Chapter 4
Fitzwilliam Darcy rose with the dawn as was his wont, despite the late night.
Wisps of fog draped over the park and, beyond, the fields.
He thought of taking a ride to while away some part of the hours before breakfast, but decided not to wake his man.
One of them, at least, ought to get a decent night’s sleep.
Yawning, he donned a robe and settled himself at the escritoire to write to his sister.
After a few lines about his travels and the suitability of Netherfield Park as his friend’s first foray into country life, however, he found he had nothing to say.
He did not feel he ought to share with her Miss Bingley’s abrupt change in behaviour, nor his own suspicion that it was a new tactic designed to draw his interest. He neither wished to lie to Georgiana by pretending to have enjoyed the previous night’s assembly, nor disappoint her by admitting he had not, so he thought it best not to mention the event at all.
He wanted more than anything to know how she was bearing up after his father’s godson had attempted to seduce her into an elopement, only to inform her in scathing tones that her dowry was her sole attraction when he had been thwarted in his designs.
Darcy had discovered the plot and given him to know that Georgiana’s fortune was under the control of her guardians and would not be released to anyone she married without their permission while under the age of majority.
The scoundrel had not only wounded her tender heart but destroyed her self-worth, and Darcy rather suspected that the latter would be the longest in healing.
He stared at the brief missive, perplexed, until he recalled that when she had been at school, Georgiana had often written her letters over the course of several days, dating each portion as she found some new thing to report.
Perhaps he might do the same, and send her a little diary of his first days in Hertfordshire.
She might, he dared hope, enjoy the fact that he copied her in such a way.
Putting the unfinished letter aside, he readied another sheet and upon it inscribed to Colonel John Fitzwilliam all the thoughts he could not share with his young sister.
To the man who was not only his cousin and equal guardian of Georgiana with him, per the terms of his father’s will, but also his oldest and closest friend, he described the abominable assembly, the abrupt and suspect revolution in Miss Bingley’s comportment, and his desperate concern for his sister’s well-being.
He urged Fitzwilliam to visit Darcy House whenever he might from his barracks in Knightsbridge, and to write to him with all haste if he saw aught of concern.
Setting his pen down, he reclined and rubbed his face.
He had no reason to distrust Georgiana’s new companion, Mrs Annesley.
The lady’s references were impeccable—he had checked them with a thoroughness he ought to have applied to those of her predecessor, he recalled with a groan—and furthermore, her most recent employer was known to Lady Matlock, the colonel’s mother and his own aunt.
Lady Matlock had confirmed the excellence of Mrs Annesley’s care of the former Lady Ellen Fortescue, now Lady Ridgely, whose recent marriage to the second son of a duke had marked the end of her companion’s employment.
No reason to distrust her indeed, and many reasons to believe that his sister was in the best of hands—those of an educated, sensible, caring woman.
An aunt-like figure, it might be hoped, though cast from a more flexible mould than her true aunts.
Oh, Lady Matlock was caring, to be sure, but also rigidly proper.
If she ever learnt of Georgiana’s near-ruin she would forever treat her as though she were on the very precipice of some great faux pas.
Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s reaction was not to be thought of.
The episode must be kept from both ladies at all costs.
Mrs Annesley was aware of it, however. Every detail known to him had been conveyed to her, and now he could only hope that a companion newly engaged might accomplish what he and his cousin had failed to do: restore Georgiana’s confidence and assist her in relegating her error to the past. His head told him that he had chosen well, but his heart insisted that only he and Fitzwilliam could truly be trusted with her interests.
Therein lay the greater part of his reluctance to attend Bingley.
It had been Mrs Annesley who suggested that a period of separation might be beneficial for his sister.
She had gently advised that Georgiana might view any change in his travel plans as an indication that he did not trust her to be out of his immediate supervision.
He had therefore come here to Netherfield as planned, hoping rather than believing that assisting Bingley would keep him busy enough that he would not dwell upon Georgiana’s troubles and his own culpability in their creation.
He took his pen up once more to inscribe an apology for asking so much of his cousin in his own absence, when the colonel no doubt had many duties to which he must attend.
I recognise that I make these requests of you as much for my own peace of mind as for Georgiana’s well-being, but it is for the latter reason that I do not retract them now. Please, for her sake, do what you may to ensure that our trust in Mrs Annesley is warranted.
He brought the letter to its conclusion there, knowing that Fitzwilliam would do as he asked.
He might be somewhat more confident in their choice than Darcy could find it in himself to be at present, but as a rational man who had seen much of the world, he too would have his doubts, however small.
He would look after Georgiana as diligently as he was able, and with that Darcy must be satisfied for the present.
Over breakfast, Bingley suggested that they ride the estate and begin his education on land management.
He had, he claimed, read both of the books that Darcy had recommended last year when he first began to seriously consider leasing an estate, but he did not feel that he would have more than the barest grasp upon the theories until he had seen them, or their opposing views, in action.
Darcy had agreed readily, eager for occupation and exertion.
It was a bright, sunny day, illuminating the rolling green fields of Hertfordshire.
The harvest was largely in, only the last of the root vegetables and autumn squashes awaiting the plucking hand, so they rode first to the barns where the wheat, barley, and oats were being dried and processed.
At the largest, where the wheat crop lay drying, they found the steward superintending the turning of the sheaves.
Seeing them, the man tipped his hat and strode to meet them by the great doors, flung open to the day’s sunshine and mild breeze.
“Mr Perkins,” Bingley greeted the man. “How goes the harvest?”
The man related that the wheat had been taken in wet but was now dry and ready for threshing, that the oats and barley were near to harvest, and that the fine, fair summer had resulted in fat, happy cows who would ensure that Netherfield’s dairy produced a great and profitable amount of cheese.
They spoke with the steward for a time before riding off to get a look at the dairy. “He seems capable and conscientious,” Darcy opined. “If you decide to purchase the place, you should try to keep him on, unless something happens in the meantime to suggest he is not all he appears.”
“Should I? Purchase the place, I mean.”
“Perhaps,” Darcy conceded. “It seems a good, well-run estate, and the proximity to town may be agreeable to you. I would advise you to see it through a full turn of the seasons at least, preferably two, before making such a decision. Learn what it is to be the master, experience the problems as well as the benefits which estate ownership entails.” He recalled the assembly, the rough and vulgar manners he had witnessed in no small portion of those present.
“Discover also whether the local society is congenial enough to spend the rest of your life here. You are in an enviable position in some ways; you may select a situation as close to your personal ideal as is available to you. If there is some great flaw in Netherfield or the neighbourhood, you may see out your lease and depart to try again elsewhere. You will find it more difficult to divest yourself of a purchased estate than to acquire it.”
Bingley acknowledged the sense of that advice.
They briefly inspected the dairy, bustling with activity, then turned their mounts towards the fields of the home farm.
From there, they looked in on the herds of cows and sheep, passed near the overly aromatic enclosure for the estate’s pigs, and viewed the large coop of chickens and its smaller companion housing the estate’s flock of geese.
At each place, Darcy related how involved he was in Pemberley’s corresponding operation and why he took more or less interest in it than in others.
Glancing at the sun’s position in the sky, he suggested, “We ought to return, or risk being late for tea. Another day we should depart earlier and tour the tenant farms.”
They wheeled their horses towards the manor and Bingley replied, “Perhaps the day after tomorrow, if the weather is fair. I am eager to learn.”
“I am at your disposal,” Darcy replied. “You mean to call upon your neighbours with your sister tomorrow, then?”
“I think I must. If there is any possibility of settling here, indeed even if I only mean to reside here for a year or two, I ought to be on good terms with my neighbours. A task which has, unfortunately, become rather difficult, as most of my party declined even to be civil last night,” he concluded, eyeing Darcy with a critical air which startled him to behold.
He knew he had not made the best impression, but he had never intended to.
He cared nothing for what the people here thought of him, and they ought not expect him to lower himself to engage in their concerns.
“You know I do not care for dancing, Bingley, or for gatherings at which I have little acquaintance. I only attended—pardon me for saying it—because I feared that if I remained at Netherfield, your sister would contrive a reason to do so as well. I am sorry if your new neighbours were offended by my lack of participation, but they ought not to have expected it of someone who is only here for a few weeks’ visit. ”
Bingley shook his head. “They thought you rude and far too proud for your unwillingness to converse, I believe. But it was your insult of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, which was overheard by more than one person, that suggested to the neighbourhood that I might not be the sort of neighbour they wish to have.”
“My insult of whom?” Darcy asked, utterly baffled. He did not immediately recall having said anything of anyone in particular, and the name Bingley spoke registered only as somehow familiar.
“‘She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me’,” Bingley replied in a deep, drawling mimicry of an upper-class accent.
“And something or other about your consequence and her being slighted by other men. The Bennets are the leading family of the area, and Miss Elizabeth seems to be particularly well-liked. Now I have come among them with a sister, a brother, and a friend who all made it apparent that they think nothing of the neighbourhood or its people. Only Caroline behaved as she ought!” he exclaimed angrily.
“I appreciate that you took time away from your own concerns to assist me here, Darcy, truly I do. But if you are going to advise me on running the estate with one hand while ruining any hope of good relations with my neighbours with the other, I think the price of your assistance may be too high.”
Only a lifetime of horsemanship prevented him from squirming under this verbal onslaught.
It did sound very bad, put that way, though he hardly recalled having said such a thing to begin with.
He had been annoyed that Bingley was pressing him to dance and, not wanting his friend to think poorly of him for not wishing to dance at all, had made an excuse to reject the partner he suggested.
It had been badly done, he conceded. He should have been better served, and done better by his friend, to have claimed a sour stomach or even a blister.
“I am very sorry if I have caused you difficulties,” he replied. “It was not my intention. How may I assist you in repairing relations with your neighbours?”
Bingley regarded him with raised eyebrows.
“You might apologise to Miss Elizabeth, for one,” he suggested pointedly.
“And be civil when in company. Speak with the gentlemen if you must avoid the ladies. Or stay at Netherfield when we go out. You need not concern yourself with my sister, for she has given you up. I shall not relate what caused this change of heart,” he added before Darcy could even form the question.
“That is her concern, and was related to me in confidence. Suffice it to say that you are safe from her.”
Darcy did not believe that, though it was clear Bingley did.
The proof, he supposed, would be in what she did when he declined to attend some local affair, which he surely would now that Bingley had made it clear he would not mind.
He could always lock himself in his chambers for an evening, if it came to that.
“I will do as you suggest, both with regards to the apology and to associating with your neighbours.”
“I presume you will not wish to make calls with us tomorrow,” Bingley said with a flash of his customary smile, “but you shall, if you wish, have the opportunity to attend to these matters on Saturday evening, when we have all been invited to dine with the Gouldings at Haye-Park. A dinner will be much more to your tastes than an assembly, I think?”
A dinner among strangers so far beneath him did not sound agreeable at all, but it was vastly to be preferred to a dance, and he owed his friend at least one admirable showing in the community. “You may count on my presence, Bingley. And my civility.”