far from the border with England. Pemberley does business with one of the current estate owners.” He turned to face Elizabeth again. “Perhaps he is your cousin.”
She thought she saw his lip twitch, but she did not know him well enough to decipher whether or not he was teasing. She sipped her wine before responding. “Perhaps. Do you know his given name or the name of his estate?”
“I do not recall his given name, but his estate is called Greenbriar Hall.”
Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “That is Uncle Colin’s estate! I have not visited it since I was a child, but it is very beautiful. Have you seen the waterfall upstream from the loch?”
Darcy suddenly appeared inordinately interested in the conversation and leaned forward. “I have. It is indeed lovely. He is your uncle, you say?”
“In our family, we tend to call all the cousins of the generation before us our uncle or aunt even though they are actually cousins of some degree. If I recall correctly, he is my second cousin once-removed. His grandfather was my great-grandmother’s brother. She and her brother were very close, and she used to visit every other year. She took my father everywhere with her in his youth, and he and Uncle Colin enjoy a close friendship. I began accompanying Granny when I was five years old, but I have not seen my uncle since she died five years ago.”
Darcy’s brows raised. “She must have been of an advanced age.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, she was two and ninety.”
“That is impressive!” cried Bingley. “Are many in your family so long-lived?”
“Charles!” hissed Caroline, but she was ignored.
“Her sister lived to be seven and eighty and her brother nine and eighty. We cannot be certain if her children inherited her old age. Her daughter died in childbed and her younger son in the army, though my grandfather was two and seventy and in excellent health when he was thrown from a horse.”
The table stared at her in astonishment, and Elizabeth went back to neatly cutting her meat and eating the delicate bites. It was not entirely proper to speak of such things at the dinner table, but they would insist on questioning her quite specifically. She knew the Bingley parents were dead, and she thought she had heard the same of Mr. Darcy’s family. Their parents could not have been much more than fifty when they passed and possibly younger. Her family must seem like an anomaly to them. Perhaps that was why she was receiving such odd looks from everyone.
Finally, dinner ended, and Elizabeth excused herself to check on Jane upstairs. She silently hoped Jane would need her to stay so that she might avoid spending the evening with them. They were an exhausting bunch. Alas, Elizabeth’s wishes were not to come true. Jane was sleeping peacefully when she entered the room. She could have stayed, but there was a maid sitting in the corner and Elizabeth was sure she would say something to the other servants—who in turn would tell the mistress—that she would rather read silently in a room with her sleeping sister than spend the evening with her hosts.
With a sigh, she took up her book and removed to the drawing room. The card table had been brought out. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, Miss Bingley and Mr. Bingley were playing whist. Mr. Darcy appeared to be writing a letter at the small desk in the corner. Elizabeth wondered at him writing while everyone was socializing. Had he not had the entire day to see to his correspondence? Then she thought he might be attempting to avoid Miss Bingley’s company and could not blame him. She settled onto the sofa far enough from the card table to be peaceful but close enough not to be considered unsocial. Miss Bingley was telling some awful story about one of her supposed friends in London, and Elizabeth did everything in her power to ignore her.
She had read through the next chapter when she felt the cushion move beneath her. She looked up to see Mr. Darcy had sat on the other end of the sofa.
“Do not let me interrupt your book,” he said politely.
She placed the ribbon between the pages and closed it. He would not have sat so near her if he did not wish to speak. “It is no trouble. I have read it before.”
“I had not known you had relations in Scotland.” He leaned toward her, looking entirely too eager for the topic.
“Yes,” she answered with confusion in her voice. “We do. Though I do not know how you should have known it. We have never spoken of our families before.”
He seemed surprised at that statement and his brow wrinkled. “I suppose we have not. Do you have any other notable relations?” He smiled, but she could not tell the meaning behind it.
“It depends on what one considers notable.”
He nodded, his expression impossible to read.
“Why the sudden interest in my connections?” she asked bluntly. It was not exactly lady-like, but her patience was wearing thin.
Mr. Darcy’s cheeks pinkened ever so slightly and she wondered if she had embarrassed him. “Forgive me, Mr. Darcy. I am a little tired and too apt to tease. I did not mean to discomfit you.”
“There is nothing to forgive. Please excuse my intrusive questions. I had only meant to…” He looked down, then back at her. “Of course, you are tired. Do not let me keep you.” He rose and moved to observe the players at the card table. Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley looking at her with narrowed eyes and thought it the perfect opportunity to retire for the evening. She quickly said good night and made her way to Jane’s room.
Her sister was sleeping soundly, so she entered her own room through the adjoining door and prepared for bed. What had Mr. Darcy meant by inquiring into her connections? And why had he seemed so uncomfortable when she asked him of it?
As she slid beneath the counterpane and turned down the lamp, she knew her sister was right. Mr. Darcy was a complicated man.
As Darcy prepared for bed, he felt oddly excited. He did not have to think long to understand the cause of the sudden lightness he felt. Elizabeth Bennet was within his grasp. As soon as the thought passed through his mind, he clutched at it and fought himself between smothering it and holding it close.
She was still nearly without dowry, though he could weather that if necessary, but the greater problem had always been her lack of connections. Her family was entirely unknown to the ton, and more importantly, to his family. His extended Darcy family was spread across the country and, while wealthy, they were a relatively unpretentious bunch. They would accept a country bride with little fuss. But his Fitzwilliam relations! They would not be easily persuaded to accept an unknown lady and a penniless one besides.
But if Elizabeth were not entirely unknown—that changed everything! He did not know of the Lady Whitcombe she spoke of, but his aunt would likely know of her if she was the least bit active in society. Having established acquaintance in Town would be a great help to Elizabeth when she entered society. Depending on how well the Whitcombes were known, they might even be of some assistance in easing her way. And her cousins! If she was in fact a Gordon, and he had no reason to think there were two Greenbriar Halls in southern Scotland, she had at least one well-placed relation, even if it was a distant cousin.
He paced his room until hope lifted him up as if he weighed nothing, and he felt as if he were floating across the carpet. “Stop it, Darcy. You are acting like a green schoolboy,” he murmured to himself. But he could not quell the excitement that took hold of him at the idea that Elizabeth was perhaps not as unsuitable as he had thought her.