Chapter 2
Fitzwilliam Darcy
Darcy stood looking out of the window of the grand drawing room at Netherfield, though he saw very little of the landscape before him.
The grounds stretched away in gentle order, softened by the early autumn light, and there was a quietness to the scene that might have recommended itself under other circumstances.
At present, however, his thoughts were less engaged by the pleasant prospect out the window than by the decidedly less comfortable conversation going on behind him.
Bingley’s voice carried easily across the room, animated and warm, as he described once more the advantages of his recent acquisition.
He spoke of the house, the grounds, the convenience of its situation, and above all, the good fortune of having secured it and arrived in good time for the upcoming assembly at Meryton.
There was an openness in his satisfaction that made Darcy smile, even as it left him not at all tempted to change his own opinions of the dubious pleasures to be found at a gathering of local society.
“It is exactly what I had hoped for,” Bingley said, turning toward his sisters with evident pleasure. “A house of comfortable size, a pleasant neighbourhood, and an assembly already in view. One could hardly wish for a more agreeable beginning.”
Caroline Bingley, who had arranged herself upon the sofa with studied elegance, received this with a patient smile that did not attempt to conceal her reservations.
“You are very easily satisfied, my dear brother. For my part, I cannot imagine what could have induced you to settle in so rural a situation. One must expect very little society here that is at all worth engaging.”
Mrs Hurst inclined her head slightly in agreement. Though the eldest of the Bingley siblings had married two years before, Mr Hurst’s fortune was not equal to Bingley’s. Consequently, the Hursts were often found living in Bingley’s house — and on his purse.
“The country has its uses, I suppose,” Mrs Hurst said languidly, “but they are not of a kind I find particularly compelling.”
“Just so, my dear,” Mr Hurst agreed with a snort. “Whoever saw a country neighbourhood that was not dreadfully tedious? Hardly a proper game of cards to be had, bad food, and worse drink. Makes me wish I were back in London already.”
Darcy eyed him askance. He had not been long acquainted with Bingley’s brother-in-law before knowing him to be a gentleman of much fashion, little fortune, and still less sense.
Notwithstanding his own lack of enthusiasm for Hertfordshire, he could not think it in good taste for a gentleman who housed himself and his wife in his brother-in-law’s home and at his expense to be criticising where Bingley chose to make that home.
Bingley himself only laughed, entirely undisturbed by both the objections and any concerns beyond them.
“You are determined to be displeased before you have given it any trial. I confess I do not understand it. There is always something enjoyable to be found if one is inclined to look for it, and I am resolved to be pleased. In my experience, that answers very well.”
Miss Bingley turned her attention toward Darcy, as though seeking confirmation of her own judgement from a more reliable source.
“And you, Mr Darcy. You will not, I think, be so easily persuaded. Surely you see that a neighbourhood such as this can offer very little to engage the attention of a rational mind.”
Darcy turned from the window and gave her a small bow. “I am not yet sufficiently acquainted with it to form a proper judgement.”
That the reply satisfied the requirements of civility without committing him to any particular opinion was not an oversight.
He had long been accustomed to offering such answers when the expectations of others pressed upon him, and he saw no reason to depart from the habit now.
Miss Bingley was only too inclined to interpret anything he said in the manner most favourable to herself; namely, a manner that she might interpret as giving her some hope of gaining his particular regard.
That sincerity might be among his first requirements for any woman he would look at seriously never seemed to occur to her.
Indeed, Miss Bingley regarded him with a look that suggested she had hoped for something more decisive. “You are always so cautious. But perhaps rightly so, Mr Darcy, for I have never known you to be wrong,” she said archly.
“I have never found it necessary to declare my expectations in order to form them.”
“Then you do form them,” she returned with a slight air of triumph. “And I cannot imagine they will be much gratified here.”
Darcy allowed a brief pause before replying. “I prefer to wait on experience.”
There was little to be gained in either encouraging or opposing her more directly.
She would interpret agreement as encouragement and contradiction as an invitation, neither of which he wished to offer.
Caroline Bingley had never yet needed encouragement to hope she might prevail on him to make the relationship between them more than that of Bingley’s sister and Bingley’s friend.
The bland neutrality did its work; Miss Bingley smiled and turned away to occupy herself elsewhere in the room, though her dissatisfaction was not wholly concealed.
Observing the exchange, Bingley strode across the room toward Darcy with renewed energy.
“You must not let them discourage you. You will like it here. I am convinced of it. There is a great deal to be said for a place that has not been worn out by constant company. One may meet people with fewer expectations and greater ease.”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “You are well suited to such situations.”
“And you are not, you mean,” Bingley returned with a laugh. “But that is precisely why it will do you good. A little change cannot be entirely unwelcome.”
“A change is tolerable,” Darcy replied, “when it is not inconvenient.”
Bingley’s good humour remained undiminished. “You see inconvenience where I see opportunity.”
“I see what experience has taught me to expect.”
“And I as well,” Bingley chuckled. “Pleasant society and a charming countryside, as one can find in many parts of the countryside.”
Darcy did not pursue the matter further.
There was no persuading Bingley out of a favourable opinion once it had taken hold, and in many respects, his readiness to be pleased was among his most amiable qualities.
It rendered him agreeable in almost any company and allowed him to form connections with a facility that Darcy himself had never possessed.
Though neither was it one he entirely envied. One could be too much at ease among strangers.
Bingley, who had no inclination to remain indoors when the weather offered an alternative, soon declared that the morning was too fine to be wasted. He proposed that they take a ride to better acquaint themselves with the surrounding country.
The suggestion was made with such cheerful insistence that it could not easily be refused, but Darcy agreed without hesitation in any case. The prospect of a ride was infinitely preferable to the continuation of an argument in which he had little interest.
Bingley turned at once to Mr Hurst and invited him to join them, but the latter declined with a languid assurance that he was vastly more comfortable where he was, and saw no reason to alter his situation.
This refusal did nothing to diminish Bingley’s spirits. He called for the horses with evident satisfaction, and within a short time, they were prepared to depart. Bingley spoke easily to the groom, asking after the roads and praising the horse’s temper.
Darcy observed it without surprise. It was one of Bingley’s habits, and though it sometimes led him into a degree of familiarity Darcy would not have chosen for himself, it also had the effect of making everyone around him wish to please him.
Once they had ridden beyond the immediate grounds of Netherfield, the house fell into invisibility behind them, and the surrounding country opened into a pleasing stretch of fields, hedgerows, and narrow lanes.
The morning was clear, with just enough coolness in the air to make the ride agreeable.
Autumn had not yet stripped the trees entirely, and the remaining leaves caught the light in shades of gold and rust.
Bingley looked about him with evident approval. “There, you see? You must admit the place improves when one is not shut up indoors listening to complaints.”
“I never dispute the merits of fresh air.”
“No, only of everything else.”
Darcy glanced at him with mild amusement. “You do me an injustice. I have not said much.”
“That is often how you express disapproval.”
Darcy could not deny it, and therefore did not try.
Bingley laughed and urged his horse a little forward before settling again beside him.
“I mean to know the neighbourhood properly. Not merely the principal families, though of course we must meet them, but the country itself. If I am to live here for any length of time, I should like to feel I belong to it.”
“That is an ambitious intention for a rented house.”
“Perhaps. But I do not see why one should be indifferent to a place merely because one may leave it later.”
Darcy considered this. As usual, there was an openness in Bingley’s way of thinking that was difficult to fault, even when it was not easy to share. “You form attachments quickly.”
“And you form them slowly.”
“I form them carefully,” Darcy corrected him. The difference was significant, even if Bingley did not choose to believe it.
“That sounds very grave. I am glad I was not required to pass so many examinations before becoming your friend.”
Darcy smiled at that, though he kept his gaze ahead. “You passed more than you know.”
“Then I am fortunate I did not know it at the time,” Bingley said with a laugh, “or I might have performed very badly.”