The Lady's Jewels

by Perpetua Langley

  “Jane,” Mrs. Bennet continued, “your Mr. Bingley is worth four thousand a year!”

  Jane blushed furiously, and Elizabeth knew she was mortified. “Mama, he is not my Mr. Bingley,” she said quietly.

  “Well, he should be,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You certainly talked enough.”

  Elizabeth could not help but smile. It always seemed to Mrs. Bennet that an hour’s conversation should be sufficient to determine if one wished to become lifelong partners.

  “We talked of horses,” Jane said.

  “Horses?” Mrs. Bennet asked, clearly mystified that her daughter should have an eligible gentleman within reach and talk of animals. “Next time,” she directed, “speak of something more to do with household felicity.”

  Jane did not answer, nor did she need to, as Mrs. Bennet had turned her attention to Elizabeth. “Four thousand is nothing, of course, to Mr. Darcy. My sister-in-law informs me that he is worth ten thousand and I discovered, through my own interrogation, that Pemberley has one hundred and twenty-six rooms. One hundred and twenty-six, Lizzy.”

  “I wonder why they did not choose one hundred and thirty,” Elizabeth said. “If one is determined to live in a house that one may never find one’s way out of, it seems more fitting to choose a nice round number.”

  “Be flip all you like, miss,” Mrs. Bennet said with a huff. “If you do not care for Mr. Darcy, then you may pass him on to one of your sisters and hope they take you in when you are an old maid.”

  Mary dropped her book, then hurriedly picked it up from the floor. Lydia and Kitty collapsed into giggles.

  “Mama,” Lydia said, “I would not for the world, not for ten thousand pounds, take on the that serious fellow. There are dozens of amusing officers in handsome uniforms everywhere you look. They deserve my attention, not stuffy old Mr. Darcy.”

  Elizabeth flushed for her mother and sister. She hardly knew which statement to condemn first. The idea that Mr. Darcy could be passed along and would be delighted to be told which lady had agreed to take him on? The sound of Lydia’s boldness? Her opinion that Mr. Darcy was a stuffy old man? How had she ever been born into such a ridiculous family? Her only consolation was that there were no witnesses to this latest embarrassment—the gentlemen were currently being entertained by her ever-sensible father and Lady Castlereagh had retired.

  Of course, Elizabeth knew that lurking under those feelings of embarrassment was a lingering fear that there was some truth to her mother’s words. Five daughters, all unmarried. Would she not marry? Would she have no children? Would she not, someday, be the mistress of her own house? It seemed inconceivable, she could not imagine foregoing motherhood. As well, she did not think she would make a very good spinster. Those ladies were meant to make themselves agreeable and ever express gratitude to whoever had taken them in. Were she to find herself in such a predicament, she expected she would be rather dis-agreeable and profoundly ungrateful.

  At Lydia’s mention of officers, Mrs. Bennet’s stern demeanor softened. “I cannot fault you for being overcome at the thought of an officer, Lydia. I, myself, once had a penchant for a red uniform. Very well, if it is not to be Lydia for Mr. Darcy then it must be Kitty.”

  At this pronouncement, Kitty cried, “Why should I not have an officer? Let Mary have old Mr. Darcy.”

  Mary seemed to consider this, until her mother said, “Do not be ridiculous, Kitty. A man like Mr. Darcy cannot marry a girl with her head always in a book.”

  At which, Mary Bennet immediately buried her head in her book.

  Chapter Four

  Mr. Bennet had refilled the port glasses. He looked with satisfaction at his guests. He was in the habit of being left alone in the dining room, or perhaps being left alone with Sir William. He was fond of the man, having known him so long, but tales of St. James, and even Carlton House though he had never set foot in it, wore thin after so many years. Sir William, if he was an expert at anything, was a master at turning any sort of conversation in that direction. Talking of shooting birds? Sir William would wonder what sort of mode the King preferred. Mention some mishap on the farm? Sir William would mention the King’s interest in agriculture. Some improvement to be made to the kitchens? Sir William would mention the extensive renovations made at Carlton House.

  On this night, however, he was graced with new acquaintances, all seeming to be full of good sense. Except, perhaps, Mr. Quinn. For all the man might be a brilliant investigator, there was nothing at all sensible about that waistcoat. Of course, Mr. Bingley might have made some silly remarks to Jane, but that was to be excused in a young man. In truth, that was to be expected from a young man. Mr. Bennet only hoped that Mr. Darcy had made some silly remarks of his own to Lizzy.

  All in all, it had been a remarkably pleasant evening. Lady Castlereagh was a delightful dinner guest and easily matched wits with his own. The men’s after-dinner conversation had gone pleasantly along, talking of shooting, fishing and the trustworthiness of various wine merchants. Most happily, the King, God save him, had not been mentioned once.

  Very satisfactory.

  The men had finally come in, having lingered long over their port. Elizabeth felt faintly insulted, though she would not admit it to anybody. As a lady, one did wish to feel as though the gentlemen one had just dined with were eager for more conversation in the less confined setting of a drawing room. Mrs. Bennet, on the other hand, would show her displeasure. She gave her husband the sort of looks that one might describe as deadly, poisonous, or murderous. Mr. Bennet did not appear to notice, and only said, “Lizzy, do play for us.”

  Elizabeth made her way to the pianoforte, well aware of Mary’s eyes following her. Aside from being a very great reader, Mary considered herself a musical prodigy. To her credit, Mary Bennet did practice far more than any of her sisters, including Elizabeth. However, she had rather a tin ear. Her practicing was more pounding than anything else, and her voice a veritable scraping of pots and pans rather than a songbird’s. Knowing Mary’s penchant for monopolizing the instrument, Mr. Bennet had fired an early salvo to keep her from it.

  Mr. Bingley had managed to pull a chair next to Jane’s, which Elizabeth found delightfully shocking. The man had spent nearly the entire dinner speaking with her sister, and by all rights should have paid his attention to another of the ladies. Elizabeth smiled as she thought that nobody in the room, not the least of all Mrs. Bennet, would protest the arrangement.

  Mr. Darcy approached as Elizabeth thumbed through some music, searching for her favorite after-dinner piece. It was an old Irish air—pretty, and softly suited for the hour.

  “Are you a proficient, Miss Bennet?”

  Elizabeth was taken aback at the question. Since when were ladies to judge their own skill?

  “Heavens, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said teasingly, “if I were, I would not own it. Happily, no such deception will be required, as I most assuredly am not.”

  Elizabeth began to softly play, well aware of her level of skill. She was not the most perfect of players, but she was fairly certain that she had an ear for the intent of a particular piece. Especially this old favorite.

  “Perhaps I should not have asked so boldly,” Mr. Darcy said. “Though in town, I am continually told of ladies being proficient in music or drawing or netting purses or some such thing.”

  This elicited soft laughter from Elizabeth. “And do these ladies tell you of their skill directly?”

  “Not usually,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “There always seems to be some sort of relative nearby who will inform me of it.” He paused, then said, “Though I have had more than one lady list for me what is required in an accomplished female. The hint being, I think, that they lay claim to all they have listed.”

  “Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said, smiling over the keys. “Well, Mr. Darcy, I should not like to be left behind on such a matter. Therefore, in Miss Bennet’s opinion, what is required in an accomplished female is a middling skill on the pianoforte, drawing for pleasure even if th
e end result is not particularly recognizable, sewing creditably, reading when the mood strikes, and riding well enough that one does not disappoint one’s horse.”

  Mr. Darcy said, “And that is what you lay claim to?”

  “I am afraid so,” Elizabeth said. “While perfection may have knocked on many a London lady’s door, it has never made its way to Longbourn.”

  Before Mr. Darcy could answer, Mr. Quinn stood and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, while I have heard that these country drawing rooms may go on until late in the evening, I beg you to consider the work we have ahead of ourselves on the morrow. We ought to retire.”

  As nobody in the room had ever encountered a guest directing everybody to retire, nobody had any sort of response. And so retire, they did.

  Elizabeth galloped through fields and over fences, through Miller’s wood and up the winding path toward Pumpkin Hill. Mercury had been delighted to see her so early in the morning and now he gloried in the crisp air and the feel of grass, brittle with frost, under his hooves. He reared his head and snorted, his own way of telling the world that he was alive, young and strong.

  The morning had dawned bright and Elizabeth had been up with the sun. She’d felt excitement coursing through her, as if it were the day of an assembly. It had been that feeling of anticipation of something certain to be diverting, and yet not knowing quite how it should be. She’d paced the room as quietly as she could so as not to wake Jane. After she’d passed by the looking glass, noting her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, she realized it was a full two hours before she might go down. She could not pace for two hours, nor could she get back in bed. She determined she’d better go for a ride. It would do Mercury good, and herself as well.

  Elizabeth crested Pumpkin Hill. She anticipated seeing the miles of misty view over the countryside, the sun having not yet burned off the dew. She did not anticipate encountering a horse and rider.

  Through the haze, she could see a tall figure on a large bay, his back toward her.

  Elizabeth reined in Mercury and thought to turn around and make her way down the hill as quickly as she was able. She had come without a groom, though her father had forbidden it. He had explained the dangers many times, but Elizabeth had never encountered anybody on her early morning rides and had always felt quite safe. Further, no other horse in her father’s stable could keep pace with Mercury and she was not of a mind to be slowed down by a sleepy groom upon a sleepy horse.

  But now, here was a man alone and God only knew what would bring him to such a lonely spot at such an hour. The very spot where Lady Castlereagh had been set upon. Elizabeth wondered if she might be in view of one of the thieves, returned to the scene for some nefarious purpose.

  Mercury reared his head and Elizabeth patted him to keep him quiet. She cautiously turned him just as she saw the man begin to turn on his own horse, having heard her approach. She spurred her horse.

  “Miss Bennet!” the man called.

  Elizabeth pulled in her reins. It was not a thief returned for some nefarious purpose. It was Mr. Darcy.

  She felt herself flush from her recent imaginings. Elizabeth turned Mercury and walked him toward Mr. Darcy.

  He was handsome in his riding coat, sitting tall on his massive horse. He looked at her, and then past her, quizzically. “Miss Bennet,” he said, “where is your groom? Has he had some accident?”

  Elizabeth flushed ever deeper. Her own foolishness now impressed upon her, she was to suffer the further embarrassment of another knowing of it.

  She jutted her chin out and said, “I am very sorry to say that my groom remains asleep in the hayloft. I have been in the habit of going out without him, which now strikes me as somewhat foolhardy.”

  “Without him?” Mr. Darcy asked, as if she had just pronounced that she was in the habit of sword fighting and swearing.

  “Yes, Mr. Darcy,” she said, bristling. “Without him.”

  “But is that quite safe? I would never think to allow my own sister…” Mr. Darcy trailed off, clearly noting the reception of his words.

  Elizabeth decided she might as well own up to being fool. If there was one thing she knew, it was that denying some foolishness only made a person appear more foolish.

  “I am glad you would never allow your sister to do such a thing, Mr. Darcy. I should not have done so myself and I am certain that if I had a sensible elder brother, he would have swayed me from my course. As it is, I am so comfortable in my little neighborhood that I was convinced I would never come to harm. I surely should have reconsidered after what Lady Castlereagh has experienced on this hill.”

  Elizabeth fully expected Mr. Darcy would whole-heartedly agree with her condemnation, and perhaps add a few more words of warning. Instead, he looked about him and said, “This is the very spot? I did not know. I only guessed it would be a charming vista and rode up.”

  Elizabeth, rather delighted that they were not to continue the conversation about her foolishness, nodded. “It was just there,” she said, pointing to the cluster of old oaks. “Her carriage was beneath the trees. If Jane and I had not come this way, I cannot say when she would have been found.”

  Darcy steered his horse toward the oaks and Elizabeth followed. He reined in and said, “Yes, I see the carriage wheel tracks in the earth, where the ground is softer under the trees.”

  They were silent for some moments, then Mr. Darcy said, “Perhaps we should return to the house. As you do not have a groom with you…”

  In a moment, the full import of Mr. Darcy’s words penetrated her mind. It was one thing to be off riding in the early morning by oneself. Had a kind person seen her, they might have assumed she had been momentarily separated from her groom. Had a less kind person seen her, she would be pronounced silly and injudicious. But to be seen with a man? Alone? At this hour? The talk would be far more scandalous.

  “You are right, Mr. Darcy. And, as I am on the faster horse, I shall go immediately.”

  She gave Mercury the softest double kick, his signal that they were to race home to his oats. The horse gladly shot off as if his life depended upon it.

  As Mercury galloped down the hill, she heard Mr. Darcy in the distance behind her. “Fastest horse? Yours?”

  She laughed into the wind. Of course no man, and most particularly a man like Mr. Darcy, would like to hear that he was not on the fastest horse. Still, she could not resist, and Mercury would fly like the wind and knew every path and fence. Poor Mr. Darcy, regardless of how fine a beast he rode, would not have a chance at catching her.

  She peeked behind her and saw that Mr. Darcy would not acquiesce to being beaten. He had spurred his own horse.

  Elizabeth bent over Mercury’s neck. In his ear, she said softly, “Now, my love, we must soundly defeat this other horse, and the man on it. You know what to do.”

  Mercury, being of a temperament to go fast as opposed to slow, and jump as opposed to wait for a gate, doubled his speed. Elizabeth leaned in and let her horse do its work. He would know just how to approach farmer Gladstone’s fence before a leap, and just how sharp to turn into the path through the wood, and exactly the moment when they had reached the straight path and might throw all caution, had there ever been any, to the wind.

  Darcy spurred his horse. He was most alarmed at the sight of Miss Bennet upon that wild beast, galloping with all speed. He had rarely seen a man attempt such a ride, and only on an ill-conceived wager.

  My God, the night before she had only laid claim to riding well enough to avoid disappointing her horse. She had not mentioned that her horse was the devil himself. What sort of horse was this for a woman? It was an overlarge stallion and had not the mild temperament of a proper-bred mare.

  Darcy paused in his thoughts as Miss Bennet drew further away. It was true, the horse had not the temperament for a lady used to a more sedate beast. Georgiana would not dare mount such a creature. Yet, Miss Bennet appeared wholly unconcerned. He knew the look of a fearful rider, and she was not in any way fear
ful.

  He watched the horse barrel toward a fence. Surely, she would rein him in. She would not dare try…

  Mercury sailed over the fence as Darcy held his breath. Remarkably, instead of having to carry home a lady with a broken neck, she galloped on. Horse and rider soon took a sharp turn and disappeared into a wood.

  Darcy reined in his horse. The chance of overtaking Miss Bennet was entirely gone, had there ever been a chance which he was beginning to very much doubt. What sort of lady was this? Out without a groom and riding so wildly? What might he think if he’d seen Georgiana conducting herself in such a manner? What might his friends in town think if they were to witness such a spectacle in Hyde Park?

  He smiled to himself. Miss Bennet was not Georgiana Darcy and Hertfordshire was not Hyde Park. He supposed he ought to make allowances for the odd doings in such out-of-the-way places. Though he could not entirely dismiss the idea that Mr. Bennet ought to put a stop to this dangerous activity. The man appeared to be full of good sense, why had he not forbidden such a thing?

  Elizabeth had handed over Mercury, who was well-pleased with himself, and ran into the house. She changed with all haste and hurried to the drawing room. Jane, Mr. Quinn and Mr. Bingley were already in attendance.

  “Lizzy!” Jane said. “How flushed you are.”

  Mr. Darcy walked into the room as Elizabeth said, “I took in some fresh air this morning. Mr. Quinn will require our clear heads, I think. I thought it might do me good.” She peeked at Mr. Darcy to see if he would elaborate on her ideas of fresh air, but he said nothing.

  “Quite right, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Quinn said. “I applaud your foresight on the matter.”

  Mr. Bingley turned to Jane. “That is a capital idea,” he said. “Perhaps we all ought to walk on the morrow.”

  Jane nodded. “I am sure that would be beneficial.”

  Elizabeth pressed her lips together. As much as she liked walking, she had much rather be on her horse at dawn. Walking might wait until the afternoon, when she was more of a mind for a stroll or a long walk to Meryton. Still, after her performance this morning, she dared not say so.