Page 4 of Elizabeth is not a Bennet

Longbourn

The Next Day

Darcy listened as the coachman called to the horses, reining them in. The carriage swayed slightly as it halted in front of Longbourn. The white gravel beneath still had a gray tint from the rain the previous day, the dirt underneath turned to gritty mud. But the sky above, he noted with an upward glance as he stepped out of the carriage, was a rain-washed blue, dotted with cotton-fluff clouds. A cold damp nip hung in the air, a vestige of the lashing rain-storms of the previous day.

Longbourn’s house was neat but modest; the entire house would fit in Pemberley’s east wing. This said more about Pemberley than Longbourn, though. Pemberley was truly enormous.

The lands around the manor rolled in gentle lush waves, upright sturdy fences and stone walls marking off fields and pastures and boundaries. Darcy noted this with approval before glancing towards the stables, taking in the solid walls and well-maintained roof with a professional pleasure .

A creak from the carriage behind him reminded him of the other passengers, and he moved forward, adjusting his hat, so that Bingley might hand out both Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, whose husband had begged off the morning call with a headache that had confined him to his room until the party left. Strictly speaking, courtesy would dictate that Darcy should have handed out at least one of the ladies, but it had been Miss Bingley sitting nearer the door, and Darcy steadfastly refused to encourage her pursuit of him even slightly.

A servant boy came forward, tugging his forelock, to lead the party up from the stables to Longbourn’s front door, where the flowers planted along the path were droopy and brown. Darcy ignored this unprepossessing sight, his heart beating hard in his chest with excitement. Soon he would see Miss Stowe again, with her bright eyes and bright hair and enchanting manner. He was still puzzled by the strong attraction he felt toward Miss Stowe; he had, after all, met many pretty girls with winsome ways. But it was an enjoyable bemusement, and he made no efforts to suppress it – only to hide it, for it would not do to bring innocent Miss Stowe into the line of fire of Miss Bingley’s jealousy.

Bingley stepped forward and knocked briskly on the heavy oak door. It swung open within seconds, and a prim butler bowed slightly as he welcomed them in. There was a momentary flurry of activity as hats and pelisses were shed and handed over to a manservant standing nearby. Then the butler guided the party down a corridor, opened the door and led them into a large front facing room.

“Mr. Bingley and party,” the butler announced and withdrew.

Darcy glanced around. The room was filled with a bevy of blondes, most of whom he did not recognize. Miss Bennet was seated by an older woman – likely her mother – by a window, and the sun’s rays lit up her angelic features. The four other ladies in the room were scattered about. As the visitors entered in the wake of the butler, the ladies of the house rose and smiled, and Darcy’s eyes immediately went to Miss Stowe, who, surrounded as she was by fair heads and china-blue eyes, stood out like a ruby set in pale gold.

“Mrs. Bennet,” Bingley said cheerfully, “might I have the honor of presenting my family and friend?”

“Of course, Mr. Bingley, of course!” Mrs. Bennet declared.

“Mrs. Bennet, Misses Bennet, Miss Stowe, may I introduce my sister, Mrs. Hurst, my sister, Miss Bingley, and my friend, Mr. Darcy. Sisters, Darcy, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, Miss Lydia, and Miss Stowe. ”

The ladies curtsied, and the gentlemen bowed, and Mrs. Bennet said with great enthusiasm, “Thank you for calling! Please, will you not sit down?”

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley made their way to a loveseat near the fire, as they had chosen to wear elaborate morning dresses which were only elbow length, and their shawls, made of the finest silk, were designed more for looks than warmth. Darcy, along with Bingley, waited until the ladies had seated themselves and then took the remaining places, which fortunately permitted Bingley to sit near Miss Bennet and Darcy near Miss Stowe.

Mrs. Bennet began the conversation by saying, “I hope that you are enjoying Netherfield Hall thus far?”

“Quite!” Bingley replied, although his attention remained on Miss Bennet. “It is a marvelous house, and the property itself most attractive. Moreover, it is very conveniently distanced from London.”

“You will not think of quitting Netherfield in a hurry, I hope, though you have but a short lease,” Mrs. Bennet said with obvious anxiety.

This provoked looks of disdain from Bingley’s sisters, but Bingley said cheerfully, “Whatever I do is done in a hurry, and therefore if I should resolve to quit Netherfield, I should probably be off in five minutes. At present, however, I consider myself as quite fixed here. ”

“I expect we will all be returning to London for the Season, at any rate,” Miss Bingley said loftily, and then turned a cool expression on Miss Stowe and asked, “Will we see you there, Miss Stowe?”

Darcy, who had been covertly watching the red-headed beauty, noted her starting with surprise, as if she had been deep in thought.

“In London for the Season?” she asked with obvious surprise. “I have no expectation of such a thing.”

“Oh, I had heard that you are an heiress and thus supposed that ... well, I am aware that the local society does not boast a great many eligible young men.”

Darcy cast an astonished, and disapproving, look at Miss Bingley, even as there was a gasp of outrage from Mrs. Bennet.

“I am not a great heiress,” Miss Stowe said calmly, though Darcy thought her skin seemed a trifle flushed. “I have some monies left to me by my father, yes, but have no anticipation of spending my funds on a Season which is, I know, expensive.”

“Indeed it is,” Mrs. Hurst agreed, and Miss Bingley said, “Was your father Scottish, perchance, Miss Stowe? ”

“No; he hailed from Northumberland, but my mother was indeed Scottish. She died shortly after my birth.”

“Oh, what a pity,” Miss Bingley said with spurious sympathy.

“Tell me, Miss Bennet,” Bingley said hastily, “do you enjoy music?”

“I do, very much, though I do not play or sing. Lizzy does, as does Mary, but I never learned.”

“How very unfortunate,” Mrs. Hurst declared. “I believe Mr. Darcy would agree with me that musical ability is vitally important for a truly accomplished lady. Miss Darcy, his younger sister, is remarkable on both the pianoforte and the harp.”

Darcy watched Miss Stowe’s expression change from blank to genuinely irritated and quickly interposed, “I do not believe that at all, Mrs. Hurst. My sister does enjoy music very much, but not every lady will choose the same pursuits.”

“Did Miss Darcy accompany you to Netherfield Hall?” Miss Bennet asked.

“No, she is living at my estate in Derbyshire,” Darcy answered and then winced inwardly. Thus far, he had not heard any mutterings about his vast estate and would rather not have it spread about how wealthy he was.

“Pemberley!” Miss Bingley said extravagantly. “It is quite the most marvelous estate in all of England, I am convinced! I know people speak of Chatworth, and Wentworth, and the Prince’s Pavilion on Brighton, but to my mind, they are all of them inferior to Pemberley.”

Darcy swallowed hard and barely suppressed a grimace. What was wrong with this woman?

“Does Pemberley have a library, Mr. Darcy?” Miss Stowe asked, one eyebrow arched curiously.

“A library?” Miss Bingley exclaimed. “Indeed it does, of course, and not just any library, but one of the finest in all of England!”

“If that is true,” Miss Stowe replied, putting a slight emphasis on the first word, “then you are blessed indeed, Mr. Darcy.”

“Are you a reader, then?” he asked with interest.

“I enjoy reading very much. Fortunately, my uncle is also an enthusiast of books, and his library is, considering the size of Longbourn, a remarkable one.”

“Oh yes!” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “Mr. Bennet spends a truly absurd amount of our income on books! ”

“I always enjoy talking to fellow bibliophiles,” Darcy said. “Perhaps we could be introduced soon?”

“He is in the library at the moment!” Mrs. Bennet declared. “Lizzy, my dear, would you introduce Mr. Darcy to your father?”

Elizabeth looked surprised but nodded and rose to her feet along with Darcy.

“This way, sir,” she said with a smile and guided Darcy out the door and into the corridor which led toward the back of the house. Darcy was startled when he did not need to slow his steps to prevent from running into the young lady; Miss Stowe, while petite, had a vigorous stride. He found his eyes fixed on her glorious titian locks, swept up in a simple bun, and again, felt the surge of attraction which had drawn him to her at the Meryton assembly.

The library was sufficiently impressive that it pulled Darcy’s gaze away from Miss Stowe’s pleasing form and toward the sturdy, polished bookcases lining the walls, all of them filled with books.

“Uncle,” Miss Stowe said, directing his attention to the dark-haired man standing behind a wooden desk. “Mr. Darcy is a great lover of books, and wished to meet you.”

“Oh, well, I can never turn away a man who likes books!” Bennet said. “Do introduce us, my dear. ”

“Mr. Darcy, my uncle, Mr. Bennet. Uncle, Mr. Darcy.”

The two gentlemen bowed and straightened, and Darcy realized he was searching Bennet’s face for some similarity to Miss Stowe’s. He found none, which was interesting. But family resemblance was a peculiar thing, of course.

“I have been informed,” Miss Stowe said archly, “that Mr. Darcy is the proud owner of a truly remarkable library, Uncle.”

“Ah!” Bennet said, his eyes lighting up. “How wonderful! Have you focused on a particular genre, or do you have a few books in many topics?”

“I have many books on many topics,” Darcy replied with a grin, “though I confess to substantial envy in seeing that you have The Three Voyages of Edmund Halley in the Paramore . I have never managed to find that book.”

“An excellent one, that,” Bennet agreed jovially.

The subsequent discussion was a pleasure to both gentlemen, as they canvassed history, and plays, and foreign literature.

Miss Stowe did not leave the room, but took a seat on a nearby chair, hands folded in her lap as she listened. She contributed but little to the conversation, offering only an occasional remark on some theme or motif or moral lesson. Darcy cast her surprised, appreciative looks; it was obvious that a large portion of her uncle’s library was intimately known to her, and that she thought deeply about what she was reading.

In what seemed like a mere few minutes, a manservant knocked on the door and stepped inside with a polite little cough. “Mr. Darcy, your party is preparing to leave.”

Darcy glanced quickly towards the clock on the mantel, surprised. Indeed, the hands showed that he had been in the library for nearly thirty minutes, and he rose, bowing slightly to his host. “I must thank you, Mr. Bennet. I have greatly enjoyed our conversation.”

“The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Darcy,” Bennet replied courteously and returned to his book as his visitor departed.

Darcy’s cheerfulness remained as he trod down the corridor in the manservant’s wake. In Mr. Bennet he had found a kindred mind, a rarity in the fashionable circles he frequented. As for Miss Stowe, his intrigue with her only grew every time they met. It was rare indeed to find a gently bred young woman who was, it seemed, his intellectual equal.