Page 6 of A Rational Man (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

S ome days later, Mr. Darcy had signed the lease papers, met with Netherfield’s steward, and visited the tenants’ homes, making notes of where repairs were needed.

He had toured the house with Mr. Phillips, but had yet to inspect the attics and the servants’ rooms. Bingley would not be here for some weeks, so there was plenty of time for that.

He had been visited by Mr. Bennet and Sir Lucas, but no one else; doubtless word had spread that he was not Mr. Bingley and, therefore, not of interest. Not being of interest was a new experience for the wealthy and influential Mr. Darcy, and he discovered that he enjoyed it very much.

The Netherfield staff had also assumed that he was Mr. Bingley’s man of business and mainly left him to his own devices.

He was served his meals quite informally, and he suspected that the servants rather thought he should be eating downstairs with them, rather than in solitary splendor in the small family dining room.

He penned a letter to Bingley House.

Bingley,

I have done as you requested. The lease papers are signed, the keys are in my possession.

The house appears sound. There are repairs to be made to the tenants’ cottages, and I have made a list of them, including the likely cost of said repairs.

All in all, I think Netherfield to be a good choice for you to begin the life of an estate owner.

When will you be able to travel? I have responsibilities at home that I must attend to as soon as may be.

Darcy

***

Mr. Darcy considered the invitation to take dinner with the Bennets at Longbourn.

He recalled Mr. Bennet saying that he had five – five!

– daughters, but he trusted the man not to let slip the fact that he owned an estate.

If everyone thought he was simply Bingley’s man of business, he would be fairly safe from husband-hunting mamas and daughters.

He had very much enjoyed his time with Mr. Bennet and, truth to tell, he felt rather isolated at Netherfield.

All in all, there was no reason to not accept the invitation.

***

At Longbourn, Mr. Bennet performed the introductions and Mr. Darcy bowed gravely.

As he had been taught since birth, he instantly memorised the names and faces.

Mrs. Bennet, still quite attractive – doubtless a beauty in her prime, though her accent betrayed the fact that she had been born into a lower class than her husband.

She had married well. Miss Bennet – golden hair, wide sea-blue eyes, perfect complexion – she would have turned heads in any London ballroom.

Imagine finding such a beauty in this out of the way little town!

Miss Mary Bennet – dark hair pulled back tightly, brown eyes, sallow complexion.

Miss Catherine Bennet – blonde, brown-eyed, pretty enough, though not at all on the same level as her eldest sister.

Miss Lydia Bennet – blonde, blue-eyed, too buxom for her own good.

Mr. Darcy noted that she tossed her hair and giggled when her name was mentioned.

It was so interesting to see how one set of parents could produce such a variety of children, he thought, thinking of his cousins Daniel and Richard Fitzwilliam. One, two, three, four – “I think you said you had five daughters, Mr. Bennet? Or has my memory failed me?”

It was Miss Lydia who answered. “Lizzy is in London. It is so unfair!”

“Hush, child,” Mrs. Bennet said, but her heart was not in the reprimand.

“Well, it is , Mama! When do I get to go to the Gardiners? Why is it always Jane or Lizzy?”

The whine in her voice set Mr. Darcy’s teeth on edge. Why was the child even allowed in company, he wondered.

Mrs. Bennet turned to Mr. Darcy, her expression apologetic. “Lydia has never been invited to stay with my brother and his wife in London; it really is rather unfair.”

Mr. Darcy could think of no polite response to this, so he said nothing.

Miss Bennet said, hastily, “Mr. Darcy, there is to be an assembly on the fifteenth of October; I am certain my father could procure a ticket for you, were you so inclined.”

Mr. Darcy turned to her, grateful that she had offered an escape from any further discussion of Miss Lydia going to London.

Looking at Miss Bennet’s perfect countenance was no hardship; he admired her, as would any man, but she could not possibly be the future Mrs. Darcy.

No dowry, no connections, entirely ineligible.

“I thank you, Miss Bennet, but I am not much of a dancer.”

This was not entirely true; Mr. Darcy could acquit himself quite nicely on a dance floor, but he preferred to remain as invisible as possible, particularly when interacting with this husband-hunting family.

“That is disappointing,” Mrs. Bennet put in. “For there are always far too many ladies and not nearly enough gentlemen.”

“You will be pleased with Mr. Bingley, then,” Mr. Darcy assured her. “He is a prodigious dancer and would never miss such an opportunity.”

“When might we expect to meet him?” Miss Bennet asked, her voice soft and polite.

“He is laid up with a broken leg, and I am given to understand that it will be some weeks before his doctor allows him to travel.”

“He is unmarried, I understand?” Mrs. Bennet’s voice was sharp.

“He is; doubtless one of his sisters will serve as his hostess.”

“And you, Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet continued.

Mr. Darcy flushed. Was she truly that bold? “Me, Mrs. Bennet? I do not understand.” He hoped she would withdraw the question.

But she was intent on an answer. “Are you unmarried?”

Mr. Darcy was forced to admit that he was indeed unmarried, and he saw Mrs. Bennet throw a triumphant look at her husband.

***

At dinner, he found himself seated between Mrs. Bennet and Miss Mary.

He understood at once; Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine and Miss Lydia were, in Mrs. Bennet’s estimation, far too lovely to be wasted on a man of business, so Miss Mary had been selected as a potential wife for him.

But Miss Mary did not appear cooperative, as she spoke little beyond thanking him when he helped her fill her plate and poured wine for her.

Toward the end of the meal, she said something, but her voice was so soft that he did not catch her words.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mary?”

She raised her voice just enough to allow him to hear her. “I apologise for my sister, Lydia; she is my mother’s favourite child and so is never corrected.”

“Parents should not have favourites,” he said before he could stop himself.

Miss Mary shrugged. “Lydia looks very much like Mama, so I suppose she cannot help herself. And Lizzy – Elizabeth – is Papa’s favourite for similar reasons.”

“Surely they do not look alike?”

“No, but they are alike in many ways.”

Mrs. Bennet then rose, signaling the end of the meal. Her daughters rose, as did Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy, and the ladies left the room, leaving the gentlemen alone.

“Peace at last!” Mr. Bennet proclaimed. “Sit beside me, will you?”

Mr. Darcy rose and made his way to the seat to Mr. Bennet’s right.

“I am sorry that my wife badgered you about your marital status, Mr. Darcy.”

“It is of no importance.”

Mr. Bennet chuckled. “You are quite wrong. She will have you leg-shackled by Christmas if you are not cautious.”

“To Miss Mary, no doubt.” Mr. Darcy’s voice was dry.

“Ah, you picked up on that, did you? Mary is a good girl, but not for you. I suspect my Lizzy would be more to your liking, though I shall not badger you on the subject.”

Mr. Darcy ignored the comment. “Miss Mary said that Elizabeth was your favourite.”

Mr. Bennet had the decency to wince. “I suppose she is, though it saddens me that Mary is aware of it.”

“And Miss Lydia is Mrs. Bennet’s favourite.”

“Well, that is no secret, though she is doing Lydia no favours. Will you have brandy?”

Mr. Darcy nodded. The two men sipped in silence for a minute. Then Mr. Bennet said, “It is true that Lizzy and I have a special connection. She has brown hair and brown eyes, like my family, and she is – well, I suppose one might say bookish .”

“She likes to read, then.”

“Yes, and she is voracious. She studies everything from poetry to Plato.”

Mr. Darcy now had a good picture of this missing daughter.

She was another Mary, but a bluestocking to boot!

Dreadful!. He had no interest in such a girl, and he changed the subject to the crops grown in the area and the border between Longbourn and Netherfield.

Finally, Mr. Bennet rose, saying, “We must spend a half an hour with the ladies, but then we can retire to my study and perhaps have a game of chess.”

The two gentlemen went to the parlour, where the Bennet ladies sat. Mrs. Bennet was sitting beside Miss Mary; upon seeing Mr. Darcy, she poked Miss Mary hard. There followed a whispered conversation, after which the young lady rose and went to the piano.

Evidently, Miss Mary had been prompted to display her musical accomplishments, though Mr. Darcy rather wished that she had not. Of course, no one could impress the brother of Georgiana Darcy, who had a prodigious talent for the instrument, but even so, Mary’s performance was lacking.

Mr. Darcy sat back and listened, keeping his face carefully expressionless; he applauded politely when she was done.

The entire evening had been rather absurd to Mr. Darcy, whose elevated tastes had been formed in London’s finest drawing rooms, but of course there was no way for Mrs. Bennet to know who her guest was.

It was impossible for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy to marry any of her girls, let alone tongue-tied and unattractive Mary.

When the room was silent again, Miss Bennet addressed him. “How are you finding Netherfield, Mr. Darcy?”

“I think it a fine estate for Mr. Bingley. His father always hoped that his son would become a landed gentleman; the lease at Netherfield will allow him to determine if he wishes to fulfill those hopes.”

“Does he not enjoy the country?” Miss Bennet’s lovely blue eyes were fastened on Mr. Darcy’s face.

“I think he does not yet know; he has spent most of his life in school and then London.”

“We understand that he has two sisters,” Mrs. Bennet put in.

“He does. The eldest is married to a Mr. Hurst, who will eventually inherit an estate in Somerset; the younger is not yet married.”

“How do you know Mr. Bingley?” Miss Bennet asked.

Mr. Darcy hesitated, and finally said, “I assist him with certain of his business matters.” It was not an outright lie, but it was certainly not the full truth.

Mr. Bennet, aware of his guest’s discomfort, rescued him. “You promised me a game, Mr. Darcy, and I shall not let you leave before you make good on that promise.”

The two men rose with alacrity. Mr. Darcy thanked his hostess for her hospitality, bowed to the ladies, and followed Mr. Bennet from the room. As he walked away, he heard Mrs. Bennet upbraiding Miss Mary for not having been more forthcoming.

“You escaped unscathed,” Mr. Bennet observed, opening the door to his study. He stepped aside and motioned for Mr. Darcy to enter the room.

He did so and then stopped. Every wall was lined with books, and there were more books in piles around the room. He was enchanted. “If I promise to return tomorrow for the chess game, might I instead look through your books?”

“I would rather discuss books than almost anything else in the world, Mr. Darcy,” his host assured him, taking his accustomed chair behind the desk.

“Have you anything by Mr. Descartes?”

“Of course; is he a favourite of yours?”

“I was raised on his precepts. ‘I think, therefore I am.’ I pride myself on being a rational man, Mr. Bennet.”

Mr. Bennet steepled his hands. “Indeed! And you give no attention to emotion?”

“None whatsoever. The lower classes may be ruled by emotion, but an educated man knows better, and may order his life by rational principles.”

“You give our poets short shrift, then?”

“Poetry is appealing in the same manner that music is appealing, or art. Such things certainly add to one’s enjoyment of life, but one does not govern one’s life according to tender emotions.”

“Then you have never felt an immediate and irresistible attraction to a young lady, I take it.”

“No, nor do I ever expect to. Such a thing would be entirely irrational and therefore impossible for someone of my character and training.” But Mr. Bennet’s question had answered one of Mr. Darcy’s own; doubtless this was how this erudite man had come to be married to Mrs. Bennet.

Mr. Bennet did not reply to Mr. Darcy’s claim of immunity; instead, he drew Mr. Darcy’s attention to some of his rarer volumes. But he was mentally rubbing his hands together, picturing this man arguing his ideas with Lizzy. What a show that will be!