Vol 1, Chapter 4 #3
“No, little sister, I will not cast pearls before the swine. Even without Papa’s report of their social climbing ways, a few minutes of their airs and graces was enough to see what they are.
I will tell them about my birth mother and her family.
They have met Uncle Frank, and I am sure they will ask about Uncle Edward and Aunt Maddie.
If they ask where they live in London, I will mention the old house that they still own, so I will not be telling a lie, just bending the truth somewhat.
” As Jane smiled, she was looking forward to a most amusing conversation at Mrs. Hurst’s and Miss Bingley’s expense.
“Which carriage will you take, Jane?” Elizabeth asked. “I suggest the older, small one, it will not raise any questions like our other coaches would.”
“I agree with Lizzy,” Mrs. Bennet added, the amusement in her eyes brightening at the true pleasure of having such intelligent and good-humoured daughters.
“Then, that is the carriage I will use,” Jane decided. Her mother summoned the butler to instruct him to have the vehicle prepared for her daughter to depart at five.
~~~~~~~/~~~~~~~
When Mark Bennet escaped the drawing room, he knocked on his father’s study door. “Papa, will you come riding with me, please?” he beseeched his father.
“I do have time, son, but were you not with your mother and sister in the drawing room?” Bennet grinned, knowing that his eleven-year-old was not one to sit still in the drawing room for long, and he had no lessons on Saturdays, so a ride would be a good way to burn some of his youthful energy.
“Have Hill tell the stable master to prepare Orion and Calista, and I will meet you in the stables in a half hour once we have both changed.”
To keep up the illusion that Longbourn was not as profitable as it was, there was a small stable where callers’ horses would be kept, but behind the large barn was an extensive set of stables, for all of the current Bennets loved all things equestrian.
Bennet and Mark mounted their horses and trotted out, past the home farm toward an open field.
Until six months ago, Mark had ridden a cob.
As he approached his eleventh birthday, Bennet had taken him to see Mr. Bennington at Bennington Fields, who bred some of the finest horseflesh in Hertfordshire and the surrounding five counties.
Bennet would not allow a stallion yet, but when Mark chose a three-year-old light chestnut mare reported to be very gentle and fully trained, he purchased her for his son, who named her Calista.
Once they reached the open field, father and son gave their horses their head, and within seconds both were at full gallop.
Darcy and Bingley had been riding the fence line between Netherfield and Longbourn when Darcy sighted the two riders.
He could not help but notice the quality of the two horses, and the horsemanship of their riders thundering toward the low fence.
Both horses jumped and landed not far from the two friends.
Up close, Darcy’s estimation that they were quality horses was confirmed.
“You have my apologies, Mr. Bingley, if we startled you. This lad,” Bennet pointed to his son, “is my younger son Mark, and I have been teaching him to jump his birthday present,” Bennet explained.
“No harm done, Mr. Bennet. Darcy, you have not been introduced, have you?” Bingley asked and Darcy shook his head.
Darcy felt somewhat chagrined that he had eschewed the introduction at the assembly.
“Mr. Bennet, my friend Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire, Darcy, Mr. Thomas Bennet of Longbourn.”
“And Neth…” Mark almost blurted out.
“And we help keep an eye on Netherfield for the owner,” Bennet gave his youngest a side-long look. Mark realised he almost let the cat out of the bag.
Darcy saw the look and did not know what to make of it. Miss Bingley claimed that Longbourn was entailed away from the female line and the Bennets had no heir. Yet before him was a Bennet son, and the father had said a younger son.
“Mr. Bennet, did you say that this is your younger son?” Darcy asked pointedly for clarification.
“Yes, that is what I said,” Bennet responded, not adding more than he was asked.
“My older brother, Tom, is at Oxford,” Mark reported proudly.
“We are Cambridge men,” Bingley informed the Bennets.
“It is a long-standing Bennet tradition to attend Harrow and Oxford,” Bennet told the two friends nonchalantly.
“Your horses are of very high quality,” Darcy stated, his tone almost accusatory.
“Yes, they are, Mr. Darcy, they are most tolerable mounts. I see clouds moving in, we will head for home. Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy.” The two Bennets wheeled their horses, rode a hundred yards in the opposite direction, and then turned and rode at a gallop to jump the fence, sailing over it easily.
Darcy was not happy. This was not the first time one of the Bennet family flung his words back at him, and how dare they? Did they not know who he was? As he had the thought, Darcy was horrified, for he realised he sounded just like his Aunt Catherine de Bourgh!
“Are you determined to be rude to the Bennets at every turn?” Bingley asked.
“Well, even if they assist the landlord, they should not be trespassing on land that is not theirs,” came Darcy’s petulant reply. He knew that it was a nonsensical thing to say, but that is all he could think of in defence of himself, though he knew he was without any.