Page 5 of Five Gentlemen at Netherfield (Pride and Prejudice Variations)

Lucas Lodge

Four Days Later

Evening

Darcy scowled across the crowded room from where he had taken up position in an unobtrusive corner.

He resented being here, rubbing shoulders with these …

these provincials, these lower classes. Officially gentry or not, they were backwards, loud, uncouth and vulgar.

The preeminent local man was by birth and breeding a mere tradesman, knighted for some bloviating speech at Court and too proud of the honor by half.

Not a single one of these four and twenty families that made up the local Quality had any connections higher than Cheapside.

None of them were fit society for a man of his standing.

Of course, Bingley was not nearly so fastidious in his choice of company and had, predictably enough, borne the rest of the party here to this insipid country dinner.

Darcy had considered remaining at Netherfield – and indeed, he heartily wished himself back there in his comfortable room with a book – but he felt himself honor-bound to keep an eye on Bingley.

The younger man was notoriously careless with his heart, repeatedly losing it to any blonde-haired, blue-eyed lady of the remotest good looks.

Jane Bennet, despite her execrable connections and deplorably vulgar mother, was a lady of considerable beauty.

In fact, it was obvious that Bingley's head was already turned.

He sat close by Miss Bennet, her posture upright and proper, with Bingley leaning towards her eagerly.

Darcy could not see the lady's face, but clearly adoration was written across Bingley's handsome, open countenance, and Darcy suppressed a groan.

He hoped that Bingley would fall out of love with Miss Bennet rapidly before he did anything foolish, such as make her an ill-considered offer.

“No, I dislike King Lear very much,” an arch feminine voice said from his left, and he turned in surprise as the second Miss Bennet lowered herself onto a couch a few feet away from him, while Sir Quinton took a seat next to her.

“Many consider King Lear to be one of Shakespeare’s greatest plays,” Sir Quinton remarked, lifting one dark eyebrow.

“That may be,” Miss Elizabeth said, “but I need not like it merely on that account. I daresay it is written very well, but it is such a tedious play with the king a fool, and his two elder daughters evil, and poor Cordelia losing everything because of her honesty.”

“Do you not think that King Lear’s hubris in demanding homage from his daughters is an interesting device?”

“I do not, because I think the subsequent plot is an overly obvious one. The truth is that I generally prefer Shakespeare’s comedies to the tragedies, though I have a soft spot in my heart for Macbeth .

Lady Macbeth is a genuinely fascinating character, rather like Jezebel in that she controls her weaker husband to the detriment of both. ”

“You do not approve of ambitious women, then?”

“Ambition is a worthy pursuit so long as it is subsumed under love and generosity and care for those around one. A wife ought to respect her husband sufficiently that she …”

“I can guess the subject of your reverie,” a voice said from Darcy’s right, distracting him from Miss Elizabeth’s words.

He turned to find Miss Bingley standing at his elbow, a smile on her lips though her eyes were chilly.

“I should imagine not,” Darcy replied in an even tone. He was thoroughly irritated by the interruption, as he found Miss Elizabeth’s conversation to be genuinely interesting.

“You are considering how insupportable it would beto pass many evenings in this manner, in such society, and indeed, I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity, and yet the noise, the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these people! What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

Darcy blinked in confusion and then, noting the shifting gaze of his companion, followed her eyes to where Bingley and Miss Bennet were deep in conversation.

“Miss Bingley,” he said abruptly. “Are you fond of Shakespeare’s tragedies?”

Miss Bingley turned back at him and smiled mechanically. “Shakespeare? Why, of course, Mr. Darcy, they are entirely divine, are they not? Such incredible poetry and such powerful plots! I am quite in love with them all!”

“Do you have a particular favorite?” he asked.

The lady blinked several times and then said, “Indeed, I do not. How can I pick one play when all of them are perfection?”

“Quite,” Darcy said. “Might I fetch you a glass of wine?”

“Thank you. That would be most kind.”

Darcy wove his way through the press of people to the refreshments table, brow furrowed in thought.

He was not surprised at all by Miss Bingley's answer, but it did not please him nearly as much as she had intended it to.

He was not flattered that she refused to express a preference for fear of disagreeing with his own opinions.

That was, of course, the crux of the issue; Shakespeare's plays, especially the tragedies, were too disparate for someone to like all of them equally.

For his own part, he greatly enjoyed the story of King Lear .

He had seen it performed on stage twice and read it many more times than that.

But he respected Miss Elizabeth for so boldly stating her own opinion and backing it up with sound reasoning.

She did not modify her stated preference to try to impress or flatter or charm Sir Quinton.

She stood her ground, courteously but decisively.

Darcy glanced over at Sir Quinton and Miss Elizabeth.

They were still enjoying an animated conversation, but there was no hint of flirtation in the lady's manner.

She showed no signs of cognizance of who her companion was, or the advantages that a marriage to him would provide.

As a wealthy baronet, he would be quite a catch for a simple country squire's daughter.

Yet it appeared that Miss Elizabeth was making no attempt to capture him.

To a man used to being chased for his money and position, it must be very refreshing indeed, Darcy mused as he turned back towards Miss Bingley, wineglasses in hand. Miss Elizabeth was surprisingly fascinating.

***

Darcy Carriage

Midnight

The carriage door was pushed shut by a footman as Darcy leaned back against the squabs and heaved a sigh of relief.

The party at Lucas Lodge had lasted a tediously long time, and he was thankful that he would soon be back at Netherfield and between sheets.

He preferred mornings to late nights and was conscious of substantial fatigue.

At least the journey back to Netherfield Hall would be a relaxing one. Their party was sufficiently large that two carriages had been required, and the Bingleys and Hursts were in the other carriage, leaving Darcy with his other male friends.

“Well, that was quite interesting,” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice stated from across him.

“What is interesting?” Lord Stanton demanded.

“I talked at length to Sir William Lucas, and he mentioned that the third Miss Bennet, Miss Mary, is a substantial heiress.”

Darcy blinked in the darkness. “Miss Mary?” he asked. “The…”

He trailed off in some discomfort, and Richard finished, “The plain one, yes. According to Sir William, a sympathetic aunt bestowed five and twenty thousand pounds on the girl.”

Darcy actually gasped in astonishment. Five and twenty thousand pounds was a large fortune indeed! His own sister, the only daughter of Pemberley, had thirty thousand pounds as her dowry, and that was one of the largest in the land.

“Where did the money come from?” Lord Stanton inquired.

“From trade. The aunt was married to a successful tradesman,” Richard said.

“So the money is not exactly clean,” Lord Stanton said in a disapproving tone.

“Money is money,” Sir Quinton remarked, rather to Darcy’s surprise. “Oh, I know that we are supposed to disdain those who earn their fortunes from trade, but I suspect Miss Mary will be fending off suitors with a club. That kind of fortune must be a rarity in these parts.”

“Indeed it is,” Richard agreed.

“What about the other girls?” Darcy asked, and then was surprised at his own curiosity. Why did he care?

“They each have five thousand pounds from the aunt, so they were not entirely neglected, though Miss Mary was evidently the favorite.”

Darcy hummed in agreement and leaned back. Five thousand pounds was not a great deal, but it was not nothing either. Given the beauty of the four Bennet daughters, they might all make decent marriages.

Bingley, of course, did not need a wealthy wife, but he was also obviously enamored with the eldest Miss Bennet. Darcy would have to keep a close eye on him.

***

Elizabeth’s Bedchamber

Longbourn

The Next Morning

22 nd October 1811

Elizabeth settled back on the cushions of her window seat with a long and dejected sigh.

As if in answer, the rain lashed at the glass panes, caught in another gust of wind, and thunder rumbled ominously overhead.

Elizabeth turned a page, refocusing her mind to Lady Macbeth’s schemes.

The drama surrounding a Scottish king and an ambitious lady was an acceptable diversion, though what Elizabeth truly wanted was a walk.

Lightning flashed outside the window, lighting the world white for a split second.

Elizabeth lifted her head again and watched the wind chase sheets of rain across the flattened grass on the lawn outside.

Elizabeth generally did not mind a bit of rain, especially when she was craving a brisk walk in order to sort her thoughts, but this was too much even for her.

She lowered her book, watching the rain and thinking, her mind dwelling on the previous evening and the party at Lucas Lodge.

She had enjoyed it even more than she had expected she would.

Sir Quinton was a charming man, easy and gallant in his words, with no air of grandeur or haughtiness clinging to him, nor any of the visible contempt for his company which Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst invariably displayed.

Mr. Bingley, unlike his sisters, was entirely congenial.

He had also attached himself to Jane’s side immediately upon arriving and had rarely left her the entire evening.

Jane’s habitual serenity had remained unimpaired, and even her closest sister could not guess from her expression what she might think of this assiduous attention.

It was, in one sense, very flattering. It was a novelty to have so many new gentlemen in the area, and such very eligible gentlemen at that.

All the mammas were in a flutter, hoping to snag one of the five eligible gentlemen in the Netherfield party for their own daughters.

Mrs. Bennet was no different from her neighbors in this respect.

She was full of elaborate plans of how her girls might capture the interest of one of the visiting gentlemen, and she was all a-twitter with the need to obtain new gowns and experiment with different hairstyles for Jane and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth herself was reluctant to pursue one of the newcomers.

She kept thinking of Jane’s words from the other night, and the more she pondered them, the more Elizabeth saw her sister’s wisdom.

Living on two hundred pounds a year would require frugality, but it could be done; and more so if the sisters lived two or three together, forgoing the need for companions for each of them.

Once again, Elizabeth was grateful to their departed Aunt Amelia.

With her kindly provision to the girls, no longer would they be constrained into undesirable marriages just to survive.

It was a great gift, and Elizabeth was determined not to squander it.

She would not rush into any rash marriage that might lead only to grief later in life.

There was a soft tap on the door, and she called, “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal, to Elizabeth’s surprise, her sister Mary, who was wearing an anxious expression.

“Mary,” she said, rising to her feet. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” Mary replied and then, apparently observing the alarm on her sister’s face, added, “Nothing new or vital, but I wished to speak to you.”

Now Elizabeth was puzzled, but she walked over to her fire and threw in an extra log. She poked it until the flames gushed forth and then gestured to the chair nearest the fire. “Sit down, please.”

Mary did so with alacrity, while Elizabeth took a seat a little further away. She had always found it easy to stay warm, whereas Mary had always suffered from the cold.

“Now, what is distressing you?” Elizabeth asked, folding her hands in her lap and peering intently at her next younger sister.