Page 26 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)
East Sitting Room
Longbourn
One Hour Later
Elizabeth was startled to find herself in the east parlor for two days in a row. She was even more startled at Sir Quinton’s offer of marriage, though at least this time she was grateful, not irritated.
“You are very kind, Sir Quinton,” she said, “but I am confident that we do not know one another well enough yet to enter into a marital union.”
To her profound relief, her suitor accepted this without resentment.
“I am aware that we are not yet well acquainted,” he said. “I am convinced that you would be a wonderful wife to me, but there is no reason to assume that I will be an equally suitable husband to you. I am quite a bit older than you are, after all.”
“Yes, though that is not why,” Elizabeth began and then frowned. “Or perhaps it is? I like you very well, sir, but considering our short acquaintance, in addition to our father’s grave illness…”
“Indeed, and I feel I must apologize for intruding on you during this time,” the baronet said. “My motives were pure enough, I believe, given that I wished for you to have the security of my offer in the event of Mr. Bennet’s death, but based on your refusal, I am confident that I made an error.”
“Oh, it was kindness itself, I promise you,” Elizabeth said immediately. “I hope we can always be friends.”
“I understand completely.”
Elizabeth rose to her feet and said, “But I am flattered and honored, I assure you, along with, I confess, being surprised. You are a baronet and wealthy, and yet you chose the second daughter of a country gentleman. It says excellent things about your character.”
Sir Quinton shrugged and said, “I am in no way a hero. I am too old to wish for a passionate marriage, but long instead for a sensible, clever, kindly wife, one who will relish domestic comfort over weeks on end in London during the Season. My first wife – God rest her soul – far preferred balls and assemblies to the peace of the country, and in that way, we were not particularly compatible.”
Elizabeth tilted her head in thought and said, “Have you considered my friend, Miss Charlotte Lucas? She is sensible and clever and kindly, and at seven and twenty years of age, is far closer to you in age than I am.”
Sir Quinton blinked in surprise. “Miss Lucas? I do not know her well, certainly, but she seems a pleasant young lady.”
“She is my closest friend outside of my family,” Elizabeth said.
“Not that I am saying you ought to marry her, but based on your remarks, I believe she could be the perfect wife for you. She is not a great romantic and does not long for bright lights and dancing, and she would do a far better job than I would at making a home for you.”
Sir Quinton bowed respectfully and said, “I will consider Miss Lucas, then. Thank you.”
***
West Sitting Room
Longbourn
The furnishings of the west sitting room were modern and up to date, as the entire room had been redone only the previous year by the fashion-minded Mrs. Bennet.
Being often occupied, signs of the inhabitants peeked out, paper and pencils on the desk, work baskets tucked under chairs, a novel carelessly abandoned by Kitty or Lydia, and not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere.
It had been chosen as a primary living space early on, for it was one of the nicer rooms in the house, well-proportioned and full of natural light, especially in the afternoons.
At the moment, it was largely illuminated by the fire crackling cheerfully in the fireplace.
Jane sat in her favorite chair, a wingback upholstered in plush velvet of a lovely pale green, her spine very straight and her hands folded decorously in her lap, expression attentive as Mr. Bingley strode back and forth in front of her.
He was gesticulating animatedly, moved by his passion as he declared his love for the silent and immobile Miss Bennet.
“So in summary, Miss Bennet,” he said, finally coming to a halt and turning to face Jane, “I love you dearly and ask for your hand in marriage.”
He paused hopefully, and Jane adopted a sympathetic expression and said gently, “I am sorry, Mr. Bingley. I am greatly honored by your offer, but I fear I cannot accept.”
Charles Bingley, who had been gazing at her anxiously, slumped a trifle in his disappointment, but he was far too much of a gentleman to argue.
“Of course, I understand completely. I am aware that we have not known one another long, and if it were not for your father’s sudden illness … but I was intemperate, I know. I apologize.”
“Not at all,” Jane said kindly. “I am grateful, Mr. Bingley, very grateful. It was a generous thought, as our situation is uncertain with Longbourn entailed away from the female line. But nonetheless, I cannot commit to an engagement to anyone at this time.”
Bingley nodded and said, “May I inquire as to whether … that is, do you think there is any hope for me in the future? I love you very much.”
Jane suppressed a wince and looked down at her clasped hands for a moment before raising her face to gaze directly into her suitor’s eyes.
“I do not know, Mr. Bingley,” she said truthfully. “You are an excellent man, but I am not certain whether we are entirely compatible.”
To his credit, Charles Bingley gave himself time to think before responding.
“Are we not?” he finally asked timidly. “I rather thought … that is, do we not have similar characters?”
“We do,” Jane said, now rising gracefully to her feet and taking a step closer to the lovelorn man, “but I am not entirely certain that it is a good thing. I do not like arguing, and neither do you. I like people to be happy in my presence, and so do you. But sometimes it is important for someone to hold the line, even if it makes a loved one angry or distressed, and I fear that both of us would find it difficult to do such a thing.”
Bingley was not as clever as Darcy, but he was no fool. After a minute’s cogitation, he said, “You are thinking of my sisters, perhaps?”
“I am,” Jane acknowledged, “and Miss Bingley in particular. She is a strong-minded lady, and in spite of her position as your younger sister, seems to expect you and Mrs. Hurst to dance to her piping. I am aware that she looks down on our family, as she has not hesitated to express her dissatisfaction with our accomplishments and situation in life.”
Bingley, considering this, came to the reluctant conclusion that Miss Bennet was entirely correct.
He despised arguing and was inclined to give way to Caroline’s tantrums in order to keep the peace.
He had never really thought about what would happen when he married, vaguely assuming that his wife would somehow cope with Caroline’s more strident demands.
And yet, that was hardly the responsibility of his hypothetical wife, was it?
He was the master of Netherfield, and the head of his house.
It was his duty to make decisions based on what he knew was right, not on what would make Caroline angry.
He winced at the remembrance of his younger sister’s criticism of the Bennet ladies after their forced stay at Netherfield Hall.
Caroline had been rude and unpleasant, and Bingley had merely been silent instead of arguing.
It did not reflect well on him, not at all.
“You are correct,” he said meekly. “I have abrogated my responsibility, Miss Bennet, unwilling to silence my sister because I do not wish for her to be upset. I apologize for that.”
Jane sighed and said, “It is your concern rather than mine, and I hope you do not believe that, well, that your actions regarding your sisters will change my answer. At this point in time, with my father so ill, and so much uncertain, I am unwilling to think about marriage to anyone.”
“I understand completely,” the master of Netherfield said and bowed. “I will take my leave, then.”
***
On Netherfield Land
Twenty Minutes Later
The gentle inclines of Hertfordshire were no difficulty to the Derbyshire born and bred stallion that was Darcy’s favorite horse.
Darcy tapped his spurs into Phoenix’s sleek black sides and urged his horse up towards the top of the hill.
Phoenix broke gladly into a brisk trot up the road and danced a little as Darcy reined him in at the summit.
Darcy looked around and drew in a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill him like a heady drink.
The world was resplendent with warm sunshine, only occasionally interrupted by piles of clouds as white as ships' sails, and as graceful in their movement. A fresh breeze stirred the limbs of trees and whispered through the grasses. Darcy patted Phoenix’s neck, invigorated and grateful for such a fine day, which allowed him to get out of the manse and go riding.
He straightened in his saddle and looked about at the lands of Netherfield spread out around the base of the hill where he sat.
When first he had heard of Bingley impulsively leasing Netherfield Hall without any knowledge of the land and tenant farms, Darcy had been apprehensive.
But Providence had smiled on Bingley, and the estate was quite solid.
There were a few problems, of course – that one field with poor drainage needed to be addressed, and some of the tenant cottages that were in disrepair, among other issues that inevitably arose from neglect – but overall, it was a good estate and pleasantly situated within easy distance of London.
Distant smoke drew Darcy’s eye, and his gaze fastened on the roof of Longbourn, some miles away.
His thoughts followed, dwelling on those beneath that roof, on the distress facing the Bennet ladies.
For a moment, Miss Elizabeth floated before his mind’s eye, the lively sparkle which always seemed to shine from her manner and mien dulled by care and worry.
She was not his responsibility. He wrenched his mind away from her lovely face and focused it on the sheep he could see in the Netherfield pastures. They were the sheep of the Home Farm, and one of Bingley’s responsibilities was deciding whether sheep were the livestock that made best use of those.
The sound of familiar male voices drew his attention to the south, and he turned in surprise to observe Mr. Bingley and Sir Quinton riding side by side, deep in conversation. Indeed, so engrossed were they that neither gentleman noticed Darcy until they were some twenty feet from him.
“But surely Miss Lucas is rather,” Bingley said, and then cried out, “Darcy! Good morning!”
“Good morning, Bingley, Sir Quinton,” Darcy replied. “I did not know you were out riding as well.”
The pair exchanged glances, and then Sir Quinton said, “We were calling at Longbourn.”
Darcy felt his eyebrows rise. “I see. How is Mr. Bennet?”
“He is still very ill,” the older man said, and Bingley added, “It was an odd time for a call, I know, but I wished to ask Miss Bennet for her hand in marriage before Mr. Bennet … well, it seemed like a good idea.”
Confusion gave way to dismayed astonishment. “You are engaged to Miss Bennet?”
“No, because she refused me,” Bingley said mournfully. “She said that we do not know one another well enough yet, and also that I have done a poor job of managing Caroline, which is a reasonable charge.”
“She told you that?” Darcy demanded. It was true, but Miss Bennet had always been a quiet and demure lady.
“Not in so many words, no,” Bingley said immediately. “She is too kind and gentle to say something so blunt, but she pointed out that we both have congenial natures and are not inclined to upset others, when sometimes we need to upset others.”
“I see,” Darcy replied thoughtfully. He appreciated Bingley’s ductile temper, but sometimes it led his friend to be too accepting of his sisters’ unpleasant behavior.
“I fear the horses will grow chilled if we do not return to Netherfield,” Sir Quinton said. “Shall we?”
Darcy nodded and gently eased Phoenix into a fast walk, and the other men likewise encouraged their mounts into motion, and the threesome made their way down the hill toward Netherfield Hall.
“I am a trifle uncertain about Miss Lucas,” Bingley said suddenly, bewildering Darcy completely. “She is a sensible creature but not pretty.”
“I do not mind that at all,” Sir Quinton replied. “I am not an attractive man myself, and beauty is skin deep, after all.”
Darcy turned a confused look on the baronet, who explained, “I rode to Longbourn to ask for Miss Elizabeth’s hand in marriage.”
Fitzwilliam Darcy now felt as if he had taken a bullet to the chest. “You asked for … for…”
“She refused me,” Sir Quinton continued, “for similar reasons as Miss Bennet refused Bingley, because she does not know me well enough. However, after some conversation, Miss Elizabeth suggested that I turn my attention to Miss Charlotte Lucas, claiming that the lady is clever and kind and honorable, and would make me a better wife than Miss Elizabeth would.”
“I see,” Darcy said, forcing his face and tone to remain neutral, though he tightened his grip on his reins.
He had, for one heady moment, thought he might faint.
That was ridiculous, certainly, because he had no definite plans to offer for Miss Elizabeth, of course he did not; it was merely that she was the most fascinating woman he had ever encountered in his life.
Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not worthy to be his wife, because …
because … “If you do not mind Miss Lucas’s plainness, then she likely would be a comfortable wife,” Bingley continued, obviously unaware of the effect of this conversation on his closest friend.
“I am, at least, willing to get to know the lady better,” Sir Quinton remarked, and Darcy noted the older man’s shrewd glance on his own face, which was, he feared, rather pale.
“Well,” Bingley said, “I intend to work on my own character before pursuing a bride. Miss Bennet is correct! I am far too inclined to give in to Caroline’s tantrums to keep the peace, and that is not the behavior of an honorable man.”