Page 1 of Lord Lonbourn’s Daughter

“Have you heard, Darcy? According to the scandal sheets, the Earl of Longbourn is attending tonight’s ball.”

“I did not think you were that interested in reading the society pages, Bingley.”

“I am not, but you know my sisters. They have spoken about little else these last few days. You know, sharpening their claws since the earl is said to have several beautiful daughters. They abhor competition. If they can find a flaw it will be expounded and exaggerated to exhaustion.”

Darcy refrained from commenting on Bingley’s sisters.

They were vicious when they found a victim to slay with their acerbic tongues.

He even enjoyed joining them on occasion with a sardonic remark or two of his own—a harmless sport one needed to survive the tedious balls and soirees during an endless Season.

“The earl is rather eccentric and somewhat of a recluse. I wonder whether anyone has actually laid eyes on his allegedly handsome daughters. I did meet him once while I was studying at Cambridge. He was visiting one of my professors, but neither his daughters nor his wife accompanied him. He seemed like a bookish sort of gentleman to me. As I understand it, he had not expected to inherit the earldom, but his uncle and cousin perished in a tragic fire at Longbourn Castle. I wonder whether it is all conjecture. It could be fabricated by a jaded journalist with nothing better to do than to invent a story because there is no real gossip to be had.”

“You seem to have given this conundrum a lot of thought, Darcy, but you must admit, there is no such thing as a Season devoid of scandals and intrigue. There are actual events to choose from if the scandal itself is the purpose.”

“I am as weary as the journalist. Would it be rude if we wandered down the hall to find the billiard table?” Darcy drawled.

“Yes!” Bingley cried.

“The din is so loud in here I cannot hear my own thoughts,” Darcy continued to complain.

“That is because someone has just arrived. Is it the Earl of Longbourn?” Bingley rose onto his toes to get a better view.

Darcy lifted his eyes from the floor he had been studying while trying not to meet any of the simpering maidens’ gazes—or worse, their mothers’.

He had a few inches on his friend and could easily see over the ladies’ heads.

He was, as usual, surrounded by females who tended to flock around him wherever he went.

For once he would like to choose his own dance partner, instead of being forced by thinly veiled hints and innuendo, not to forget coerced by his always meddling aunts.

He spotted the newcomers effortlessly; it was not an entourage easily missed.

“No, it is the Prince of Wales.”

“Oh, I did not know the prince would be here.” It was the first time Bingley had attended a ball at which royalty was present.

“Neither did I. He must have been apprised that Lord Longbourn’s beautiful daughters were expected and have come to pick one of the non-existent damsels for his new mistress.”

“Good lord, you are pesky tonight, Darcy. Perhaps you should have stayed at home.”

“I wish!” Darcy exclaimed wistfully.

“Look! Is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever beheld?”

Bingley had the audacity to nudge him with an elbow in his ribcage.

Darcy’s dark mood dropped further, and he briefly contemplated refusing to look in the direction his friend indicated.

Only the fear of Bingley actually resorting to pointing a finger made him comply; he would not put it past him in a moment of exuberant exhilaration.

Darcy followed the line of Bingley’s sight, but he could not discern which, in the sea of ladies, Bingley had meant.

“Which one?” Darcy enquired. “Did you mean the short and dowdy looking brunette with her back turned towards us?”

“Dowdy?” Bingley gave him an incredulous look.

“Her gown is not much adorned, and her hair holds no diamond pins, which is a necessity according to my aunts.”

“Lift your eyes, Darcy, to the angel she is speaking to. Is she known to you? If she is, I would very much appreciate an introduction.”

“Ah, I see whom you mean now, but I am afraid she is not among my acquaintances.”

Bingley was a creature of habit. The angel was tall and willowy with blonde hair and blue eyes. She was beautiful and smiled serenely. There was nothing wrong with her per se, but there was nothing special to draw you in either.

He could feel Bingley bouncing on his toes beside him.

The man was as eager as a puppy yet with a sharp business acumen.

They had formed a partnership of sorts where Bingley aided him in business matters and he introduced Bingley into society.

In addition, Bingley fended off the ladies that Darcy had no interest in, which was more or less every unattached female in London.

The ladies soon learnt to prefer Bingley’s company to his own, once they had come to know him a little.

Not that he avoided every woman in attendance, but he liked to maintain certain standards when engaging with the fairer sex.

She must be beautiful, accomplished, of excellent ancestry, and have a significant fortune.

Not an extensive list of requirements, but they had yet to be fulfilled by any of the ladies he had met.

Of course, some only lacked the impalpable quality he could not describe with mere words as he could find none that would explain it properly.

This was unusual, as his vocabulary was by no means deficient; it contained an ample number of four-syllable words.

The impalpable was no frivolous matter; it was non-negotiable.

In fact, all his requirements were. Until he met a lady who matched his description, he could not be tempted into so much as a morning call.

But when he finally encountered her, he knew how to act—quickly and with determination, leaving no chance for any other gentleman to secure the future Mrs Darcy.

However, he was only seven-and-twenty. He had his whole life ahead of him; there was no rush.

Bingley never was introduced to any daughters of Lord Longbourn. As far as Darcy knew, they were not present. Bingley’s angel soon disappeared into the throng, and that was that.

Long-faced, his friend admitted defeat and agreed to return home after dancing only a few sets.

Darcy had not engaged anyone all evening.

He had spotted one lady he had once considered, but she had recently married and was no longer a contestant.

It would be a waste of time to ask her for a set now. Just like this whole evening had been.

#

“I resent having to leave so early, Charles. It is not like you not to stay until the end.”

Miss Bingley’s grating voice, delivered in a whining tone, did nothing to relieve Darcy’s pounding head, but he could at least prevent his friend from taking the blame.

“It was I who begged off early, madam. You could have remained at the ball had you not insisted that we needed only the one carriage.”

“Oh, Mr Darcy, it is no inconvenience, I assure you. We should have stayed at home for an intimate dinner and foregone the crush altogether. The Longbourn girls were nothing remarkable.”

Miss Bingley had been introduced to the elusive ladies. There was something to the rumours after all.

“Really?”

He cursed his high-pitched tone of voice. Not only because it increased his headache but because it made him sound more interested than he wished to appear.

“Yes. Mr Gardiner, my brother’s man of business, introduced me. I was astonished to see him there, a tradesman at Lord whatshisname’s ball! I am sure you would never invite a shopkeeper to your ball, Mr Darcy,” Miss Bingley simpered.

He deigned not to answer as he would invite Bingley…

“Anyhow, Mr Gardiner is related to Lord Longbourn by marriage. He is his lordship’s wife’s brother, I believe. By your countenance, I gather you were spared that unfortunate acquaintance.”

“How can the daughters of an earl be an unfortunate acquaintance?” Bingley enquired incredulously. “I am appalled by your insinuations. Such a connection would be beneficial to us all.”

“Surely not. They were a dowdy lot—not at all fashionable. The eldest freely admitted that she did not play the pianoforte, and the second eldest, Elizabeth, laughed aloud—in a ballroom. Preposterous! The third was a mousy little thing named Mary. She seemed something of a bluestocking—much too knowledgeable to be considered a lady. It was in every way apparent that they are country born and bred.”

“As are all members of the peerage, Miss Bingley. Having a country estate is the lot of the gentry,” Darcy drawled. He was rather enjoying the debate.

“Of course, Mr Darcy, but I am sure Longbourn is nothing to Pemberley. Their eldest, Jane, I acknowledge as a sweet girl, but she is almost two-and-twenty. What could they mean by waiting so long to introduce her into society?

“The second eldest is twenty, so there was no reason to wait if the sisters wanted to have their come out together. The third sister, the mousy one, is eighteen.”

Darcy’s thoughts immediately turned to his beloved sister.

Waiting another two years instead of one was tempting.

He did not mind having her at home for an additional year, and Georgiana would relish the thought.

If it was good enough for the Earl of Longbourn, he should not question it, but he knew another earl who might be opposed.

He had never even considered that she might not marry after her first Season. He looked at Miss Bingley, who had temporarily forgotten her own age of four-and-twenty.

“There must be something seriously wrong with them,” Miss Bingley continued her disparagement, “since their parents have waited so long to introduce them into society. Perhaps their coffers are empty. The gowns they wore certainly suggested they are not affluent. I swear they were at least two if not three years out of fashion. And none of the sisters have been to any of the seminaries to learn any accomplishments.”

Darcy refrained from remarking that most girls of the peerage were taught at home.

Most could afford to bring all the masters they required to their estate or move to their house in town where they could hire whoever was needed.

The seminaries for young girls were typically used by the lower gentry, tradesmen, and brothers who were in over their heads with responsibilities.

He regretted sending his sister to that sordid establishment about which he had been so thoroughly deceived.

“Mark my words, there is something off here, and I intend to ferret it out.” Miss Bingley tapped her nose knowingly.

As if Miss Bingley, the daughter of a tradesman, had any say amongst superior society. Darcy refrained from commenting out of compassion for her brother and instead tried to remember what he knew of Lord Longbourn.

He had come to Cambridge to view some first editions Darcy’s professor had acquired.

They were friends and had been colleagues before the tragedy at Longbourn Castle had elevated the rank of Mr Thomas Bennet to earl.

The castle had suffered considerable damage, but the Longbourn earldom was a wealthy, land-rich property, and he doubted the restoration would have depleted his coffers completely.

Lord Longbourn had bought the tomes at a steep price, so he had to have funds.

His clothes had not been of the latest fashion, but they were well-tailored.

The earl had given the impression of being sharp-witted and good-natured, if somewhat madcap.

His shoulder-length hair had been tied in an unfashionable queue [1] , which had been all the rage the previous decade.

“Their dowries are a mere twenty thousand pounds. One would expect the daughters of an earl to have more than the average miss. I myself have a similar fortune.” Miss Bingley preened and fluttered her lashes towards a contemplative Darcy, who pretended not to notice.

“You should remember, dear sister, that had our parents been blessed with five daughters your portion would have been only four figures.”

Miss Bingley huffed and narrowed her eyes. “Thank heavens our dear parents showed some restraint. Who has need of five daughters?”

“Caroline!”

Bingley’s admonishments went unheeded as usual. Miss Bingley obviously believed she was equal in fortune and vastly superior in everything else. And nothing he or Bingley said would convince her otherwise, so he wisely held his tongue.

Finally, they arrived at the Bingley residence. Miss Bingley tarried, as was her wont. While a few seconds one way or the other made little difference, it was definitely more grating than endearing when one wanted to get home as quickly as possible.

“Pray, Mr Darcy, would you not have dinner with us on the morrow? I am certain my brother would voice no objections. We could have a quiet, intimate little party.”

“I am obliged to decline. I have a prior engagement.”

Miss Bingley had the audacity to lay a clammy hand on his forearm, gazing into his eyes from an uncomfortable proximity.

“None that is more important than your dearest friends, I presume?”

Darcy stared back at her, refusing to reward the impertinence with an answer, but Miss Bingley leant closer.

“I can tell you are contemplating it. You may postpone your answer until tomorrow when you have had a chance to send your regrets to your prior engagement.”

“I am considering no such thing. I am merely stunned at your forwardness in enquiring into my personal business. Good day, Miss Bingley, I wish to depart.”

He needed to have another chat with his friend. Miss Bingley’s behaviour was insupportable.

The lady laughed coquettishly but pulled back her hand while delivering the last of the evening’s absurdities.

“We cannot have you absconding with me, Mr Darcy. What would my brother say?”

Thank goodness, came to mind; though he did not voice it aloud. He merely let a scowl cloud his countenance. He hoped it was not too dark for Miss Bingley to see it.