Fitzwiliam Darcy
Earl of Matlock
Cressida Lane
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Afterword
Chapter 1
Country life would never be outdone by the splendors of London – so ran the thoughts of one Fitzwilliam Darcy as he passed through the quaint village of Meryton in Hertfordshire. The people were amiable enough, he supposed, if one cared for that sort of thing. But there was a calm about these villagers that Londoners lacked; he vastly preferred it to the bustle of city life. Quietude suited him unless there was work to be done.
Charles could be happy here, thought Darcy, though Bingley’s sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Louisa Hurst, were unlikely to enjoy it much. Their elevated sense of fashion and society was unlikely to be much satisfied in such a place. Darcy smiled to himself, amused by the thought though he’d likely tire of that subject once he’d arrived at Bingley’s new abode. His dear friend’s sisters were elegant, ladylike women but they steadfastly preferred to move in elevated company whenever possible.
Charles Bingley himself had no such pretensions. His father had made his fortune in trade, and while Bingley’s sisters might prefer to forget that unfashionable fact, Darcy knew Charles held it as a private point of honor.
Yes, Charles would do well among townsfolk such as these.
Darcy rode on to follow the direction he kept in his pocket, passing a small sign at the edge of town. Charles had only just taken possession of the house in Hertfordshire – Netherfield, it was called – and in absence of a family estate elsewhere, he and his sisters would likely be in residence for some time. Darcy would have preferred to surveil the home before Bingley signed for it, but a small crisis at his own vast estate in Derbyshire had belayed Darcy’s visit by several weeks.
The house came into view as his horse crested a small hill just a mile or so from the edge of town. It was a pleasing vista; the house was prominent certainly, but tastefully situated and beset on all sides by elaborate gardens – unlikely to be the result of Charles’s recent acquisition. Yes, if the company were at all amiable in this neighborhood, Darcy could readily imagine his friend keeping house here for some time.
A groom appeared as Darcy approached the house. He handed over the reins, brushed the dust of the road from his coat and headed up the impressive staircase. His knock was instantly answered by a butler he didn’t recognize; the man must have come on with the house. Darcy passed his card over.
“You are expected, sir,” said the servant. “This way, if you please.” Darcy was led down the wide hall to a roomy, north-facing parlor.
“My trunks should be along presently,” said Darcy to the butler, more out of courtesy than of any real need.
“Very good, sir.” Darcy entered the room.
Charles rose to greet him, smiling.
“Well, then, Darcy, what do you say?”
“Hello, Charles,” said Darcy, returning the smile as he clasped the hand of his friend. He bowed slightly in the direction of Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, seated together on the opposite side of the room. “Ladies. No Mr. Hurst today?”
“He is indisposed,” said Mrs. Hurst. Charles’s eldest sister rolled her eyes. As Mr. Hurst was particularly fond of brunch, Darcy knew an afternoon respite was habitually required to replenish his energies for the evening.
“You’re looking well, Darcy,” said Miss Caroline Bingley. The unmarried middle Bingley sibling was always prepared to pay her brother’s closest friend any attention he required, and often that which he didn’t require.
“As are you, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, bowing slightly. “I trust that aside from Mr. Hurst’s indisposition, you are all well?”
“Oh, very well,” said Miss Bingley, giving a dismissive wave before Charles could answer. “Except we are to be entombed here forever, the way Charles keeps nattering on about the place.”
“You were singing its praises well enough until Darcy got here,” said Charles.
“Yes, well, that was also before you suggested skipping the season this year. Can you imagine, Mr. Darcy? An entire year lost in this… solitude.” Miss Bingley sneered as Mrs. Hurst patted her arm.
“Do not you worry about that, sister. If Charles insists on rotting out here with the cows, we’ll set upon Mr. Hurst. I’m confident we can rely on him to take us back to proper civilization,” said the elder sister.
“Is there something amiss with Netherfield? Or is it Hertfordshire in general that suffers your objection?” asked Darcy. The house appeared sound, but he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to view the grounds properly. It would have been just like Charles to survey the house but take the rest of on faith.
“There is nothing wrong with either, so far,” admitted Miss Bingley. “The house is perfectly suitable. The gardens are smallish for a country estate but they do very fine for what they are.” Caroline stood to cross over to the window, dismissing the view there with an arch of her brow and turning back to the room. “Charles got himself invited to the local assembly last night, and wouldn’t you know it? We were pressed to go as well.”
“Did you have a nice evening?” Darcy directed his question at Charles, as Miss Bingley’s opinion was already in evidence.
“It was a lovely evening,” said Charles, beaming. “I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life.”
“And there you have the crux of it,” said Miss Bingley, sneering openly now. “He’s besotted already.”
Darcy said nothing, trying to contain his amusement. Charles was not free with his affections, but his predisposition to approve of everything and everyone around him had the unfortunate effect of making him fall in love with every third unmarried lady he met.
“Darcy,” said Bingley, his eyes shining. “She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld.”
“Jane Bennet is, I concede, a dear, sweet girl,” said Mrs. Hurst soothingly as she resumed her needlepoint.
“And this Jane Bennet, she lives in Meryton?” asked Darcy.
“She is the eldest of five daughters – yes, five – of a man who owns an estate by the name of Longbourn about three miles hence,” said Miss Bingley. “And I agree with you, Louisa, that Jane Bennet is sweet. The rest of the family I could do without, and handily.”
“I did not get much opportunity to speak with the others last evening,” said Charles. “But the second eldest among the sisters, Miss Elizabeth. She was a charming dancer, and very pretty, too.”
Miss Bingley sniffed. “Be that as it may, Charles, I cannot conceive that you are thinking of staying on through the Season just to entertain some farmer’s daughter.”
“She’s a lady,” said Charles, becoming cross. “Mr. Bennet is no country farmer.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Your snobbery does you little credit, Caroline,” said Charles. “If you’re so determined to go back to London by all means, I’ll wake Hurst myself and ask him.”
“Let’s
not be hasty,” said Darcy, intrigued but not concerned. Charles was rarely so easily baited into an argument. “Tell me more about Miss Bennet, Charles.”
“She’s an angel,” said Charles, beaming a smile on the instant. Darcy ignored Miss Bingley’s rolling eyes and continued to question his friend.
“I’ll need a little more than that to go on if you intend to introduce us,” said Darcy, his amusement restored.
“She is… what’s the word? She’s gentle. And fine. And terribly kind.”
“Come, Charles, really. You’ve known her for all of fourteen hours,” said Miss Bingley.
“I speak as I find,” said Charles, not looking at his sister.
“Are you known to her family?” asked Darcy.
“Her father was among the very first of the families in town to call when we arrived, in fact.”
That was promising, thought Darcy. It showed some sensible consideration on the part of the elder man.
“A lady she may be, Charles, but the Bennets are hardly suitable company for you to be seeking her out so particularly, and certainly not on such short acquaintance,” said Miss Bingley.
In the years he’d been acquainted with Caroline Bingley, Darcy knew this pronouncement for what it was – a condemnation of the Bennet family’s relative poverty. It couldn’t be avoided considering the Bingley family fortune was rather vast, though it was but half his own. Wealth accumulated by degrees, and the higher it grew, the rarer it was to be found; this was no great mystery of the universe, Darcy knew. He counted it among his blessings and managed the complications as best he was able.
“They are poor?” he asked.
“Penniless, I hear,” said Miss Bingley, the triumph in her tone perspicuous. “Apparently the estate is entailed away to some cousin. Five daughters among them, you know.”
“I do,” said Darcy. “I expect they are better to be pitied than ridiculed.”
“You think that, Mr. Darcy, because you are the very soul of generosity,” Miss Bingley simpered.
“In any case, I am sorry to have missed the assembly, if only for missing the chance to meet the inimitable Miss Bennet.” said Darcy.
“I should invite her to dine with us this evening, if you like,” said Miss Bingley. Darcy looked at her in some surprise, but she was still simpering. “As I said, Jane Bennet herself is very sweet. She would be a pleasant addition to our cozy party.”
“What’s this?” cried Bingley. “And I’ve been asking all day!”
“Don’t be a bore, Charles,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Caroline, do invite Miss Bennet. She was delightful company last night. I should not be sorry to know more of her.”
Darcy nodded his acquiescence at Miss Bingley and the request was dispatched at once. He was persuaded that Bingley could indeed be happy in this little corner of the country, but if Miss Bennet posed any real threat to his friend, Darcy would see it with his own eyes first.
Unlike others of his standing in society, Darcy did not assume that poverty and gentility were mutually exclusive. If Jane Bennet turned out to be a fortune hunter, Darcy would aid Miss Bingley’s cause to leave Netherfield for London to ensure Charles escaped unscathed.
* * *
Miss Bennet,
Please do me the honor of dining with Louisa and me and tonight. My brother and his friend – Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire – will be joining us.
Yours, etc.
Caroline Bingley
* * *
The letter was borne and returned promptly with a message of acceptance. As the afternoon passed, the sky grew darker. Darcy was not a superstitious man but a storm of that magnitude could be nothing less than portentous, but he was determined to see the woman who drew his friend’s with a clear eye, and so dismissed the thought. As the hour of Miss Bennet’s expected arrival drew near, the clouds opened up and let down their spate.
Chapter 2
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst had just broached the subject of their guest’s tardiness when the knock came at the door. Darcy and Charles stood to greet Miss Bennet.
Poor Jane Bennet had been caught in the deluge; she was soaked through.
“Why Miss Bennet!” cried Miss Bingley. “Did you walk all this way?”
“N-No, Miss Bingley. But our carriage was indisposed and I was obliged to come on horseback. I’m afraid the rain caught me almost as soon as I set out.”
“You poor dear. Stevens!” Miss Bingley called for the servant to return. “Fetch Miss Bennet some towels.”
“You are v-very kind,” said Miss Bennet, shivering. Her eyes turned then to Mr. Bingley. Darcy perceived that each warmed to the meeting, but nothing more.
“Miss Bennet, I hope you are well. Please, allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Miss Bennet.
Darcy bowed. “Miss Bennet.”
The servant returned then, bearing the towels Miss Bingley had requested.
“Not here, Stevens!” Miss Bingley scolded him. “Miss Bennet, if you would care to follow me?”
“Yes, please,” said Miss Bennet. She excused herself most politely and followed Miss Bingley from the room to tend to her dress elsewhere.
“Good Lord,” said Mrs. Hurst. “She must have been half drowned by the time she got here. What on earth could have possessed her to come on horseback with such a storm in view?”
“I think it shows a considerable amount of spirit,” said Charles.
“Or poor judgement,” said Darcy, without heat.
“Nonsense,” said Charles. “Who could have predicted such a storm?”
Darcy declined to speculate further, and in short order Miss Bennet returned to the company. He was in agreement with Charles on one point – Miss Bennet was indeed quite pretty. Undeterred from his goal, Darcy observed Miss Bennet’s conduct closely as they sat to dinner.
As the meal had commenced, so too did the conversation.
“I do hope your family are well, Miss Bennet” said Charles.
“They are well, thank you, sir,” said Jane Bennet.
“Miss Bennet is quite the elder sister, Louisa,” interjected Miss Bingley. “Did you see how thoughtfully she attended to poor Miss Eliza at the assembly?”
“I did,” said Mrs. Hurst. “Your sister – Miss Eliza – was so very charming, and yet somehow unable to keep a partner.”
“There were few enough men present,” said Miss Bingley. “That’s certain. Though I expect the dearth was nothing out of the ordinary for a village such as Meryton. Is not that right, Miss Bennet?”
Miss Bennet murmured but made no real reply and so Miss Bingley continued in that vein. She enumerated the rarity of the shops, the small selection of ribbons, the lack of variety in general. Charles spent no little time defending Meryton, giving his sisters a delightful amount with which to tease him. Considering the short duration of their stay in the neighborhood so far, Darcy presumed Charles was merely being courteous to the stoic Miss Bennet on the subject. Their guest herself showed no particular reaction, no matter which lacking element Miss Bingley chose to discourse.
In truth, Darcy thought Miss Bennet looked peaked, but as she made no attempt to excuse herself he held his tongue and attended Mr. Hurst’s questions about the new staff at Pemberley, Darcy’s own estate in Derbyshire.
As the meal progressed, it became obvious to all that Miss Bennet was unwell. She began to sigh, her face going quite pale.
“Miss Bennet, are you quite alright?” asked Mrs. Hurst, her concern authentic for the first time that evening.
“I am not—that is, I—”
Charles stood to ring the bell, but did not wait for a response. He proceeded directly to the door.
“Fetch Mrs. Nicholls,” Charles told the servant just outside the door to the hall. When she arrived the housekeeper was promptly instructed to ready a room, for as Miss Bingley succinctly stated, “Miss Bennet was in no condition to be riding home on horseback.”
; Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst supervised Miss Bennet’s removal to the guest quarters, making such fuss over their friend that their expressions of heartfelt sympathy could be heard in the main hall until someone upstairs closed the guest room door. Darcy returned to the dining room where Mr. Hurst sat finishing his meal. He’d just resumed his seat when Charles returned.
“I’ve summoned the apothecary from Meryton,” said Charles, his eyes shifting nervously. “Jones, I think is his name. Told him to get here post haste.”
“Is that really necessary, Charles? It’s entirely possible that Miss Bennet is simply overtired.”
Mr. Hurst grunted his agreement, which Darcy perceived as the utmost concern Miss Bennet would likely receive from that quarter; Mr. Hurst did not often bestir himself for anyone.
Charles, by contrast, was pacing the length of the room.
“Do sit down, Charles,” said Darcy. “The man won’t get here any faster by your willing it so, nor will tiring yourself in this manner aid Miss Bennet in the slightest.”
Bingley sat. It was sometime later that the apothic arrived. He spent several minutes evaluating the patient and did not present good news when he met with Mr. Bingley a short while later.
“She is quite ill,” said Jones. “Too ill to be moved, I’m afraid.”
“Of course she shan’t be moved!” cried Miss Bingley, who had seized her opportunity to escape the sickroom with Mr. Jones on the pretext of discussing household arrangements with her brother. “We’ll send a note to Longbourn for her things directly.”
“Yes,” said Bingley with feeling. He was most distressed that Jane Bennet should have fallen ill in his own home and eager to take whatever care he could of her. “Where is Martin? He’s the fastest runner we’ve got; have him run the message.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy Page 1
