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Wednesday, November 27, 1811 (day after the Netherfield ball)

Netherfield Park, Meryton

Darcy

“Miss Bingley,”

said Darcy, receiving the letters from Mrs. Nichols with evident relief.

“I must attend to these without delay. Some may demand an immediate response. Pray, proceed in Hurst’s carriage without me—I shall follow in my own once I have reviewed them.”

Miss Bingley cast him a quick, discerning glance. He sincerely hoped she would not insist on remaining.

“If it is your wish, Mr. Darcy,”

she said.

“we might postpone our departure a little. I dare say we should still arrive in town before nightfall.”

He gave a slight shake of the head.

“I would not advise it, Miss Bingley. Pray, do not delay on my account. I do not doubt Hurst is eager to be off. Moreover, the nature of the letters I receive is most unpredictable—it is entirely possible I may be obliged to journey to Pemberley, rather than proceed to London, as I had at first intended."

Miss Bingley continued to linger, her eyes fixed on him with a reluctance she did not wholly disguise.

“Mr. Darcy,”

said Mrs. Nichols, the housekeeper, who had remained after delivering the letters.

“I shall be in the morning parlour. Should you have replies, sir, send word, and they shall be dispatched at once.”

Darcy inclined his head, and Mrs. Nichols offered a curtsy to both—though that which she bestowed upon Miss Bingley was executed with somewhat less civility than the first.

“Pray excuse me,”

said he, for he had no desire to remain in the parlour with Miss Bingley.

“I shall retire to my chamber.”

With a brief bow, he withdrew to his rooms, where Oliver, his valet, was already laying out his things in readiness for the journey.

Having closed the door quietly behind him, Darcy seated himself at the edge of the bed with a weary sigh.

Darcy abhorred disguises.

He always preferred open and honest dealings.

If it had been left to him, he would have spoken to Bingley openly rather than take part in Miss Bingley’s scheme.

To close the house in such a manner and slip away to London behind Bingley’s back was not a course he would have ever chosen, had the decision been his alone.

Yet here he was—fully dressed and prepared to set off for London—while Bingley remained utterly unaware of his intentions.

When Miss Bingley had proposed this plan the day before, Darcy’s first inclination had been to decline.

Yet he did not—he could not—for he longed only to be far from Netherfield, and from the young lady whose expressive eyes and impertinent nature had left him in such turmoil.

“Sir,”

said Oliver, interrupting Darcy’s reverie.

“I see one carriage departing through the gates. Does this mean you intend to travel separately?”

“Indeed, Oliver,”

said Darcy, glancing over the letters in his hand.

A frown crossed his brow as he read the names inscribed upon them.

All of his Fitzwilliam relations—save Viscount Henry—had written, and each letter had been dispatched as express.

Growing uneasy, Darcy hastily tore open the envelope from his uncle and began to read.

William,

I must first assure you that there is nothing in this letter to cause you alarm. It has been sent express solely to ensure it reaches you before Richard’s arrival.

You may also expect a similar letter—though written with far greater desperation—from your aunt.

She is quite beside herself following her most recent unsuccessful attempt to match Richard with the daughter of one of her acquaintances.

While her frantic efforts are at times rather amusing, I cannot but sympathize with the deep seated anxiety that drives her.

I must confess that I too share her concerns.

At any rate, Richard is on his way to Netherfield.

He declares he has had enough of London society.

The chief purpose of this letter, however, is to acquaint you with my decision regarding Rosemont.

I have resolved to settle it upon Richard, and I informed him of this last week, though he stubbornly refused to accept it.

Rosemont may not rival the grandeur of Matlock or Pemberley, yet it is sufficient for him to live upon—provided he manages it with prudence.

I trust this will remove his customary pretext of requiring a lady of substantial fortune to make a suitable match—assuming, of course, that he relents and accepts the estate.

I have never sought to influence your actions, nor those of Henry or Richard.

Yet last week, I found myself scarcely able to restrain my displeasure with Richard for his stubborn refusal to see reason.

He has served the country with distinction and has risen to the rank of Colonel through his own merit.

It is time he refrained from returning to war and exposing himself to further danger.

He must now settle himself.

The same, my boy, must be said of you.

Any lady of good family will do.

There is no need to trouble yourselves with wealth or connections, for in both you are most certainly not lacking.

As we discussed prior to your departure for Netherfield, the age of the gentry is indeed rapidly drawing to a close.

The working classes rise gradually in prominence and, in truth, have rightfully earned their place through diligence and perseverance—qualities that many of our idle, pleasure-seeking gentlemen appear to have neglected.

The decline of the gentry is of their own making.

I would not have any of you, ten years hence, look back with regret that you entered into an alliance upon considerations which time may well render of no consequence.

On a related subject, I made Mr.

Gardiner’s acquaintance at your recommendation—a man of intelligence and sound judgement, and a credit to that industrious class now gaining ground in society.

I thank you for the introduction—and I may, in time, be persuaded to place a modest sum in one of his concerns.

May the peace of the countryside persuade Richard to lay down his sword.

Yours ever,

Arthur Fitzwilliam

Darcy laid the letter down on his lap.

The discussion concerning the rising fortunes of the lower classes had taken place the day before his departure from London for Netherfield.

Both Richard and the Viscount had been present, and all concurred that the influence of the landed gentry was swiftly waning.

Darcy was in full accord with his uncle’s view that the gentry had, for the most part, only themselves to blame.

He and his uncle were among the last of their kind who had diligently laboured to improve their estates, unlike many gentlemen who had grown lax in their duties, indulging instead in a life of ease and neglect.

With a resigned sigh, he opened the letter from his aunt and began to read.

His uncle’s judgment proved correct once more; the letter brimmed with vexation, bordering on an uncontrolled outburst.

William,

Men, my dear William, are the most curious creatures.

They prattle on incessantly about duty and responsibility, as though these are the very lifeblood of society, and yet, when it comes to their most essential duty—that of being a man to a woman—they are found wanting! Your uncle, bless him, did not deign to make me an offer until he had reached the age of three and thirty.

Three and thirty, William! It is a wonder I did not perish from sheer vexation before he finally came to his senses.

And now, pray, look at us: Henry waited until he was four and thirty.

And Richard is already beyond his thirtieth year.

When, I ask you, will these men grasp that speaking of duty is commendable indeed, but it must be fulfilled in deed? A gentleman must uphold duty, not merely talk of it.

Speaking of Richard, he has fled London for Netherfield, no doubt in an attempt to escape his mother’s "clutches." He did not, of course, name Netherfield explicitly, but I am quite convinced he shall make his way there before long.

And, he has done the unthinkable: he has refused Rosemont from your uncle! Refused it! What madness is this? Pride—improper pride—seems to be the affliction of young men these days.

He would see no dishonour in marrying a lady with a substantial fortune and living upon her wealth, but to accept an estate from his own father? Oh, no, that is entirely beneath him.

Pride, my dear boy, is all well and good in moderation, but this is beyond reason.

Surely, this departs from pride and ventures into pure folly.

What is to be done with such men?

Do you know of any lady in Hertfordshire who might look favourably upon Richard? I do not refer, of course, to your friend’s sister but to another.

You, at least, possess a measure of judgment, William.

Someone must set that boy to rights, else I shall be obliged to do so myself.

And while we are on the subject—permit me to remind you that you are now eight and twenty, and Georgiana is sorely in need of a sister.

I, for one, should be most content to indulge a brood of grandnieces and grandnephews.

So I entreat you: find yourself a wife, William! Do not vex yourself as to whether she will be welcomed in the ton; between your uncle and myself, there is no quarter of society we cannot influence, persuade, or—if necessary—silence.

Choose a woman who will bring you happiness.

And if you can manage it, do find one for Richard as well. The poor boy is utterly adrift when left to his own judgment.

If you fear Aunt Catherine's disapprobation, banish the notion at once.

She may bark, but she does not bite.

I shall undertake the matter myself—a single letter to Kent would secure her approbation of any lady you propose to marry.

Indeed, she might even lend her support to your courtship! Imagine that!

Yours ever,

Aunt Matilda

Darcy was obliged to read the letters twice, for through these two missives, both his uncle and aunt had expressed a view of his familial duty that stood in marked variance with his own. These revelations came on the very day he had resolved to withdraw from the only lady who had ever wholly captured his heart.

Could he now seek Miss Elizabeth without fear of his family’s disapprobation? Yet how would his uncle and aunt regard the behaviour of her family?

Darcy’s thoughts immediately turned to Mrs. Bennet’s conduct the previous evening. She was the very embodiment of the ambitious, calculating woman he so despised, marked equally by vulgarity and a complete want of propriety. As for Miss Elizabeth’s younger sisters, their behaviour betrayed a shocking lack of manners and a lamentable ignorance of the requirements of polite society. Could the Bennet family truly possess a standing worthy of respectability? How could one family display so great a diversity of character?

Above all else, was his regard for Miss Elizabeth sufficient to accept the rest of the Bennet family as his own?

Darcy knew he must decide not only what course to take regarding his attraction to Miss Elizabeth, but also the more urgent question of whether to journey to London or await Richard’s arrival.

With some trepidation, he slowly unfolded Richard’s letter and began to read.

Darcy,

I write in urgent need of refuge—a place sufficiently distant from my mother’s clutches, which has grown more persistent than is strictly necessary for any affectionate parent.

Darcy stifled a laugh at the use of the wor.

“clutches”.

The last young lady to whom she introduced me—you would have laughed outright, Darcy—assured me that, had Napoleon been aware of how insufferably unbecoming military jackets are, he would have surrendered the instant he set eyes upon them. She is firmly persuaded that the French are not truly at war with us, but merely scheming to appropriate our fashions.

All this to say: I am coming to Netherfield.

Bingley, as you are well aware, once gave me leave to visit any of his residences at my convenience, and I shall not wait for him to trouble himself with another formal invitation. I intend to depart London on the morning of the 27th. It is a pity that I must forgo the ball of which you wrote to Georgiana. Still, what I most require at present is a measure of quiet, and Netherfield, I trust, will provide it.

You may expect me by the evening of the 27th. Pray inform Miss Bingley that she is to entertain an additional, and rather hungry, guest at dinner. I have no doubt she will be most gratified to receive the son of an earl at her table.

Yours,