Chapter 4
The decision to travel to Longbourn had been made on impulse.
Darcy sat in his carriage as dawn broke over London. Twenty miles left to Longbourn. It would be a comfortable morning's journey with fresh horses, and then, he would finally see for himself how Elizabeth fared.
The roads from London to Hertfordshire were tolerably well maintained.
As the church at Meryton appeared in the distance, Darcy found his jaw tightening.
What precisely did he intend to accomplish by this visit?
Bingley's latest letter had mentioned nothing requiring his immediate attention.
The funeral was over and the family's displacement appeared inevitable.
Still, the pressing need to see Elizabeth had become impossible to ignore.
Longbourn appeared through the morning mist. It was a well-maintained manor house without pretension to grandeur. The drive showed recent gravelling and the hedges were neatly trimmed despite the season. Someone had been attending to such matters with care even in the midst of mourning.
His carriage halted before the entrance, and a groom hurried forward to direct the coachman toward the stables.
The door opened before his knock could fall. Mrs Hill curtsied with proper deference. “Mr Darcy, sir. The family were not expecting callers today, but I shall inform the mistress directly.”
Black crepe draped the entrance hall mirror in mourning custom.
The longcase clock had been stopped at the hour of Mr Bennet's passing.
Darcy was shown into the drawing room, where furniture bore the accumulated comfort of generations without ever achieving true elegance.
It was the sort of comfortable shabbiness that spoke of a family long established but never wealthy.
Mrs Bennet's distinctive voice reached him from the corridor before her person appeared. “A gentleman caller? Today? But we are in mourning! Who could it possibly be? Oh! Mr Darcy!”
She swept into the room with her usual want of restraint. Miss Lydia, Miss Mary, and Miss Kitty trailed behind.
“Mr Darcy, what an unexpected honour. We are not receiving, as you can see, but for such a distinguished visitor, we must make an exception. Girls, curtsy to Mr Darcy. Where are your manners?”
The young ladies performed their curtsies with varying degrees of grace.
Mary's expression was appropriately solemn.
Kitty appeared subdued, quite different from the giggling creature he remembered while Lydia regarded him with her usual boldness.
All of them wore hastily dyed black that still showed irregular patches where the fabric had not taken the colour evenly.
“Mrs Bennet, I came to express my condolences on your loss. Mr Bennet was a gentleman of considerable wit and learning. His passing is felt by all who had the privilege of his acquaintance.”
Mrs Bennet's eyes filled with ready tears, her handkerchief emerging from her sleeve with practised ease. “Oh, Mr Darcy, you are very good. Very good indeed. Such a trial as we have suffered! My poor nerves cannot bear it, they truly cannot.”
“Mamma,” Mary began, but Mrs Bennet waved her to silence.
“It is quite true, Mary. Do not contradict me before company. Mr Darcy must know our circumstances. Perhaps he might offer some wisdom, being a man of such consequence.”
Just then, the door opened, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet entered.
Darcy's breath caught despite his best efforts at composure. Her gown’s severe colour only served to emphasise the pallor of her complexion.
He noticed the shadows beneath those fine eyes he had once praised so foolishly to Miss Bingley.
She had lost weight. He could see it in the sharper line of her jaw and the way her gown hung slightly loose at the shoulders.
Her hair was pulled back with severe restraint, no curls softening her temples, no sparkle animating her features.
“Mr Darcy.” She curtsied. Her voice achieved perfect civility whilst maintaining absolute distance. “This is an unexpected visit.”
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed. The words came out stiffer than intended. “I wished to express my sympathies for your loss. Your father's death must have come as a great shock.”
“It was. Thank you for your concern.” She moved further into the room, her posture erect and controlled, quite unlike her natural ease.
Nothing remained of the lively creature who had walked three miles through mud to attend her sister at Netherfield.
Grief and responsibility had transformed her into someone contained, guarded.
Behind her entered a man Darcy had not anticipated.
His eyes assessed the room with casual confidence before landing on Darcy. His weathered hands suggested a man accustomed to physical labour rather than leisure.
When he spoke, a Highland lilt coloured his words. “Mrs Bennet, I hope I am not intruding.”
“Oh, not at all, Mr MacKinnon! Not at all. Mr Darcy, may I present Mr Malcolm MacKinnon of Skye. He has been most helpful to us in our time of need. He is the legal heir to Longbourn, you know.”
To Darcy’s surprise, Mrs Bennet did not seem as perturbed as he would have anticipated by the fact that Longbourn would soon belong to this gentleman.
MacKinnon stepped forward with an easy stride, his handshake firm without being aggressive. “Mr Darcy. I have heard much of your estate in Derbyshire. Pemberley, is it not? A fine estate, by all accounts — I have heard it spoken of most admirably by acquaintances in Meryton.”
“Indeed. Although at present, my sister and I reside at our London home.” Darcy studied the man more closely.
There was an easy warmth in his expression that seemed entirely natural.
He was the sort of man people would trust instinctively, would welcome into their homes and confidence without hesitation.
“Mr MacKinnon has been extraordinarily generous,” Mrs Bennet continued, oblivious to any undercurrents in the room. “He has taken such an interest in Longbourn's management, spending hours upon hours with our dear Lizzy reviewing the estate books. Such dedication!”
Darcy's fingers tightened briefly on his hat brim before he forced them to relax. “You have an interest in estate management, Mr MacKinnon?”
“Aye, I have lands in Skye. Sheep farming, mainly. The terrain is rather different from what you have here in the softer English countryside, but the fundamental principles of good husbandry remain much the same.” MacKinnon's smile was genuine, open, seemingly without guile.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet here has been most instructive regarding the English approach to tenant relations. She has a remarkable understanding of the balance between compassion and sound business practice.”
Elizabeth's cheeks coloured slightly. “Mr MacKinnon is too kind. He possesses considerable experience himself. His insights into estate improvements have been particularly valuable.”
“You flatter me, Miss Bennet. I merely offered a Highland perspective on English problems.”
The unstudied ease of the address made Darcy's jaw tighten. Watching this affable Scotsman with his easy manner and obvious admiration speak to her so familiarly whilst she received it with such comfort required deliberate effort not to betray his displeasure.
“Will you take tea, Mr Darcy?” Mrs Bennet gestured towards the sofa with the air of someone determined to display proper hospitality despite reduced circumstances. “Kitty, do ring for tea. Lydia, sit down properly. Lizzy, surely you can spare a few moments to entertain our distinguished guest.”
“Of course, Mamma.” Elizabeth took a seat near the window, her hands folding neatly in her lap with studied composure. MacKinnon settled into a chair nearby.
As he accepted a cup of tea, Darcy's gaze snagged on the friendly smile MacKinnon gave Elizabeth.
His mind worked rapidly through observations he had no right to make.
MacKinnon's presence here as the rightful heir, his evident involvement with the estate's affairs, Mrs Bennet's obvious approval, and Elizabeth's ease in his company all suggested something rather more significant than casual acquaintance.
“How long do you intend to remain in Hertfordshire, Mr MacKinnon?” The question emerged more sharply than intended. Elizabeth's eyes flicked towards him briefly before returning to some middle distance.
“That remains to be determined by circumstances beyond my immediate control,” MacKinnon replied with untroubled ease.
“I have certain business matters requiring settlement. Legal complications regarding inheritance and such. I would not wish to depart before ensuring everything here is properly in order for the ladies.”
“Business matters?” Darcy heard the edge in his own voice, made a conscious effort to moderate his tone. “Of what specific nature, if I may enquire?”
“Aye, legal complications regarding inheritance through family connexions. My solicitor is working through the particulars with Mr Philips in Meryton.” MacKinnon's expression remained pleasant throughout this explanation, but something about the phrasing felt rehearsed to Darcy's ear.
In truth, his replies sounded too practised, as though the man had prepared these precise words for repeated use.
“Mr MacKinnon is related to my dear late Mr Bennet through his grandmother's line,” Mrs Bennet supplied helpfully, leaning forward with the air of someone delighted to share her superior knowledge.
“It is all very complicated with entails and inheritance laws and such things that quite exceed my understanding. But Mr Philips has explained it thoroughly, and Mr MacKinnon has been most helpful.”
Elizabeth's expression revealed nothing, but her cup stilled in her lap for a fraction of a second before she set it down with studied composure. Darcy noted the movement, filed it away alongside his growing catalogue of observations about this entire peculiar situation.