Page 8 of A Rational Man (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

T he next day, Mr. Darcy found a message from Mr. Bingley at the breakfast table.

The staff did not bother to employ the silver salvers that were normally used to convey mail to household members and guests; the message was simply placed on the table cloth.

You are a man of business and nothing more, Mr. Darcy reminded himself.

Darcy,

It relieves my mind mightily to know that you approve my choice of Netherfield! I was sorely tempted to have you look at it before agreeing to lease it, but I did not like to drag you so far south until I was certain.

I expect to be at Netherfield the first week of November. I hope you will not leave before that, as I would very much like to tour the estate with you and have the benefit of your knowledge and experience.

I need not add, I suppose, that Caroline also very much hopes that you will stay with us for some time, though I suspect her motives are rather different from mine!

Bingley

Darcy scowled at that last sentence. Caroline Bingley! He recalled how she had clawed at his arm the last time they were in company. No, he would make certain to depart by the end of October; but he would leave copious notes for Bingley.

That decided, Mr. Darcy returned to Longbourn for the game of chess he had promised Mr. Bennet. Mr. Bennet welcomed him gladly, and the men retreated at once to the safety and sanctity of Mr. Bennet’s study.

“No one will disturb us here,” Mr. Bennet promised.

“I take it you are often in need of such sanctuary?” Mr. Darcy enquired.

“Need you ask? With six females in the house?”

Mr. Darcy could only shrug.

“Have you no female relatives, Mr. Darcy?”

“Only a younger sister, sixteen years of age,” Mr. Darcy replied.

“And she is a quiet girl, not prone to histrionics or dramas of any sort.” Here he winced a bit, recalling all too well the drama of the previous summer, when Georgiana had almost run off with George Wickham. But he put all thought of that aside.

“Your mother?”

“Dead. Father as well.”

“Oh, dear. I am sorry, Mr. Darcy; it was not my intent to dredge up painful memories.”

“It was some time ago, Mr. Bennet, and it no longer troubles me.”

“No longer troubles you? Why, how long ago was this?”

“My mother died when my sister was born, and my father two years ago.”

“Just two years? And it no longer troubles you? I do congratulate you, sir, on the control you appear to have over your emotions.” Mr. Bennet’s voice was doubtful.

“It was my father who taught me the philosophy of Descartes,” Mr. Darcy said.

“Cogito, ergo sum,” Mr. Bennet quoted.

“Precisely; my esteemed father would not want me to grieve long over his death.”

“Interesting,” Mr. Bennet said, thoughtfully. Then he straightened and said, “Very well, then; put that mighty brain of yours to work, for I intend to trounce you quite thoroughly.” With that, the two men bent over the chessboard.

The first game went to Mr. Bennet, though it was a close game. “Again?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed; I must have a chance to even the score,” Mr. Darcy said.

The second game went to Mr. Darcy.

“It is a tie now,” Mr. Bennet said. “Either we play another game now, or you return tomorrow.”

Mr. Darcy looked out the window; the skies were threatening. “I walked here, so I think it best that I start back now.”

“Have you no horse?”

“Oh, I have my carriage horses, and two of them are broken to the saddle; I simply choose to enjoy the air.”

“You like the out of doors?”

“Very much; I am really just a farmer, Mr. Bennet.”

“As am I, I suppose,” Mr. Bennet sighed.

“But you do not like it?”

“No; I was supposed to be a tutor at Cambridge.”

“Really! What happened?”

“My parents and elder brother died of scarlet fever. It was my brother who was supposed to inherit Longbourn, not I.”

“I am sorry to hear of it. And you have not yet learnt to enjoy your new role, I take it?”

“No, and I never shall. Oh, I do my best to keep things running smoothly, but I have no passion for it.”

“I am sorry for your circumstances, Mr. Bennet.”

“You love the farm life, do you?”

“Oh, I do, indeed,” Mr. Darcy replied. “The smell of spring, the sound of new-born lambs calling for their mother, the satisfaction of a harvest brought in safely! I would not trade my place for all the world.”

“Take care, Mr. Darcy, for that all sounds quite emotional to me,” Mr. Bennet rejoined, dryly.

“I suppose it is,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “But it seems safe enough, to feel emotional for one’s occupation.”

“Safe? What an interesting choice of words, Mr. Darcy. Do you eschew emotion because it is not safe?”

Mr. Darcy stared at Mr. Bennet for a long minute. “I had not considered that, but it is certainly true that emotion is not safe.”

“Indeed?”

Mr. Darcy longed to observe that emotion had got Mr. Bennet a rather unsuitable wife, but he did not do so. Instead, he remarked that emotion put people into the most unbecoming and difficult situations.

“I cannot argue against that, but having emotion is part of being human,” Mr. Bennet said.

“Animals have emotions as well,” Mr. Darcy retorted.

“And animals can think,” Mr. Bennet replied.

“Not very well,” Mr. Darcy said, with a shrug.

“We do not know that,” Mr. Bennet said. “They cannot speak to us, so we make assumptions; but we do not truly know. It is possible that the barn cats discuss philosophy while catching mice.”

“If we are going to be absurd…” Mr. Darcy said, now irritated.

“And why not? Life is absurd, is it not?”

“Is it?”

“Of course it is. We are born, we suffer, we die. What is it all for?”

“The glory of God?” Mr. Darcy’s response was more of a question than an answer.

“God? Truly? And you call yourself a rational man!”

Mr. Darcy sighed, but said stoutly. “Descartes’ work proves the existence of God.”

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow, but simply said, “Shall I see you tomorrow?”

“You shall. Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet.”

“I think you should just call me Bennet.”

“And I am Darcy.”

The two men shook hands like old friends, and Mr. Darcy departed.