Page 9 of A Rational Man (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

M r. Darcy had begun to enjoy his stay in Meryton.

This was a most unexpected turn of events.

He considered this odd phenomenon and eventually concluded that being away from his (endless) responsibilities at Pemberley, and not sought out in any way for his wealth and position, was the closest thing to a holiday that he had experienced since he had left school and taken up his position as heir to Pemberley.

Then, of course, upon the death of his father, he had become the master of the estate, and had known not a moment of true relaxation ever since.

There was always something to be done, something to be decided, someone to see, someone to advise.

And his responsibility for Georgiana lay upon him like a great weight, though it had lessened considerably since he had hired Mrs. Annesley.

His sister had written to him faithfully since he had departed, and she seemed in excellent spirits.

So now, most unexpectedly, he was as free as a bird!

He had completed his tour of the Netherfield house, attics and all, and he had compiled a good many notes to leave for Bingley.

Now he had nothing more to do than to ride, walk, read, and play chess with Bennet.

Mr. Darcy had been invited to several more dinners at Longbourn, and had become almost comfortable with the family.

He liked Bennet very much; he was a scholarly gentleman, and he would have done very well as a tutor at Cambridge.

It was a shame that fate had forced him away from his preferred occupation, but his situation was far from unique, for scarlet fever had claimed many lives.

Mr. Darcy had learned from Sir William that Longbourn was entailed to a distant cousin, yet an additional reason for Bennet to be an indifferent owner of the estate.

Mr. Darcy estimated the income from Longbourn to be no more than two thousand pounds per annum. It was improbable that Bennet had managed to save any of that, so the girls very likely had inadequate dowries.

Mr. Darcy reflected on the Bennet girls.

Miss Mary was unlikely to marry, sad to say.

She had scarcely said ten complete sentences to him, though her mother continued to sit her beside Mr. Darcy at every meal.

She was polite enough, but her appearance was – well, uninspiring, to put it kindly.

She seemed to have no languages, the only needlework he had ever seen her take up was plain stuff, and her skill at the pianoforte was mediocre at best. It was sad, but her future looked bleak indeed.

He thought she should make more of an effort with her appearance, but he was certainly in no position to advise her, and he did not want to show any sort of interest in the matter.

Miss Catherine – they called her Kitty, he had learned – was, as it turned out, all of seventeen, though she seemed quite a bit younger.

At seventeen years of age, she could marry anytime, assuming she could find anyone silly enough to take her.

She seemed to be unable to speak rationally on any subject, and could only talk of gowns, flirtations, and neighbourhood gossip.

He would never allow his sister to make the acquaintance of such a young lady.

Why did her father not educate her? The mother clearly knew nothing whatever beyond what was required of her to manage her household, so it was really up to Mr. Bennet to take her in hand.

Miss Lydia! Now, there was a girl who needed watching.

She was too young for marriage, certainly, but she was just the sort of girl who might get herself into trouble.

Her mother was incapable of controlling her behaviour, and her father – sad to say – had evidently washed his hands of her.

She was pretty enough, so perhaps she could marry, if she managed to stay out of trouble long enough to do so.

Miss Bennet, with her fine face and pleasing figure, was likely the person upon whom the future of the family rested.

It was rather unfair to her, Mr. Darcy thought, but it was not at all an unusual situation.

Even among the finest families, if the coffers were bare, then the beauty of the family – if there was one – had to marry well in order to secure the family’s future.

Miss Bennet was exactly Charles Bingley’s type; it would be a good match for both of them.

He had money; she, as the daughter of an estate owner, had the higher rank.

She was beautiful; Bingley was well-favoured.

It was a shame that the girl had no money, but Bingley had a good income from his father’s factories as well as the interest from his own fortune.

Mr. Darcy looked forward to seeing them together.

At this thought, Mr. Darcy’s brow creased. This was the first time he had realised that he wanted to stay at Netherfield until Bingley arrived, rather than absent himself before November.

And why should he not? He communicated with Pemberley’s steward regularly; the harvest had been brought in, necessary repairs to tenant cottages were underway, and there was little to do until spring. The house itself was ably run by Mrs. Reynolds, and Georgiana was safe with Mrs. Annesley.

He assured himself that a weary landowner should take a nice, long break when he was able to do so. It was the rational thing to do. He would stay until Bingley arrived, and he would make certain that the Bingleys were well-settled before making his way back to Derbyshire.

So resolved, he set off for his daily visit to Bennet.

***

“Lizzy, I am so glad you are home!” Jane welcomed her younger sister with hugs and kisses. “I missed you so!”

“And I missed you as well, Jane!” Elizabeth said, laughing. “But, heavens, I did have such a good time in London!”

“I am certain that I would have a good time as well, were I ever to be invited,” Lydia complained.

“You will not be invited until your behaviour improves,” Elizabeth said. “Aunt Gardiner told me so herself, so you may as well give up any hope of such a visit.”

“And what is wrong with my behaviour, I should like to know?” Lydia demanded.

“So much that I cannot begin to tell you, Lydia,” Mary interjected, solemnly.

“Pooh!” Lydia said, inelegantly.

“Tell me all the news of Meryton!” Elizabeth demanded, sinking down onto the couch in the parlour.

Her entire family surrounded her, glad to welcome her back.

It must be admitted that the younger girls were very much hoping for gifts from London, and the small pile of wrapped packages at Elizabeth’s feet were being given a great deal of attention.

“We have had a lot of company – or, I should say, Papa has, for they spend a good amount of time together,” Jane began, sitting beside Elizabeth.

“Who?” Elizabeth asked.

“Mr. Darcy; I wrote you about him,” Jane replied.

“Oh! Do we know anything more about him?”

“He is single, and so Mama keeps pushing me at him,” Mary complained.

“He would do very well for you, Mary!” Mrs. Bennet insisted.

“And you have no interest in him, Mary?” Elizabeth asked.

“He is too good-looking,” Mary answered.

“ Too good-looking? I have never heard that it was possible for a man to be too good-looking,” Elizabeth said, brow wrinkling.

“Well, too good-looking for me, in any case,” Mary amended.

“You will see for yourself, Lizzy; he comes to play chess with me almost every day,” Mr. Bennet put in.

“I am glad you have a new friend, Papa,” Elizabeth said.

A knock at the front entrance stopped the conversation. Mr. Hill answered it; they heard him say, “Please do come in, Mr. Darcy.”

“Bring him in here, Hill!” Mr. Bennet called out. “Darcy, you are just in time to meet my Lizzy!”

Mr. Darcy understood at once that he was about to meet the mousy-haired bluestocking, and he must be careful to be attentive to her, as she was Bennet’s favourite daughter.

He walked into the parlour, and his eyes went at once to the lovely, laughing figure on the couch.

This could not be – could it? No, surely not, for this bewitching creature had mahogany tresses that seemed to be a hundred different shades – coffee, chocolate, auburn, gold!

Her dark, dark eyes were wide with laughter, her skin not the porcelain of her elder sister, but rosy with good health and love of the outdoors!

Did she have freckles, the faintest of freckles, on her nose?

She did, and he suddenly knew that he found a dusting of freckles completely enchanting!

He became aware that Mr. Bennet was speaking. “… new neighbour, Mr. Darcy. Darcy, this is my second daughter, Miss Elizabeth.”

Mr. Darcy found himself unable to speak as he bowed to her. His mind whirled. He had expected – but no, she was – and he –

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, as she rose and curtsied gracefully. “I understand you have been Papa’s chess companion in my absence.” Her voice was low-pitched and melodic. Not for her Miss Bingley’s screech, nor Miss Bennet’s whispery tones, no, her voice was pure music!

Mr. Darcy was able to gather his scattered thoughts long enough to say, “And you usually play with your father?” His voice caught on the last word. Heavens, what was wrong with him?

“Yes, indeed, and sometimes I even win our match,” she replied, laughing up at him. Her teeth were white and even, her lips rose pink. He was noticing her lips? Had he lost his mind?

“Sometimes? More often than not,” her father complained.

Mr. Darcy scarcely heard. He was too busy trying to rein in his whirling thoughts. I must be ill, he decided. A headache – I must ask Mrs. Nichols for some powder for it.

“Ah, Gardiner, there you are. This is Fitzwilliam Darcy, a temporary new neighbour.”

A well-dressed gentleman entered the room, and was introduced as Mrs. Bennet’s brother, Henry Gardiner.

This must be the man with whom Miss Elizabeth had been residing in London and who would not invite Miss Lydia to stay.

Indeed, who could blame him? Who would want rag-mannered Lydia when they could have a completely bewitching Elizabeth?

“Will you join us for tea, Mr. Darcy?”

He vaguely heard his name. Tea? Oh, it was Mrs. Bennet.

“Gladly, madam,” he managed, though he felt very strongly that he should return to Netherfield and lay down for the rest of the afternoon.

He was certain that he had a fever of some sort, as nothing else could explain his extraordinary reaction to this young lady.

Elizabeth! Her name was music! How could anyone call this divine creature Lizzy?

“Here, Mr. Darcy. A splash of cream and no sugar, as I recall.”

Mr. Darcy managed to reach out his hand to take his cup without once taking his eyes from Elizabeth’s face. Then he heard, “Mr. Darcy, why do you stare at me? Have I jam on my face?”

Her question snapped him back to some semblance of reality. “Oh, I apologise, Miss Elizabeth. It is just that – you – well, you – I suppose you reminded me of someone, and I was rather taken aback.” This was the best excuse he could think of at the moment.

“Oh! I do hope it is someone you like,” she said, smiling at him.

“Very much so. I would certainly agree. Very much indeed,” he said, aware that he sounded like a complete idiot. Truly, the sooner he quit this young lady’s company and got hold of himself, the better. “Bennet, I am ready for chess at your leisure,” he managed to say.

“Excellent! And perhaps Lizzy will play the victor.”

No, no, no, no, Mr. Darcy thought, in a bit of a panic.

He was saved when Miss Elizabeth said, “Papa, I have just got home, and I have yet to give my sisters their gifts. Perhaps another time.”

Yes, Mr. Darcy thought, thankfully. Very much another time.

The younger girls set up a clamour for gifts, and it was with the deepest gratitude that Mr. Darcy followed Mr. Bennet to the study. There, Mr. Bennet eyed his guest over his spectacles, a smile lurking at his lips. “I take it she is not what you were expecting.”

Mr. Darcy immediately went on the defensive. “She? Who?”

“You cannot deceive me, Darcy; I saw your face when you first saw my Lizzy. You were shocked. What were you expecting?”

“I suppose someone more like Miss Mary,” he said, hesitantly. “I intend no disrespect to your middle daughter.”

“That explains it, then. But, Darcy, I ask you as a friend – for I believe I may so call you – not to toy with my daughter. I imagine that you are expected to marry well, and I will not be pleased if you encourage my Lizzy to care for you and then abandon her for some heiress on Park Lane.” Mr. Bennet thought Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth would be a fine match, but he understood the way of the world.

“I understand you, Bennet.”

Mr. Bennet brought over the chess board so that the game might begin. Mr. Darcy lost the game in short order, and Mr. Bennet complained that Darcy had not even made an effort.

Mr. Darcy made his way back to Netherfield in something of a daze. He had been invited to stay for dinner at Longbourn, but cried off. More time with Elizabeth Bennet was absolutely the last thing he needed. No, indeed, he needed time to clear his head and examine the situation rationally.

Doubtless, he and Miss Elizabeth would see a good deal of one another, given his almost daily visits to Bennet, and it was important that he remain calm and lucid in her presence.

He was not certain what had come over him when he had first seen her, but it could not be allowed to happen again.

He was certain that he could overcome whatever insanity had possessed him.