Page 3 of Darcy’s Guarded Heart

Darcy

T he country air was fresh with notes of lavender from a nearby field and the distinct scent of cow manure.

Darcy knew it was strange, but he had always liked the scent.

The earthiness invoked something in him—memories of a time when he’d been unburdened by responsibility and had been able to be free.

Childish days spent outdoors with his mother and father.

It was rare that he could indulge in such memories these days; his time seemed occupied every moment of every day.

“Darcy?” Bingley called, drawing him out of his thoughts. “You did not answer my question.”

“I beg your pardon, I was lost in thought,” he replied.

“I can tell. Admiring my soon-to-be estate, I hope?”

“I was, actually. It is a fine piece of land you have found, Bingley. Close to London, with tenant farms already established, and lands that will surely serve you well in the future. The only trouble is that it is near that little town.”

“Meryton? It appears utterly charming; I do not know what you mean,” Bingley replied. Darcy sighed.

“It’s far less refined than Lambton. It struck me as rather provincial,” he said.

“Of course, it is rural, Darcy. It is the countryside,” Bingley said incredulously. “You do strike me as peculiar at times.”

Darcy knew it was not an insult on Bingley’s part.

His friend was merely stating whatever came into his mind—a habit he had tried to break him of for some years but without success.

Bingley was affable, which made him popular with all who met him, but also gullible, leaving him vulnerable to those who might exploit such a trusting nature.

Darcy aimed to protect his friend ever since they’d met some ten years prior and had no intention of letting him run afoul of anyone who might do him ill.

“Meryton may be rural, but there do seem to be rather a lot of… well, let me say the people do not appear to be of consequence to me.”

“You’ve hardly met anyone, Darcy,” he observed, the sound of their horses trotting on the dirt road accompanying his words.

“But fortunately, that shall change in due course. In fact, Caroline informs me there is an assembly dance this very evening, and she and Louisa will be attending. I trust you will come with us?”

“Must I?” Darcy asked, for he did not like to partake in such events.

He preferred private balls and gatherings where he already knew everyone and could be assured everyone was of his station—or at least not far below.

In a place like Meryton, one could never know what sort of riffraff one might encounter.

“Yes, you must. Caroline and Louisa will need someone to dance with, after all. You are wary of these strangers, and so are they. But they will be much assured by your presence and mine. And Mr Hurst’s, of course,” he said brightly as they rounded a corner.

Darcy could think of no reason to decline.

After all, he had agreed to spend time here at Netherfield and the surrounding area to ensure Bingley made a wise investment.

And if time at the assembly meant that he could assure himself that Meryton was indeed better than he currently imagined, then he ought to take that chance.

Perhaps he had been hasty, and the town would prove to be on par with Lambton.

“Upon my word, Darcy, look!” Bingley called, and Darcy looked up to see the cause for his friend’s excitement.

There, at the side of the road, stood a cart.

It had half come off the road and now stood akimbo with one wheel evidently broken.

A tall, dark-haired young man stood beside it, hands on his hips, shaking his head, evidently vexed by whatever it was he saw before him.

“Excuse me,” Bingley called and drove the horse forward, ready to help as always. “May we assist?”

The young man looked up, a small smile on his lips. “Good morning, gentlemen, I do not think that you can. It appears the wheel has broken. I shall have to take the horse back and fetch some men to come and aid me.”

“Do you hail from Meryton?” Bingley asked.

“Yes, well, Longbourn, which is just one mile outside of Meryton.”

“Ah, yes, I recall it. A charming little village. Do you not recall, Darcy? I pointed it out to you as we passed. Very quaint. Is it your home?” he asked, directing his attention back to the man.

“I live there, yes,” he said. “Thomas Bennet. You must be Mr Bingley?”

“Oh, I see news of my arrival has spread,” Bingley said and extended his hand. “Indeed, I am he. This is my good friend Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“How do you do?” Darcy asked, shaking the man’s hand. It was large, and his grip firm, but he noted the calluses on his hands that spoke of a farmhand more so than the son of a gentleman.

“Aside from this debacle, quite well, Mr Darcy. Well, I shall not keep you,” he said and set out to detach the horse from the vehicle when Bingley spoke up again.

“Nonsense. You need not ride all the way to Longbourn. Come with us. We are just returning to Netherfield. My men can aid you and make a repair, I am sure. Bring your horse and ride it to Netherfield, and we will see that it is fed and watered while we wait,” Bingley said.

For a moment, Darcy hoped the young man would decline the aid, though he wasn’t sure why he felt that way.

However, instead he nodded and gave a grateful smile.

“I appreciate it, Mr Bingley, very much.”

“One must be neighbourly, mustn’t one?” Bingley said and helped him detach the horse while Darcy looked on without dismounting.

As the three rode towards Netherfield, the two young men fell into easy conversation, one Darcy found difficult to take part in.

He had never made friends with great ease, always taking his time to get to know people—unlike Bingley, who never knew a stranger.

The same appeared to be true for Mr Bennet, who was as affable as Bingley, at least on first inspection.

“And you, Mr Darcy? Will you come to the assembly?” Mr Bennet asked after the topic of the dance came up.

“Darcy despises socialising. Indeed, he does not enjoy sudden locomotion,” Bingley said and laughed. The friends frequently teased one another, but he was not used to Bingley making such jests around others.

Especially strangers.

“I simply prefer to know the company I will be keeping,” Darcy replied tersely.

“I can assure you, the company you will keep will be most excellent, Mr Darcy,” Bennet assured him. “There are a great many fine ladies in Meryton and the surrounding area. Longbourn alone has five charming young ladies.”

“Indeed?” Bingley said. “Five sisters in the home? You must be exhausted all the time. I have but two, and one is already married, but I often feel rather perplexed by the fancies of young ladies.”

“The Bennet girls are very well-behaved for the most part,” he replied. “Jane is especially refined and kind, as is Elizabeth. Indeed, they all have lovely qualities.”

He was trying to find husbands for his sisters, Darcy realised.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have assumed the meeting was by design rather than accident, but that would be silly to believe—not with the cart in the state it was in.

Still, Mr Bennet lost no time in advertising his sisters’ virtues and accomplishments.

“…and Mary plays the pianoforte rather well. Of course, there are a great number of lovely ladies, as I said. You will have no shortage of dance partners. And your sisters? They will attend?”

“Mine will be present,” Bingley said, though the question appeared to have been addressed to them both. “Darcy’s sister is not joining us for another fortnight, isn’t that correct?”

“Indeed, my sister is in London for the time being, but she will join us shortly. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst will attend the assembly with us,” Darcy said, and the young man nodded.

“We shall have to introduce the ladies to one another. I am certain your sisters will enjoy having local friends, Mr Bingley.”

“I know they will. I certainly had hoped to make connections,” Bingley said with enthusiasm. “Pray, what does one do for leisure here, other than ride and hunt?”

“Ah well, there is fishing. There is a lake about four miles out with splendid fish. I have a boat, I will be glad to take you. Then there’s shooting, of course, and one can always have inspiring conversations down at the inn,” Bennet said.

While Darcy did not dislike shooting, fishing, or hunting—in fact, he was fond of them all—he could not see himself or Bingley at an inn, rubbing shoulders with the locals. To his dismay, however, Bingley apparently could.

“Well, that is grand, do you not think so? I’ve always fancied the idea of visiting a country inn. And fishing on a charming little lake sounds like a wonderful time,” he said.

“We shall arrange it then,” Mr Bennet said while Darcy ground his teeth. He did not like how quickly this man was working his way into Bingley’s good graces. He had to have ulterior motives.

They arrived at Netherfield in due course, and Bingley promptly summoned two of his grooms to explain the situation. “Please, take Mr Bennet around to the back quarter, attend to his horse, and ensure his carriage is retrieved,” he instructed.

Turning to the young man, he added, “I look forward to seeing you at the assembly, along with your entire family.”

“And I anticipate the pleasure of meeting yours,” Mr Bennet replied, nodding before turning to Darcy, who offered a slight acknowledgement as well. “And yours, of course. It has been a delight.”

“Likewise,” Bingley responded, and Darcy forced a smile, though he found it somewhat lacking.

“It has indeed. Good day to you, Mr Bennet.” With that, the young man followed the two grooms around to the stables.

Once Mr Bennet was out of earshot, Bingley cleared his throat.

“What good fortune that we should make an acquaintance so soon after our arrival. And what a nice young fellow he was. I had hoped to cultivate a rapport with the local populace, especially if I am to make Netherfield my home. Yet you led me to believe that the people of Meryton were beneath notice.”

“I do not believe one positive encounter defines the disposition of an entire town,” Darcy replied. “Besides, I fail to see what you find appealing in this young man. He appears hardly refined, more suited to the role of a farmhand than that of a gentleman’s son.”

“Simply because he is tanned and his hands bear the marks of labour, you ought not to be so judgemental,” Bingley countered. “I found him rather entertaining.”

Darcy suppressed a sigh and followed Bingley inside, glancing over his shoulder in the direction where Mr Bennet had departed, though he could no longer see him.

He could not quite articulate why, but something about the young man unsettled him.

Or perhaps it was more accurate to say he understood precisely what troubled him.

Bingley’s evident fondness for Mr Bennet.

Darcy did not possess a great many close friends—among those he did, Bingley had always stood as his best friend.

The only other gentleman to whom he was as closely bonded was his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, though familial ties afforded a certain predisposed affinity.

Yes, perhaps he felt a twinge of jealousy regarding Bingley’s instant camaraderie with the young man. However, it was not solely that.

The mention of five sisters had instantly raised his suspicions; Darcy was well aware that Mr Bennet might very well be seeking a suitor for at least one of them.

The idea of being taken advantage of was far from agreeable to him.

Nevertheless, he resolved to keep his thoughts to himself for the time being, recognising that voicing them would only lead to discord, which he wished to avoid.