by Leenie Brown
“What do you mean?” Jane demanded.
“Mr. Connor and I attended school together. He had several ladies he admired and at least one he had led to believe he was going to make an offer of marriage.” He looked toward the house and led them in the opposite direction. “She and her child received a small pittance from him and then nothing. She had many suitors when he met her, but now, she has no husband. She lives with a relation somewhere is what I heard.”
“Can it be true?” Elizabeth could not contain her surprise. Mr. Connor had never appeared to be anything less than a perfectly honorable gentleman.
“My sources of information are good. I am sorry. It is true.”
“And you never told us?” Jane asked.
“Father did not wish to cause you more pain than he knew his refusal of Mr. Connor was going to cause.” He looked at Elizabeth. “I promised not to say a word, so you must not tell him that I have told you. I would hate to disappoint him, but,” he stepped away from them, removed his hat, and ran a hand through his hair, “how could I not reveal what I know when Jane questions our father’s intentions?”
Jane’s hand lay on her heart. “Mr. Connor was so bad?”
William nodded. “He was.”
“And Papa would rather I think ill of him than know the truth and feel pain?”
William shrugged. “He would do anything to see you happy.”
“And these two years I have thought he did not care for my happiness. I have been so critical in my mind of everything he has done. Far more critical than I should be.”
Jane looked so miserable that Elizabeth immediately wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulders while doubting that Jane’s version of critical was truly as horrid as Jane seemed to think it was.
“You told Papa about Mr. Connor?” Jane asked William.
“I did.”
“Thank you,” Jane whispered. “I would not have wished to be tied to such a man.” She looked from one to the other of her companions. “Imagine my misery if I had accepted him!”
Jane’s sorrow of a moment ago was sliding into anger. Anger was something Jane was as capable of showing as Elizabeth was at times, particularly when that anger was at the perfidy of another. Jane was calm and steady, but she also desired justice.
“You must assess Mr. Bingley,” Jane said to William. “You must determine if I should like him or not. And his friend, too. I would not wish for Lizzy to fall for someone like Mr. Connor.”
There was an urgency to the demand, and William looked sufficiently solemn as he agreed to be their protector from all sorts of unsavoury gentlemen.
“Do you still wish to go riding?” Elizabeth asked as they turned once again toward the house.
“Oh, most certainly!” Jane cried. “You are not the only curious creature, Lizzy.”
~*~*~
“And his friend has a carriage that is finer than Mr. Bingley’s, you say?” Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with her handkerchief at such wonderful news. “Did he appear single?”
Elizabeth looked at William. “Did he appear single to you?” How exactly did a gentleman appear single from such a distance?
“There was no lady on his arm, and he did not look overly old.” William’s head bobbed from side to side as he attempted to make a calculation. He made that gesture often when he was attempting to decide between two options. “I would venture he is not yet thirty.”
“Is he handsome?” Mrs. Bennet’s excitement was building. Elizabeth could hear it in her voice.
The right corner of William’s mouth tipped upward, causing Elizabeth to catch her breath and pray that he would not mention her.
“I am perhaps not the best judge of such things, but I think he could be considered handsome even if he did not have such a fine carriage.”
Mrs. Bennet turned to Elizabeth. “Did you think he was handsome?”
“I did. Both he and Mr. Bingley were very handsome from what I could see of them through my glass.”
Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands. “Two daughters married. Jane shall have her pick and then…” she looked around the room at her daughters, “one of you shall have the other.”
“Elizabeth shall have the other,” William inserted. “She is the second eldest, and it is the natural order of things that the older sisters should marry before the younger ones. We would not want to see any of them on the shelf, and those who are closest to such a travesty should be put forward first.”
Mrs. Bennet gasped. “You are right. You are very, very right. I had not thought of it so, but Elizabeth is not getting any younger.”
Elizabeth’s brows furrowed in displeasure at being referred to as nearly past her prime when she was only twenty.
“And she is the most likely to pose the most problem in making a match,” her mother continued.
Elizabeth gasped.
“You are so stubborn,” her mother replied. “You insist on stating your own opinion on things even when it disagrees with a perfectly acceptable gentleman’s opinion. That is not the best recommendation to a man that you will be a biddable wife.”
“Lizzy is anything but biddable,” Lydia declared, causing Kitty to titter.
“I shall be perfectly biddable for a man of sense.”
“For a man who has the good sense to see things as you do,” Mary muttered.
Elizabeth arched a brow at her next youngest sister. “I do believe that is what I said.”
“Oh, Elizabeth,” her mother cried in exasperation. “You shall never marry with such an attitude. You are altogether too headstrong. A certain amount of stubbornness is an asset to a lady, but so much is untenable. Simply untenable. If only your father had agreed with me on that, you would be as mild as Jane.”
“My dear,” said Mr. Bennet from behind his book, “your second daughter’s temperament is such that no matter how you might have attempted to make her pliable, there was no hope of her ever being as mild as Jane. You’d have better luck attempting to make Lydia as fond of propriety as Mary.”
“Papa!” Lydia cried.
“You are not always proper,” her father replied. “I really ought to confine you to your room and remove your allowance more for some of your actions, but unfortunately I seem unable to do so.”
“Because she would wail far too much,” Mary muttered.
Her father lifted a brow and gave her a reproving look.
“I am sorry,” she said.
“You are forgiven, as well as correct. I do love peace as much as Jane.” And with that, he turned his attention back to his book.
That was not, however, enough to end Mrs. Bennet’s discussion of the matter.
“I still believe Lizzy could be more pliable.”
“She does not wish it,” Mr. Bennet said without lifting his eyes. “There will be a gentleman who will appreciate her keen mind and determined spirit.”
“I am certain I have never heard of such a thing,” Mrs. Bennet declared.
“You oppose me quite regularly, my dear, and I still have not turned you out.”
Mrs. Bennet gasped.
“Nor would I,” her husband continued. “I find I like you far too well to be without you.”
“I should say you do,” Mrs. Bennet agreed with a little smile.
The room fell silent for a moment as the clock on the table near their father’s favourite chair ticked away the time.
“Will you call on him?” It was Mrs. Bennet who broke the silence.
“Call on whom?”
Elizabeth saw the way her father’s lips twitched.
“Mr. Bingley, of course!” her mother replied with some force.
“But not the handsome stranger? Shall I wait until he has departed before I call?”
“Oh, Mr. Bennet, you vex me most severely. I am certain my nerves shall see me in an early grave.”
“You are far too young to worry about that,” her husband replied. “Your nerves shall likely outlive both you and me.”
“
Mr. Bennet! Do not speak of such things, for I do not wish to think about them.” Her handkerchief fluttered in front of her face more rapidly.
“I shall call on them tomorrow,” Mr. Bennet said softly, and then when his wife had looked his direction in delighted surprise, he winked at her before turning his eyes back to his book once more. “But only if I can have some peace until I do.”
Mrs. Bennet immediately stood. “Kitty, Lydia, go find something to do in your room. Mary,” she waved her hand, “never mind, you shall not make a peep because you have your book. Jane, Lizzy – “
“Might we go riding, Mama?” Jane asked.
“Yes, I think you must,” she agreed. “And I shall see Cook about a dinner party.” She turned to her husband. “You must invite them to dine with us.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“But your daughters.” She clamped her lips closed as he raised a brow. “I shall speak to Cook to be prepared just in case you change your mind and wish to invite them to dine.”
“I shall not change my mind,” he replied.
Elizabeth knew he would change his mind eventually. Her father loved peace far too much to endure too many petitions from their mother.
“William will ride with us,” Elizabeth said to her mother.
“Oh, that is an excellent idea.” She followed them to the door, but then she turned back toward her husband. “Do you suppose you could ask what their favourite dessert might be?”
“I am not inviting them to dinner, nor am I inquiring after their likes and dislikes on such topics.”
“But your daught—very well, I shall just plan on your favourite.”
Their poor father. As much as her mother instructed Elizabeth on being pliable, she demonstrated quite the opposite. It was a rare discussion between her father and mother when they agreed on everything.
Jane wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s. “Come on. Before she decides she needs us to help her decide receipts.” She pulled Elizabeth toward the stairs. “We will meet you at the stables, William.” And with that, she dropped Elizabeth’s arm and scampered up the stairs.
“She seems eager to be away,” William said with a laugh.
“Indeed, she does,” Elizabeth agreed before dashing up the stairs behind Jane. And who could blame her? There were handsome gentlemen just three miles away, and, to be perfectly honest, Elizabeth was just as curious to catch another glimpse of them as Jane was to get her first.
Chapter 4
Darcy had found his tea with Bingley to be refreshing, but not so refreshing as the feel of the wind against one’s person as he rode. At least, that is how Darcy saw it. He and Bingley had discussed the basics about which books were most important to look over first and what Bingley’s hopes were in securing an estate like Netherfield. It was for Bingley as it was for many gentlemen.
Bingley wished to gain the prominence that such an estate would bring him as well as a place into which he could put some of his inheritance in such a fashion that it would continue to reap benefits well past when he departed this earth. Bingley was no fool. He was happy and amiable as well as obliging to a fault at times, but he was no fool once he put his mind to a matter. It would take some doing, but Darcy did not expect it would be overly long before Bingley understood the workings of an estate as well as any gentleman did. Darcy smiled wryly. Bingley had the added advantage that he was likely to gain the approval of all his neighbours with very little effort. That was how Bingley was. He liked people, and they liked him. It was an enviable quality.
“I see the knoll,” Bingley circled back to where Darcy was riding at a slower pace. “There.” He pointed to his left. “And that fence there must be the one of which the groom spoke. We are nearly at the end of Netherfield’s lands in this direction. I shall have to ask him tomorrow for a marker of where it ends in the opposite direction.”
“Do you truly care to know?” Darcy teased. “Are there pretty ladies at an estate in all four directions?”
Bingley laughed. “I wish there were, but I think the only pretty ladies that are near my estate are in this direction. Mr. Philips did not mention any others.”
“Mr. Philips, their uncle, did not tell you about any other pretty ladies? How odd.” Darcy’s tone was sardonic.
Again, Bingley laughed. “You should be so lighthearted more often, for you are very good at it.”
“I cannot be.” Darcy’s reply was quick. He found it incredibly difficult to relax with anyone he had not known for any length of time. And even then, there were those such as his aunt Catherine and Caroline around whom he could only marginally relax, though he had known them for years. Lady Catherine was just too demanding and always looking for things to reprove for him to be anything more than mostly at ease in her presence, and Caroline? Well, he was never truly at ease around any lady who was attempting to convince him to marry her.
“I think you could be if you tried,” Bingley retorted.
Darcy shook his head. “To this point in my life, it has been impossible, and I do not see that changing any time soon.”
“Very well,” Bingley conceded. “I shall attempt to work on you, but I will not be utterly discouraged if I am not immediately successful. It shall be an offering of thanks for the help you are giving me with the estate.”
“I think I would rather not receive your gratitude if it is to be given in such a fashion.” Darcy drew his horse to a stop. In the field just beyond the fence, there were three riders – one gentleman and two ladies. “It seems we are in luck,” he called to Bingley.
“What do you – Oh! Yes, indeed, we are!” Bingley replied as he noticed the riders.
“Do they have a brother?”
Bingley’s face pinched. “I am not entirely certain. I believe I remember something about a cousin or brother or some such thing, but…”
“You were far too focused on the ladies to commit that bit of information to memory.”
Bingley smiled sheepishly. “I was.”
Darcy shook his head. It was just like his friend to put all other thoughts out of his head when discussion of a pretty lady was broached. It would be good for the man to marry if only so he could focus on what needed to be done instead of where a wife might be found. Maybe they would be fortunate, and they would find a steady and calm lady amongst the beauties of Longbourn. Then, Darcy could encourage a courtship while still retaining enough of Bingley’s attention to guide him in setting himself up as master of his own domain.
“Shall we approach them?” Darcy asked.
Bingley drew to a halt and looked at his friend with concern. “You wish to meet strangers?”
“For you, I do.”
“Not for yourself?” Bingley teased.
Darcy shook his head. “No, I am not eager to marry, but I know you are.” He clucked to his horse as he turned him in the direction in which the fence ran. They would approach it slowly and at an angle so as not to look too eager. “You do realize that choosing one lady as a wife will mean not choosing every other lady, no matter how beautiful.”
“Yes,” Bingley answered tersely. “If you think so meanly of me, I am surprised you would think to offer your sister to me.”
“I do not think meanly of you. I merely wished to judge your enthusiasm for marriage. You truly wish to marry? You are only four and twenty.”
“And you are eight and twenty. I see no reason why my age should be a detriment to marrying if yours is not one to remaining unmarried. Yes, I know there are not many in our circles who wish to be married so young, but I have my inheritance, and I wish to settle into it as my father desired. Therefore, it would be best for me to take a wife, so that I can send Caroline to live with Hurst, and my wife can be hostess for you and my other guests.”
“So you wish to marry to be rid of Caroline?” Darcy asked with a laugh.
“I do. You should consider it. If you were married, she could not fawn over you as she does now.”
Darcy continued to lau
gh. “That is a worthy argument. I shall have to consider it if I ever find a lady who is to my liking.”
“I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom!” Bingley declared. “Perfection is rarely found in human form.” He smirked. “Except, of course, in the form of the great and noble Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “I do not think of myself as perfect.”
“No, but you do wear an air of superiority at times that suggests you do.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“Pick a marker.”
“The stile.”
“It shall not be as satisfying as thrashing you at Gentleman Jacksons, but…” Darcy did not finish his sentence, opting instead to urge his horse into a gallop. It was a trick he had learned from his cousin, Richard, and had found particularly useful in beating Bingley in a race. The man was not only an expert at making friends, but he was also very good at selecting fast horses.
“It was not a fair race,” Bingley grumbled as he reached the stile just behind Darcy.
“No, it was not, but it was excessively satisfying,” Darcy replied with a wide grin.
“That was some show of horsemanship,” the gentleman in the adjoining field called out.
Bingley doffed his hat and made a grand bow. “My thanks to you, sir.”
“Mr. William Bennet,” the man said as he approached Darcy and Bingley.
He was a large man, both in height and breadth, with a friendly countenance.
“Mr. Charles Bingley and my friend Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy.” Bingley motioned first to himself and then Darcy.
“Two of my sisters,” William said as he motioned for the ladies with him to come forward. “Jane is the eldest and Elizabeth the next after her.”
Darcy caught his breath. Uncle or no, Bingley’s solicitor was not lying about the beauty of the ladies at Longbourn. Miss Bennet was the sort of lady the masters sought, which made Miss Elizabeth’s beauty seem to pale in comparison but not to him. There was something enchanting about the set of her eyes and the slight disproportion of her features. It was her beauty, not that of her sister, which had caused his breath to hitch.
