Page 5 of Dishonorable Gentlemen (Bennet Gang #1)

Speculation

Several weeks after his first glimpse of Netherfield Park, Darcy sat on what he was forced to admit was an elegant and comfortable sofa, in one of the manor house’s well-appointed drawing rooms, in the company of Bingley and three of his relations. Against Darcy’s advice and wishes, Bingley had indeed let the place. Now, he wished them to attend some sort of local assembly. On his previous visit to Meryton, Darcy had caught a glimpse of the sort of company they could expect. He was not enthusiastic about the idea of mingling with such rabble.

In truth, he wasn’t enthusiastic about having returned to the region at all. Despite Robert Collins’ graph, Darcy did not feel safe in an area where a team of French bandits were on the loose. Bandits apparently sheltered by the populace out of some misguided sense of gratitude. If this Azile and Enaj learned of Darcy’s vast estate and wealth, they would surely target him for further abuse.

Which was why Darcy had written to his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, about using his connections to have a militia troop sent to the region. The presence of a unit of redcoats would see the so-called Boney Bandits scuttle off into their lair to hide. Fortunately, Richard had replied that such a unit would be dispatched. Darcy only hoped they would arrive soon.

But whenever they arrived, it would not be before the assembly Bingley wished to attend that evening. Not that bandits were what Darcy feared from the event. Rather, he dreaded the uncouth denizens of this staunchly rural corner of Hertfordshire.

Except that there was one particular member of the local community he wouldn’t mind encountering, but he had no means by which to ascertain if she would be present.

“…will be a fine occasion,” Bingley was saying where he stood with his back to the grand, swan-themed fireplace that dominated one end of the ro om. Despite Darcy’s reluctance, Bingley’s words were not aimed at him. Rather, Bingley addressed his younger sister, Miss Caroline Bingley.

“There can be no such thing as a fine occasion in such a rusticated corner of England,” Miss Bingley replied from the settee across from Darcy. “I cannot see why you brought us here. I took the carriage through that Meryton place today. It has but one street of shops. One, and that is dirt. Not a cobblestone in sight. Really, Charles, I do not know what you were thinking, taking on this place.”

“Caroline is correct,” Mrs. Hurst, older sister to the two, added. “There is no society here worth knowing. Do you not agree, Mr. Hurst?”

“What?” Mr. Hurst looked up from his paper, peering over at the chair in which his wife sat.

“Do you not agree that there is no society here worth knowing,” Mrs. Hurst repeated loudly.

“Quite right,” Mr. Hurst mumbled and returned to reading.

Darcy wished he’d thought to bring a paper into the room so that he, too, would have an excuse not to attend to the siblings’ debate.

“Nonsense,” Bingley declared. “There are at least two families very worth knowing, and I’m certain the remainder of the populace is pleasant company. Why, I was down at the public house the day after I arrived, and the Mayor of Meryton himself sat down to chat with me. Mr. William Lucas. Couldn’t be friendlier or more welcoming. The whole village is.”

“Two families?” Miss Bingley repeated with clear skepticism. “Pray elaborate.”

“Yes, do.” Mrs. Hurst’s tone of disbelief mimicked her sister’s.

“Well, for a start, there are the Collinses of Longbourn.”

Darcy struggled to contain an unbecoming bark of laughter at that.

As if sensing his disagreement on the Collinses suitability, Bingley cast him a quelling look before continuing, “Two brothers, both unmarried, and the elder serves as the local magistrate, and is in possession of a fine country estate.”

Miss Bingley sniffed. “It cannot be that fine of an estate if I have never heard of it. In London, I associate with everyone worth knowing.”

Darcy doubted that was true, the Bingleys’ wealth having come from a background in trade from which they were the first generation removed. He could believe, however, that Miss Bingley took the time to know of everyone in London worth knowing.

Ignoring his sister, Bingley barreled on with, “And there are the Oakwoods and Bennets of Dovemark. It’s a new estate, but I rode past and it is elegantly done.”

“Really, Charles, they sound even less bearable than these Collinses,” Mrs. Hurst huffed.

“Oakwood?” Miss Bingley repeated thoughtfully, an avaricious glint in her narrowed eyes. “Mr. Darcy, do you know of any Oakwoods? I have a vague memory of a member of the peerage with that surname. An earl, I believe, in Nottinghamshire.”

“I am not familiar with the family name Oakwood,” Darcy replied, for he was not. But then, he did not memorize lists of the peerage, their family names, and their connections, as Miss Bingley did.

She leaned forward on her settee. “Will you ask your aunt in Kent, or your uncle, the Earl of Matlock? Surely, if there are Oakwood’s among the peerage, they will know the details.”

Darcy would do no such thing, not being prone to idle gossip or wishing to be a party to Miss Bingley’s ambitions. “When next I write to each, I will ascertain if there is a place in my letter for that query.” Which there would not be.

“And when will you write to them?” Miss Bingley asked eagerly.

“I have recently corresponded with both my aunt and my uncle. I cannot say when I will do so again.”

Miss Bingley sat back with a frown. “Perhaps I will write to Miss Grantley. Living in London, she will be free to ask about.” Miss Bingley glanced left and right, as if more people may have appeared in the drawing room. “Here, there is no one of whom to make inquiries.”

“You could inquire of Mrs. Oakwood, or of her son, Mr. Thomas Oakwood,” Darcy felt obliged to point out.

That glint returned to Miss Bingley’s eyes. “Is Mr. Oakwood attached? Will he be at this assembly, do you believe?”

“I have every reason to believe the gentleman is not spoken for,” Darcy replied in all honesty. Taking in the bright interest in Miss Bingley’s eyes, he felt a twinge of guilt for raising her hopes and opened his mouth to reveal Mr. Oakwood’s youth.

“He is very likely to be at the assembly,” Bingley cut in before Darcy could speak. “Mr. Lucas has it from his daughter, who is friends with the Miss Bennets, that they are inclined to attend. As Mr. Oakwood is their brother, it follows that he may as well.”

Raising an eyebrow, Darcy cast Bingley a look of mild reprimand. He must be desperate to join in the local festivities indeed, for Miss Bingley would not take kindly to being misled .

“How is it that a Mr. Oakwood is brother to these Miss Bennets?” Mrs. Hurst asked.

Bingley turned to her. “I had occasion to make inquiries of both Mr. Lucas and Mr. Morris. The Miss Bennets are the daughters of a Mr. Bennet, who was master of Longbourn. Upon his death, the estate passed to Mr. Collins Sr., now deceased.” Bingley paused, frowned, then shrugged. “How Mr. Collins Sr. passed appears to be some sort of local secret, but regardless, the widowed Mrs. Bennet remarried to a General Arthur Oakwood, and by him has two sons.”

Miss Bingley, who had listened with an ever-growing frown, snapped, “If that is the case, either these Miss Bennets are on the shelf or Mr. Oakwood is still in strings.”

A ruddy glow overtook Bingley’s face. Darcy felt no sympathy. Bingley had to know his attempt to mislead his sister would be found out.

“He’s not so young as all of that,” Bingley muttered.

“I would place him at no more than fourteen, but he could be as young as eleven,” Darcy stated for clarity’s sake.

Miss Bingley glared at her brother.

“Still,” Mrs. Hurst said into the charged silence. “If these Bennets are relations of Mr. Oakwood, and he is related to an earl, they might be worth cultivating, even if they are on the shelf.”

“They are not on the shelf,” Bingley said firmly. “They are lovely young women. At least, the four we met were.”

“Four?” Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst chorused.

Exchanging a worried look with her younger sister, Mrs. Hurst asked, “How many of them are there?”

“Ah, I have the impression there are five,” Bingley replied.

“Mrs. Oakwood certainly is a prolific sort of woman,” Mrs. Hurst, who had been married for several years already with no offspring, said in a tight, hard-edged voice.

“Five, and all misses still?” Miss Bingley looked from her brother to Darcy and back. “You said, ‘we met.’ Does that include you, Mr. Darcy?”

“It does,” he replied shortly. He was growing increasingly dissatisfied with the conversation. Such mercenary machinations were best kept to family, which he was not. Perhaps he would ride before tea.

Still looking at him, Miss Bingley asked, “Were they hideous, then? Five daughters, and none spoken for. They must be repulsive in some way.”

Darcy frowned. He should have made his excuses the moment the notion of riding came to him. “The elder two are comely, and the third reasonable. ”

“And the fourth?” Miss Bingley pressed.

Darcy shrugged. “I cannot say. She is too young to have revealed her potential.” About the age of his sixteen-year-old sister Georgiana, he would hazard.

“And we did not meet the final sister,” Bingley interjected. “And if you are so interested in them, it behooves us to attend the assembly on the chance they will. You can assess them for yourself.”

“Yes. Perhaps we should attend,” Miss Bingley turned to her sister. “Louisa?”

“Oh, very well. I daresay it cannot do us too much harm to take in the locals.” Raising her voice she asked, “What do you think, Mr. Hurst?”

He looked up from his now drooping paper, blinking rapidly. “Yes?”

“We will attend an assembly later,” Mrs. Hurst stated loudly.

“Right. Assembly. Fine activity.” Mr. Hurst dropped his chin back to his chest.

“Mr. Darcy?” Miss Bingley asked, transforming her visage into beseeching sweetness that would be far more effective were he not familiar with her shrewish side. “Do say you will join us.”

“Before you reply, Darcy,” Bingley cut in. “Let me remind you that if my sisters and the Miss Bennets are in attendance, you will have a bevy of partners with whom you are acquainted.”

Did Darcy imagine the smug edge to Bingley’s words? Regardless, he would not be so ill-mannered as to refuse to accompany his host and the remainder of the household.

And if the Bennets and Oakwoods did attend, Miss Elizabeth would be there.

Darcy tamped down that thought and replied, “I imagine it will be endurable.”

“Wonderful.” Bingley rubbed his palms together in something akin to glee. “We will have a jolly good time, I assure you.”

Darcy doubted that but kept his peace as he stood. “I plan to ride before tea.”

“Care for company?” Bingley asked.

“That is up to you.” With that, Darcy bowed and retreated from the room, pleased to suppose that Bingley knew him well enough to take his noncommittal reply as a refusal.

His supposition proved correct, for when Darcy made his way to the stable a short time later, he found only his mount saddled and waiting. Relieved, for he wished solitude before being forced to endure the press of an assembly, Darcy waved off a groom’s offer of attendance and set out. Soon enough, he and his horse looked off the bluff from which Darcy had first glimpsed Netherfield Park through the fog.

No mist obscured the estate today and he had to admit that it was a well-situated, impressive sort of place. Not as lovely or elegant as Pemberley’s manor house, but then, what was? Still, the grounds were well tended and the manor house cared for, if boxy and austere. Darcy would have recommended Bingley let the place if not for the Boney Bandits.

That thought made him look about, wondering if he should have accepted the attendance of the groom after all.

But how could he be unsafe in this place, within sight of the manor house, where a woman had the courage to walk alone? He simply could not conceive that bandits frequented this hilltop. He would, and realized that in a way he had, stake his life on the idea that neither Azile nor Enaj had ever set foot here.

All of which brought him to his true reason for accepting Bingley’s invitation to Netherfield Park. The woman in the mist.

Yes, he’d but glimpsed her mist-shrouded profile, but obscured as her features had been, he’d been assailed by the instant sense that he knew her. Not so much that he’d seen her before, but a recognition of her essence such as he’d never experienced. That was why he’d followed her to a clifftop in the morning fog, and why he resided as Bingley’s guest now.

Darcy didn’t know if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was the woman he’d seen. He could not even name the mist-hidden woman’s hair color except to label it as not-blonde. He did think her to have been about Miss Elizabeth’s height, but he’d been ahorse when he’d sighted her, and she’d been a fair distance away.

Still, Darcy had again felt that spark upon meeting Miss Elizabeth. That inexplicable jolt of recognition.

Was Miss Elizabeth his mist-woman, or had he suffered some ailment that day in Meryton? Some affliction that caused him to…to what? Imagine being strangely beguiled by unknown females? What ailment could do that?

Even if such a disorder existed, why the woman in the mist and Miss Elizabeth? Why not Miss Bennet, objectively the prettiest of the misses he’d met? Or Miss Mary, who was comely enough. Insofar as Darcy had seen, her only flaws were a tendency for dowdiness in garb and style, and standing with her lovelier sisters. Hardly extreme enough faults to stave off a mysterious affliction.

Darcy shook his head, aware that the same thoughts had run around and around in his mind for days. He urged his horse back from the cliff’s edge, then turned him. Almost against his will, Darcy directed the beast along the crest of the hill, away from Netherfield Park. As near as he could guess to the path his mist-woman had taken.

More quickly than he’d expected, he found the cleft he’d noted on his previous visit. Dismounting, he inspected the descent to find it steep indeed. He could manage it, but could a gently bred lady?

Not that Miss Elizabeth seemed in all ways gently bred. He couldn’t pinpoint any precise behavior in their brief meeting to suggest as much, but Darcy sensed a firm will beneath her fair facade. She’d also been quick and, he suspected from the amusement that had bordered on mocking he’d seen glinting in her eyes, judgmental. Were those traits he thought his mystery woman possessed?

He shook his head. He’d been a fool to accept Bingley’s invitation. Like as not, the woman on the hillock had been a figment of his imagination. Something stirred loose by the fog and the drama of the afternoon before. What did he truly believe he would accomplish in Hertfordshire except to be a target for insipid misses and intrepid highwaymen?

Remounting, he turned his horse back in the direction of the manor house. Foolish or not, he was here now, and he was obliged to ready for tea and, later, to attend an assembly. He was not particularly looking forward to either.