Chapter 3
COUNTRY PLEASURES
Accustomed as he was to dealing with anyone and everyone from a duke’s son with a general’s laces to a rookery-born private sentenced to army service for theft, Fitzwilliam navigated this new society with ease.
It was not so different from the market towns near his father’s and cousin’s estates, after all.
It was pleasant, in fact, to enter into the concerns of those whose thoughts were all of the recent harvest and the even more recent occupation of the largest home in the area.
This was what he had been fighting for, was it not?
The preservation of peace and plenty for England, and—it was most devoutly to be hoped—the restoration of something like it to the ordinary people of France, as well.
It was unlikely now that he would rejoin that fight, but he could not regret having done his part while he could, not even when his wounded leg treated him to a particularly vicious twinge.
He would not mind spending much of the rest of his life in a country neighbourhood such as this, where he might in time come to know his neighbours as though he had been born among them, and his children would spend their summers running through the fields and down the lanes with those whom they had known from their first thought.
He had had his adventures, and if they had ended abruptly, he had still seen and done more than most men and come out of it alive, if rather battered.
He would not now chafe at the quiet and the sameness of a bucolic life as he would have done in his younger years.
He watched Darcy creep about the edges of the hall avoiding Miss Bingley, while Mr Bingley made himself agreeable to all and sundry.
Fitzwilliam, too, spoke with everyone he encountered and did his considerable best to leave a favourable impression.
Bingley secured a second set from the beautiful Miss Bennet, and it was not long after the end of those dances that Fitzwilliam first heard the talk.
“That horrid Mr Darcy!” a young lady, one of the Miss Longs, if he recalled correctly, exclaimed to the youngest Miss Goulding within his hearing. “I should not dance with him for a fortune!”
“Why, whatever has occurred?” asked the other young lady.
Miss Long leant in and whispered for a long moment. Miss Goulding’s jaw dropped.
“My goodness,” she breathed. “Well, we shall certainly avoid him, shall we not, Penny? I should not like to come to his notice! How strange, though, that such a fine man as Mr Bingley should call him a friend, do you not think?”
“Perhaps he has been duped,” sniffed Miss Long. “Certainly I shall not blame him for having one unworthy friend. I do feel very sorry for all our friends who were giggling over how handsome Mr Darcy is, however. They will be very disappointed.”
“Do you know, I do not think him well-favoured at all,” mused Miss Goulding. “No man can be counted really handsome who does not smile. I should say Mr Bingley is the handsomest man in the room.”
“So he is,” her friend declared, and they moved off to join another group of young ladies, where they were swiftly embroiled in secret talk.
He feared that somehow their conversation about Georgiana had been overheard; though in reviewing it, he thought they had said little enough to confound any eavesdropper, he knew a fine rumour might be stitched together from less cloth than that by a determined tailor of tales.
He looked about him, seeking a likely source of intelligence.
When he spotted Miss Lucas taking a seat by the wall, he hesitated for only a moment.
She had seemed the sort to deal honestly with others, and had been well-disposed towards Bingley’s party when they met.
He approached her and bowed, asking if he might sit with her for a time, to which she smilingly agreed.
They spoke for a few minutes about the assembly, the music, and their enjoyment of the entertainment.
He was actively seeking an opportunity to introduce the subject foremost in his mind when she unexpectedly relieved him of the need, saying, “I fear, sir, you will soon find that your cousin Mr Darcy has provoked the disapprobation of many here. I mention this only to assure you that it does not extend to you or your host.”
That did not sound like anything to do with Georgiana, and some of the tension in his gut unfurled at her words. “Has he done something particular, or is it merely his refusal to be sociable which has caused offence?”
An expression of consciousness flitted across her face before she summoned an apologetic smile. “A bit of the latter, to begin with,” she replied, “and then he was overheard insulting a lady of the neighbourhood, I am sorry to say. A lady who is very well liked.”
Fitzwilliam groaned and shook his head. “I swear to you, Miss Lucas, he is a good man, if a bit whimsical in his civilities. Will you tell me what it is he said, and of whom?”
“Mr Bingley was urging him to dance, and suggested my friend Eliza, Elizabeth Bennet, as a partner. Mr Darcy declared that she was not pretty enough to dance with and that he would not give consequence to ladies who were passed over by other men. It was not only my friend who heard him; Mrs Denby did as well, and though she is discreet, she felt that Eliza’s mother ought, by rights, to be made aware of what had occurred.
Mrs Bennet has been speaking of it most energetically, I fear, though I will admit I had the story first from Eliza herself. ”
He considered this for a moment, imagining the scene, and found he could picture it very well.
“It is sad, is it not, when a man begins to lose his sight at such a young age?” he commented, surprising a laugh from his companion.
With half a grin at her, he continued more seriously, “I am sorry, very sorry, to hear that he has behaved so badly. He ought to have danced, since he could, even were gentlemen not so scarce as they are. I should have enjoyed it very much if I might have joined a set or two. Miss Elizabeth must be very offended; ought I to scold him into making an apology, do you think?”
“She is not so downcast as you might expect,” Miss Lucas replied.
“She had no good opinion of him to begin with, for she was one of those who had already noted his refusal to engage with the company. She seemed to think his words more amusing than not, though I believe she was also a bit angry that he should dare speak ill of her when she had done nothing to provoke him.” She inclined her head towards the dancers and added, “She does seem to be putting it out of her mind well enough.”
Looking down the line, Fitzwilliam spied Miss Elizabeth laughing with young Mr Lucas as they moved through the figures. She did not display the brittle tension of a lady putting on a show of gaiety to spite those who wounded her; he had seen that sort of performance often enough in London.
“So she does,” he agreed. “I am glad to see it. I shall leave it for my cousin to mend, then, if and as he will.” He put the matter from his mind for the present and smiled at his amiable companion. “Tell me, Miss Lucas, do you ride?”
“I do, sir, though not as often as I should like.”
“Ah, then you may be able to advise me. Hardly a day goes by without a great rain that I do not take my exercise on horseback. Are there any particular scenes hereabouts you would suggest I seek out?”
Elizabeth found herself without a partner again late in the evening.
She was casting about to see if any of her friends were in a similar position when Colonel Fitzwilliam appeared before her and bowed.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, smiling, “would you do me the honour of taking a turn about the room with me?”
“I would be delighted, sir, thank you.” She had seen him walking with several young ladies over the course of the evening and had noticed him sitting with Charlotte Lucas some little while ago.
She thought well of him for exerting himself to entertain the ladies even when he could not dance with them.
“Have you been enjoying our little assembly?”
“Very much,” he replied, offering his arm and setting off. “It has been too long since I spent time in the country, and your family and friends have been most welcoming.”
“Country pleasures are something we can offer in plenty,” she replied.
“Miss Lucas recommended to me several paths she believes my horse and I will enjoy. Might you have any you wish to promote?”
“Oh, I ride infrequently and with little skill,” she disclaimed smilingly.
“We are five sisters with but one elderly mare between us. Though as my youngest sister does not ride at all I suppose it would be more correct to say four. But as to your question, I will recommend that anyone, on horseback or afoot, ascend Oakham Mount. Though I believe our ancestors christened it so as a joke, it is the only prominence of any note hereabouts, so I shall not trouble you with the details of its location. You will find it easily enough if you look about you!”
“Ah, that must be the hill to the south of Netherfield.”
“Just so. The view from the top is delightful if you have any appreciation at all for the bucolic.”
“I do not know that I do, but then, I do not know that I do not,” he jested. “I shall visit it on your recommendation and report back as to the state of my own discernment.”
“And I shall judge you very harshly if you find anything at all lacking in it,” she assured him in a like tone.
Just then, she noticed Mr Darcy moving down the line of the dance opposite Miss Bingley.
On the verge of making a comment about it to her companion, she elected to refrain.
Upon reflection, they both seemed quite unpleasant and it was fitting that, if they wished to dance, they not inflict themselves upon those who were capable of enjoying the set.
Elizabeth did notice that Miss Bingley actually looked pleased for the first time that evening, however.
Colonel Fitzwilliam must have noted the direction of her gaze, for he said, with an apologetic air, “In complete understanding of how ironic it is to say this, I will mention that it would be abominably rude of Darcy not to dance with his host’s sister.
He shared a set with Mrs Hurst earlier, as well. ”
I do wonder if it is somehow less abominably rude to refuse to dance with anyone else.
Perhaps this is one of the customs of the upper crust with which we peasants are unfamiliar, she thought, amused by the notion.
“It could become quite uncomfortable were the ladies of the household upset with one of their brother’s guests,” she agreed.
“Just so.”
“I take it from your remark on irony that you are aware that Mr Darcy has not made the best impression upon those present?”
“Miss Lucas mentioned something of it,” he allowed.
“And that my cousin had said something unfortunate about you in particular. I shall not apologise for him; it is not my place to correct the mistakes of a man of seven and twenty who has, I assure you, been taught how to behave. But for myself, I am truly sorry that you were made uncomfortable by someone so closely connected to me.”
“I had not known that you were related,” she remarked.
“I thought you both simply friends of Mr Bingley. As to the other, I hope I should never blame anyone for the actions of another, no matter the family ties between them.” She inclined her head towards the dance, where Lydia was romping down the line in a hoydenish manner.
“A courtesy I most devoutly wish that the world will extend to me. We all have relations for whom we must occasionally blush, do we not?”
“Miss Elizabeth, I believe I may honestly say that the only people I have ever met without at least one trying relation were foundlings.”
“Does one meet many foundlings in His Majesty’s Army?”
“More than you might think,” he replied amiably.
“In my regiment there is a sergeant, an excellent fellow, who came to the army by way of the magistrate’s court.
He came to that by way of having no family to support him and disliking the conditions in the foundling home enough to leave it at a shockingly early age.
Once the army had taught him honesty and discipline, which it does not succeed in doing in all such cases, he became a fine soldier and one with whom I am proud to have served.
I hope very much that we shall meet again when this blasted war at last comes to an end. ”
“Will he not be under your command when you return?” she enquired.
“It is not at all likely that I shall. I am not fit at present, and it is probable that I shall not be again.”
“I am sorry to hear it.”
“Will you think less of me if I tell you there is some appeal in the notion of making a change?”
“Not at all, Colonel,” she replied sincerely. “It is a difficult, though noble, profession you have chosen. I must imagine that many a soldier thinks with anticipation of the presumably quieter days which will follow his time in the army.”
He chuckled. “His Majesty’s service is not without its quiet moments or its dull ones, but when it is loud and exciting, it is very, very loud and exciting.”
“I think I prefer this sort of noise and excitement,” she said with a smile.
“As you should, Miss Elizabeth,” he earnestly agreed.