Chapter 5
Lingley woke the next morning with the same feeling of serenity which he had had the day before.
He waited for the panic to come as he was shaved and dressed by his man, but it never came.
It felt as if his destiny had found him at last. What his parents would think when he informed them of his betrothal he did not dare contemplate…
perhaps he would not inform them until he was married and they had no choice but to accept his decision, though even if he wrote right then, their reply would not reach him before the wedding as they were in Spain.
Darcy was a lucky sot! Not one person in his life truly held the power to keep him from his destiny.
As he left his room, the Colonel was on his way down and waited for him.
He looked a bit sheepish in the morning light but held his peace until they arrived at the breakfast room and were able to speak privately as they dined on rashers of bacon, eggs, and delightfully flakey pastries.
He waited until the Colonel had poured at least a liter of coffee down his throat before addressing him at all.
“I wish to explain my engagement, Fitzwilliam,” he began between bites.
“I did not make that bet expecting to circumvent you in such a manner, but I could not listen to her family belittle her for another moment, and when the situation arose, I turned it to my benefit. I will not hold you to the bet.”
“No, no, I was a bit soused and did not react as a gentleman,” the Colonel winced.
“A bet is a bet. Besides, you are the one who must marry the chit to win it. I can not believe that you are serious. Can you imagine the talk when you present her to the Ton? They would eat her alive. T’would be kinder to cut her loose now than to feed her to the sharks. ”
Lingley narrowed his eyes as he thought. The Colonel’s words, while distasteful, were not wrong. “Perhaps an extended wedding trip is in order. She will need time to become used to me and her new station, as well as to combat all the damage her family has done over the years.”
“It would not surprise me if her father asked for a single hen, too old to lay,” Fitzwilliam snorted. “Those people are horrors. I do not know what Darcy was thinking.”
“I cannot fathom…” he replied with a wry grin, popping a bit of pastry into his mouth.
“Likely that he will never acknowledge them again,” he laughed.
“Oh, no. I believe that Mrs. Darcy was very clear on that matter. Her family was to be treated with respect.”
“Respect!” he nearly choked on his eggs.
“What sort of respect does she think they deserve? For birthing a litter of practically feral females? Darcy told me how the eldest two spent much time in the care of their relatives in London. They must be admirable people, for they are the only two with even remotely acceptable manners.”
Lingley let the insult rest. “You mentioned chickens— is all this cow business truly of such consequence for the ladies?”
“Not so much in London, I suppose,” Fitzwilliam pondered for a moment.
“I think it is more that it is not often spoken of with the gentlemen. Your mother is from Spain, is she not?” Lingley agreed that it was so.
“Well, that is likely why you are unfamiliar with the practice. I have heard nothing of it on the continent. I wonder if your mother was looked down upon when your father brought her to England.”
Lingley laughed. “Who looks down upon royalty? Even if she was not in line for the throne. Princess Rosamond De la Vega was no one’s whipping board. She had them all eating out of her hand within a sen’night. Her fabulous wealth and continental fashions certainly helped.”
“That is true. I have not heard that the royals here participate in the practice either. Likely it would skew the numbers astronomically. Can you imagine a princess worth only two or three cows?”
“Is that the usual price of a decent wife on this island? What is the cost of a superior one? Four or Five?”
“Would Darcy pay any less?” Fitzwilliam snorted and pushed away from the table.
“You know… the Bennet stable was practically empty when I fetched my horse yestereve. Two sway-backed carriage horses they likely use in the fields and two equally ancient riding horses which I doubt have been beyond a walk in a decade. If you wish to shock, you should acquire some new cattle for the estate. It is obvious that Mr. Bennet shall not bother.”
“An excellent idea, thank you,” he grinned, rising as well. “Will you be accompanying me to the barter?”
He snorted and slapped him on the back. “I would not miss it for the world!”
They called for their horses and donned their beavers and riding gloves while they waited.
When the Colonel’s fractious mount rounded the corner of the house, Lingley rolled his eyes at the look of pride on the man’s face.
His Andalusian was much better behaved. The beautiful silvery white horse with its signature dark mane and forelocks drew the eye of all the grooms who watched him with wonder, having never seen a true Spanish horse before.
The Colonel whistled in awe and stepped forward to look him over. The magnificent beast politely lifted his feet for the man and allowed him to stroke his velvety face. “What a beauty!” he cried.
“Ferdinand, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam. Colonel, my horse, King Ferdinand.”
There was a shout of laughter from the man. “Did your horse just bow to me, Lingley?”
“Of course,” he replied, stepping up and swinging into the saddle. “Does your beast not know how to make a proper greeting?”
“Not like that!” he grinned as he mounted, and the roan turned in a tight circle in an attempt to throw him. When that did not work, he bent his neck and tried to bite his boot. “That will do, Caligula. He is very affectionate.”
Lingley snorted and led the way down the drive at a walk to warm up the animals.
When they reached the road, they let them run the two miles into Meryton.
At the outskirts of town, Lingley pulled back on the reins and slowed them to a trot.
Fitzwilliam’s mount was still full of piss and vinegar, but he listened to his rider and slowed as well.
The townsfolk had gathered along the street to watch him arrive, and Lingley acknowledged them with a nod as they went.
“Ferdinand, I do believe we are on parade,” he called, and his horse immediately altered his gate into a high-stepping prance as they proceeded down the hard-packed road, much to the delight of the denizens who cheered wildly.
∞∞∞
“MARY! Mary-Hannah! Where is that foolish child?” Mrs. Bennet demanded, waving her handkerchief in distress. “We will be late! Where could she have gone?”
“It matters not,” Mr. Bennet rubbed his brow between his eyes. “She does not need to be there. She announced an engagement before all the town. I will take whatever he offers, and we will have peace at Longbourne. Surely Kitty might accompany one of her sisters…”
“Oh yes! My dear Lydia invited—”
“NOT Lydia!” he roared, startling her into dropping her handkerchief. “Never will one of my girls be given over to the questionable auspices of the likes of George and Lydia Wickham!”
“But, Mr. Bennet! How cruel you are to your own daughter!” She sniffed away an imaginary tear.
“Come, Mrs. Bennet, we cannot be late,” he held the door for her to proceed him and then assisted her into the carriage where the Gardiners awaited them.
With a knock, the horses pulled against the braces, and they slowly creaked forward with a deep groan of ancient wood and leather.
The carriage had been his grandfather’s, but he saw little use in spending funds on a new one when he could use them to purchase more books for his library and port to quench his thirst; at least what monies he could wrest from his wife’s greedy paws.
“You must ask at least five cows,” Mrs. Bennet instructed wildly. “Lizzy married a mere gentleman, and he paid six! Surely a viscount must wish for an excellent wife. If we do not convince him of her worth, then he may drop her!”
Mrs. Gardiner, who was aware of his lordship’s family, unlike her silly sister, held her peace.
It would do no one any good to mention that the title he held was a courtesy one only and that he would one day be the Earl of Ashford and then the Marquis of Trenton when his uncle died. She worried for her niece’s wellbeing.
“This is what I get paying two cows for my wife!” Mr. Bennet groused. “Look at you, Gardiner! You paid four cows for your wife,”
“Five,” he corrected.
“And she gave you intelligent sons and daughters! Only my Lizzy took after me in that area. The rest do not have a cogent thought between the four of them in a fortnight!”
“Mr. Bennet!” his wife screeched.
“Oh, look!” Mr. Gardiner declared, leaning forward to better see the crowd. “It seems that entire county has gathered to see your triumph. No one could have imagined that a daughter of Longbourne would marry so well. Even with Darcy’s ￡10,000 a year, such a thing ought to have been impossible.”
“Jane ought to have dissolved her engagement,” Mrs. Bennet moaned.
“Such beauty and serenity— wasted on the son of a tradesman with only ￡5000 a year! It is not right! How much do you think a viscount is worth? He ought to have married Jane! I am certain that he fell in love with her at the wedding and is throwing himself away on Mary out of despair! If he cannot have the one he truly wished, at least he can worship her from nearby. It is everything romantic.”
“Hush, sister,” Mrs. Gardiner urged as she looked about at the gathering. “Imagine how insulted the viscount might be by such speculation.”