Page 18 of Hidden Desires
“I LOVE THE CHANGE,” Bennet said when Mary entered the morning room. “Asking for Elizabeth’s help was wise. I support the decision, but did either of you stop to consider the trouble this causes me?”
Mary glanced at Elizabeth, who studied her plate and gave no reply. Bennet watched her fight a smile at his teasing, then turn to her scone, cover it with preserves, and take a bite.
“Forgive me,” she said, swallowing and rubbing her neck. “But I have heard nothing of any trouble.”
“From now on I will have to send my largest groom whenever you go to town. If not, how am I supposed to control the suitors?”
“Stop exaggerating, Papa,” Mary said, although her eyes sparkled and her mouth turned up at the corners.
“I suppose I could speak to Colonel Forster about moving the regiment to Longbourn,” he muttered, as if to himself. “With a hundred men on guard, no one would dare trouble my daughters, not even Lydia.”
A flush spread across Mary’s face as a smile touched her lips. Bennet glanced at Elizabeth, whose pink cheeks and quivering shoulders betrayed her amusement.
“What am I thinking?” he cried and slapped the table, startling them. Elizabeth’s eyes flew wide, and her lips parted, while Mary clutched her chest, breath caught in surprise.
For a moment, silence hung in the air. Then Bennet’s expression softened, his mouth curving as the jest worked its effect.
“A hundred men on the estate would only make things worse,” he said, eyeing them both. Elizabeth nodded, while Mary stared at nothing, her eyes closed and a dreamy smile on her lips.
Elizabeth’s gaze shifted from her sister to her father, her scowl a silent warning.
“Perhaps the regiment belongs in Meryton after all,” he said.
Mary’s smile faded. “The single men will bring enough trouble once they hear I have another beautiful daughter. I trust you, but Lydia would find a hundred uniforms too great a temptation. I would rather not keep her locked away for a month.”
A quiet laugh drew his eyes to Elizabeth.
“A wise choice, Papa. Lydia would have them fighting over her within the hour.”
“Now that we have it settled, I must go,” Bennet said, reaching for his coat. “Bingley expected his friend yesterday, so this should be my final day at Netherfield.”
* * *
Bennet turned the horse toward Netherfield and, dropping the reins onto the animal’s neck, let him choose the pace. The steed knew the road, and Bennet felt no urgency, so he followed Lizzy’s example and took in the view.
His talk with her and Mary brought a smile to his face, for the change in his middle daughter deserved celebration. He would not sweep her into his arms and spin her around, but nothing stopped him from rejoicing in such a striking and unexpected improvement.
A clear whistle reached his ears, and he looked back to see who was approaching, but the road lay empty. A moment passed before he realized the sound came from him.
He halted and looked around again, now with embarrassment at his unguarded delight. The past few days had lifted his spirits and filled his mind with thoughts of quiet joy once his daughters married and left him to the books in his library.
I can almost see it: Lizzy and Jane settled, the house returned to quiet, and my days spent in peace with the books I have neglected for years.
Mary’s change still astonishes me, and her decision to seek Lizzy’s help marks a turning point I never thought possible.
It may not yet draw the interest of respectable suitors, but if I know my second daughter, she would not have begun such an effort without clear terms. I suspect she made Mary commit to them before offering more than a word of advice.
The horse turned into Netherfield’s drive, ending his reflections. He took up the reins and guided the animal to the stable, where a young man waited.
“Good morning, Johnathan,” Bennet said, handing him the reins. The groom grinned, pleased at being called by name.
His neighbors called their servants boy or girl and never used names, but he believed naming them showed respect. As a result, the maids, housekeepers, grooms, and others performed their duties with pride, and complaints were rare.
“Ready for another day on the stable roof, pulling tiles and burning the lot? I hope we finish before I leave.”
Johnathan nodded at something behind Bennet. “I am, sir, but Mr. Bingley said to wait. This gentleman has been expecting you.”
Bennet turned at the sound of a boot crunching gravel and saw a tall man approaching, broad-shouldered, upright, and near Bingley’s age. Dark hair, strong features, and sharp eyes gave him a striking appearance and an air of quiet authority.
“Mr. Darcy, I presume?” he said as the man neared. “I assume you already know who I am, but allow me to introduce myself anyway. I am Mr. Bennet of Longbourn and, for now, acting overseer at Netherfield while Bingley completes the repairs.”
As the man approached, Bennet caught a flicker of doubt in his bearing. The stranger’s steps slowed, and his gaze dropped. Confidence faded, leaving uncertainty in its place. The shift surprised Bennet, who had not expected timidity from a man so composed.
Then something changed. The man met Bennet’s eyes, squared his shoulders, and reached out to shake his hand.
“Good day,” he said. His voice held firm, though it carried a hint of restraint. “I trust you are well. My name is Mr...” He paused, then continued. “Darcy. Fitzwilliam Darcy.”
Bennet took the man’s hand, uncertain whether he would receive the limp grip favored by many of the men he knew, despite the disrespect it conveyed. To his relief, the other’s fingers closed around his hand and held firm as they shook.
“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” he said, chuckling as he nodded toward the house, where Miss Bingley stood at the garden doors, watching them.
“I have heard nothing but praise. In fact, I suspect that should a lake or river need parting, you are the one to call. Certain people seem to believe you could outperform Moses.”
Darcy sighed and shook his head. “Do not believe everything you hear. Bingley likes to exaggerate. I am only a man who owes you an apology.”
A flush climbed his neck, and he dropped his head, clasping his hands in front of him. With effort, he lifted his gaze to meet Bennet’s, but his eyes faltered and fell.
“I had not meant to insult your daughter. To be honest, I did not realize she was close enough to hear me until after I spoke. If Bingley had left me alone, I might have escaped without making a fool of myself. He assumes that unless I introduce myself to everyone and dance the night away, I am wasting the evening. I happen to disagree.”
Bennet laughed and nodded, his mirth drawing a look of surprise from the younger man.
“I understand. Mrs. Bennet used to scold me for staying home while the rest attended assemblies. She gave up years ago but still complains before every one of them. I think she hopes shame will persuade me to go. The truth is, I know most of the county, but making small talk is one of the least pleasant ways I can spend an evening.”
The lines on Darcy’s brow softened, and his shoulders settled as Bennet spoke, the tension in his posture seeming to fade by the end.
“Tell your daughter how sorry I am,” he began, only to falter when Bennet raised a hand.
“You can do that yourself,” Bennet said, watching the man’s expression fall again. “I promise not to let her bite your head off.” He gave Mr. Darcy’s arm a light pat. “Although she is formidable when angry, she has not done that in a month or more. You should be safe.”
A crooked smile passed over Darcy’s mouth, followed by a short laugh. “You have a talent for causing and relieving distress in equal measure. Supper should be interesting if your daughter takes after you.”
“You have no idea,” Bennet said, laughing at the flicker of concern that passed through the other’s eyes.
Darcy pointed and waved toward the house, where a young woman stood beside Miss Bingley. Unlike the stony expression worn by Bingley’s sister, whose countenance Bennet had never seen soften, her companion smiled and returned the wave with visible warmth.
“My sister, Georgiana,” Darcy said. His tone lightened at her mention, and his mouth stretched in a full smile, matched by his sister’s from the garden.
“Business takes me away so often that I could not bear to leave her behind. She is shy around strangers, but it never lasts.”
“Your sister is a lovely young woman,” Bennet said, turning from the house to the line of servants standing beside the stable.
“When the time comes, allow me to introduce her to Elizabeth first, then Jane. I trust my two eldest daughters to make her feel welcome. Mary, my third, gives an impression of cold disdain, but like your sister, she is uneasy in unfamiliar company.”
“Your daughters sound admirable,” Darcy said as they approached the servants. “I hope to raise Georgiana with the same values.”
Bennet stopped and laughed, the sound sharp with disbelief, which startled the younger man.
“I have not mentioned my two youngest,” he said, shaking his head. “You might want to limit her exposure to them. Once the introductions are finished, send her to Lizzy or Jane.”
* * *
Darcy tipped his head to the side, his brows drawing together. “May I ask why?” he said, his smile giving way to a mild frown. “They are not going to hurt her, are they?”
“No,” Bennet said with a sigh, resuming his walk toward the young men. “Lydia, my youngest, is obsessed with the militia stationed in town. They consume her thoughts and draw her there against my wishes. I would not want her taking your sister to Meryton.”
Bennet noted the shift in the other man’s expression, the tightening of his jaw and the unease in his eyes, as though the idea of Lydia introducing his sister to unknown men unsettled him. Why such a reaction? Did he take the comment as a threat?