Page 26

Wednesday, December 9, 1811

Netherfield

Darcy

“Darcy,”

said Richard.

“do tell me about Haddonwood—its size, the number of horses, the annual income, any planned improvements—let me have the whole of it, if you please.”

Darcy, who had been quietly observing his cousin over his tea, allowed himself a slight, private smile—one quickly suppressed, for it would not do to make light of Richard. Still less would it do to allude to the most likely cause of this sudden curiosity in the business of Haddonwood.

Slowly setting his cup down, Darcy began to speak of Haddonwood—the stud in which he had offered Richard a share. He attempted to recall the particulars: the number of mares, the yearlings, the expected foals, and a sanguine estimate of past returns.

“And if I were to become a partner,”

Richard interjected, a shade of suspicion colouring his tone.

“how much money must I lay down at the outset?”

“None at all,”

replied Darcy, without ceremony.

“Your contribution, cousin, would be your presence, your experience, and your infallible eye for horseflesh. You need not even reside on the property—though the house is more than adequate, and, as you know, its situation is tolerably near Matlock.”

“This,”

said Richard, with a look of theatrical indignation.

“is no partnership—it is charity, thinly disguised as a respectable business arrangement. I may as well accept Rosemont from my father and have done with it.”

To this, Darcy made no reply. There was no elegant argument to be made, nor was he inclined to defend what he had never regarded as charity. Richard was, in affection if not in blood, his brother—and a man does not speak of profit and loss with his brother.

Richard made no reply for some time, and Darcy did not seek to break the silence. He could not but feel a measure of relief that his cousin appeared, at the very least, to be considering the proposal. Darcy was reluctant to accept Richard’s money, particularly when pride, rather than necessity, seemed the principal motive. Yet, he was prepared to yield somewhat, if it might lead his cousin to a more settled and secure station, far removed from the hazards of war. Still, he would not confess as much. That particular concession he held in reserve, a last recourse should the occasion demand it.

After a considerable pause, Richard spoke.

“Darcy,”

said he.

“if I were to advance—say, __ pounds—what portion should fall to me?”

Darcy sighed. He had rather thought the subject concluded, but evidently it was not.

“Could you furnish such a sum,”

he asked.

“without drawing upon the money placed with Mr. Gardiner?”

Richard shook his head, a rueful expression on his face.

“No, Darcy. I fear it is beyond me.”

Darcy gave a single, brief nod.

“Then I must refuse to accept anything from you.”

“But, Darcy—”

Richard began, his voice now somewhat sharper.

“I will not discuss it further,”

Darcy replied, his tone unyielding.

Richard appeared on the point of speaking, but checked himself. With a subdued sigh, he yielded.

“Very well, then. Do you intend to call at Longbourn today?”

Well, that was a much more promising subject.

“I do. And you?”

“Not today,”

replied Richard, to Darcy’s surprise.

“I think it wisest to remain away from Miss Mary—for a few days. Just long enough to consider the matter with a clear mind.”

Darcy regarded him with a look of amusement.

“That appears exceedingly sensible,”

he said.

“Are you in good health?”

Richard gave a short laugh, but made no reply to the jest. His manner, however, grew more earnest.

“Darcy,”

he repeated.

“I have another question to ask—and I would entreat an honest answer.”

Darcy turned to him with a questioning look.

“Very well,” said he.

“Suppose,”

Richard began.

“you were not—well—so wealthy, as you now are. Suppose you were merely comfortable—or even, if I may be so bold, modest. Yet you still found yourself enamoured of Miss Elizabeth. Would you make her an offer, knowing you could give her a life less comfortable than the one she enjoys at present?”

Darcy made no immediate reply. The question called for more than an impulsive answer.

“I should hesitate,”

he said at last.

“Indeed, I should. Not from pride, I assure you, but from conscience. Yet I am inclined to think…”

He paused, weighing his words carefully.

“We are mistaken, I believe, if we consider their present life as one of ease. Miss Elizabeth, at least, has never placed wealth as a requisite in a husband. She has often expressed the value she places upon affection in marriage. If we suppose them to look only to wealth and comfort, we do them an injustice. And if we retreat without disclosing our sentiments, from some mistaken notion of honour, we may rob them of that happiness which might otherwise be theirs.”

Richard appeared to consider Darcy’s words. Both were well aware that Miss Mary had always remained unnoticed—too earnest for her sisters, too reserved for society, and too plain to attract the notice of those around her.

Darcy, for his part, believed that Miss Mary would gladly embrace a life in which she was chosen, cherished, and treated with all due respect. Though such a life might offer less comfort than the modest and settled manner of Longbourn, it would yet bestow upon her a treasure far more valuable.

Yet it was a conviction Richard must arrive at for himself; no argument, however sound, could move him until his heart was in accord.

“Richard,”

said Darcy.

“if I might offer a word of advice, you would do well to accompany me to Longbourn this morning.”

Richard made no immediate reply, and Darcy, after a brief pause, continued.

“I quite understand your wish for an interval to reflect upon your sentiments towards Miss Mary,”

said Darcy, after a pause.

“However, have you considered how it would appear to her? Yesterday, Miss Mary experienced something wholly new—she found herself not overlooked, but attended to with kindness and interest. I daresay it was the most remarkable day she has known since first entering society. And that, Richard, was owing almost entirely to you.”

“Go on,”

said Richard.

“To disappear now,”

Darcy added.

“without word or explanation, would only cast a shadow over that small triumph. There is no need to avow your sentiments—only extend the courtesy of a proper farewell. Should you absent yourself for a few days on the pretext of some official concern, she would not question you—she is not one to make demands. But she is a woman who notices silences."

Richard gave a sigh and, after a moment’s reflection, inclined his head.

“You are, as ever, most vexingly correct,”

he said.

“I would be most unwilling to cause her any distress. When do you intend to set off?”

“As soon as Bingley arrives,”

said Darcy.

“And, knowing his eagerness to see Miss Bennet, that will not be long.”

Longbourn