Page 5 of More Than You Know (The Love Conquers Pride #3)

Chapter Four

N etherfield Park was precisely as Darcy remembered it—a large, sprawling estate, well situated amidst the Hertfordshire countryside yet bearing subtle signs of neglect. Its elegance remained, but the house was undeniably past its prime, its charm dulled by the passage of time.

Leaving his valet to unpack, Darcy crossed into the small sitting room that connected his bedchamber to his cousin’s. Pulling a book at random from a nearby shelf, he settled into an armchair near the window, but his mind was far too occupied to read. Being here—so close to the place Elizabeth called home—filled him with a disquieting mixture of anticipation and unease. He knew he had no business feeling either, but the knowledge that she was near unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The faint creak of the door opening broke through his thoughts, and Darcy looked up to see his cousin striding into the room.

“There you are!” Richard declared, brushing off the sleeves of his coat. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

Darcy lifted a brow, his tone dry. “You cannot have searched very thoroughly, considering I am seated not ten feet from your door.”

Richard smirked, undeterred. “Well, I sincerely hope you do not intend to remain cloistered in here for the duration of our stay. That would rather defeat the purpose of our coming, would it not?”

“I had no purpose in coming,” Darcy replied curtly. “This was your doing, if you recall.”

The colonel straightened his shoulders. “Be that as it may, we are here now. Let us at least make ourselves known to our hosts.”

With a sigh heavier than necessary, Darcy placed the unopened book aside and rose to follow his cousin. They moved through a short corridor and descended the broad staircase into the hall below.

But Darcy’s steps faltered at the sharp, unmistakable tones of Caroline Bingley’s voice echoing off the polished marble floors.

“Really, Charles! When you said you intended to lease an estate, I had hoped you would exhibit the good sense to use Pemberley as your example. I am astonished that you would settle for a house in such deplorable condition!”

Darcy’s mouth tightened, and he nearly beat a hasty retreat back to his chambers, but Fitzwilliam prodded him forwards. When they entered the drawing room several moments later, Miss Bingley’s critical expression instantly smoothed into one of practised sweetness as she glided in their direction.

“Oh! Mr Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam!” she cooed. “How delightful of you both to join us. I trust your chambers are satisfactory?”

Darcy frowned as Colonel Fitzwilliam, ever the model of gallantry, bent over her hand with effortless charm. “More than satisfactory, madam. I can scarcely recall when last I was a guest in so charming a home.”

Miss Bingley blinked, apparently caught off guard by the unexpected compliment. However, she quickly recovered, offering a gracious murmur of thanks before turning to Darcy with a calculated flutter of her lashes.

“And you, Mr Darcy? If there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, I hope you will not hesitate to inform me.”

Darcy inclined his head politely, offering little more than a perfunctory, “Thank you, Miss Bingley.”

But Richard, with a glint of mischief in his eye, interjected smoothly, “Oh, Darcy is perfectly content with his accommodations. We shall be fortunate if we can coax him from his rooms.”

Darcy shot his cousin a pointed glare, but before he could respond, Bingley garnered everyone’s attention, rubbing his hands together and saying with animation, “Well! Now that we are all settled, I thought I might ride into Meryton. Perhaps I shall call upon Miss Elizabeth Bennet while I am out. What say you, Darcy? Will you accompany me?”

Darcy’s breath caught, his mind scrambling for a response.

“Do you not think it a little soon? You have only just arrived,” he finally replied, levelling Bingley with a steady gaze. “In any case, it is customary for Mr Bennet to pay the first call to welcome you to the neighbourhood.”

Bingley waved off the objection with a flick of his wrist. “I do not see why that should matter. It is not as though Miss Bennet and I are not already acquainted. Besides, it feels only right to call upon her as she was the one who recommended Netherfield to me.”

Darcy sighed. “Very well, go if you must, but it is too late in the day for a call. You will have to wait until tomorrow.”

Bingley’s shoulders drooped slightly, though he gave a nod of resignation. “Yes, I suppose you are right. But you will accompany me, will you not? You are acquainted with Miss Bennet as well, and I am sure she would be most pleased to see you again.”

“No.” Darcy’s tone was clipped. “You and Miss Bingley may go. My cousin and I shall remain here to await Walsh’s arrival.”

“Oh, yes,” Caroline Bingley drawled. “I had quite forgotten that your man would be joining us. Your steward, is he not?”

Darcy’s jaw tightened, though he answered with practised civility. “Walsh is a trusted advisor, not a steward, and a valued friend besides. We were at university together, along with your brother.”

“Upon my word, Caroline,” Bingley scolded, “you have heard me speak of Walsh many times, and you were even introduced to him at Pemberley last summer.” Turning to Darcy he added, “I am glad he has been able to conclude his business in time to join us here at Netherfield.”

Darcy nodded his appreciation before Bingley once again turned to address his sister. “Now, what say you? Will you accompany me to Longbourn tomorrow?”

“Oh, I could not possibly leave Netherfield so soon,” Miss Bingley replied airily, smoothing the folds of her gown. “I have a thousand things to see to, and as mistress of the house, I must be here to welcome Mr Darcy’s friend.”

Bingley’s lips pressed together in a thin line, then parted, but it was Colonel Fitzwilliam who spoke next.

“Well, I for one should very much like to go,” he announced, glancing slyly at Darcy. “I am eager to make the acquaintance of the rest of the Bennet family. I believe Miss Elizabeth has a sister or two?”

Darcy shot his cousin a withering look, but Bingley brightened. “Indeed, she has four sisters in all, though I have only had the pleasure of meeting her aunt and uncle in town.”

Turning eagerly to Darcy, Bingley added, “Come, Darcy, will you not join us? It need not be an extended call. And Caroline will be here to greet Walsh should he arrive before our return.”

Darcy’s glare towards Richard deepened, but he knew he was cornered. He certainly would not stay behind at Netherfield with only Miss Bingley for company.

“Very well,” he replied curtly, “but a quarter of an hour will suffice. If you intend to stay longer, you may return without me.”

Richard smirked, clearly satisfied, while Bingley grinned broadly. Darcy, however, could only wonder what he had just agreed to—and why he felt a flicker of hopeful anticipation despite his best intentions.

On Monday morning, Elizabeth woke early, as was her custom, donning a simple day dress and hurrying through her morning ablutions. Although she always enjoyed her time in town, she had been glad to return to her morning rambles—the chance to wander through the Hertfordshire countryside during the crisp, cool hours of the day when the world was quiet and still.

She had not been home more than a quarter of an hour when the distant rumble of carriage wheels could be heard echoing up the drive. Pausing in the hall, Elizabeth moved to the window, drawing back a corner of the curtain in time to see a fine lacquered coach coming to a halt before the house. A footman leapt nimbly down, and the moment the door was opened, a familiar figure descended.

Mr Bingley!

Elizabeth watched as he stepped onto the gravel, his expression bright with cheerful interest as he took in the house’s facade. Just then, another figure emerged from the carriage— Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom she recalled meeting briefly at Lady Copley’s ball. But it was the tall, imposing gentleman who followed that caused her pulse to falter.

A quiet gasp escaped her lips as she hastily dropped the curtain and stepped back, her mind racing. What was Mr Darcy doing here? Had Mr Bingley not told her that he was to return to Derbyshire?

Unthinking, Elizabeth turned on her heel and hurried towards the music room, where Mary sat dutifully at the pianoforte, labouring over some sombre melody.

“Mary, come quickly! We have callers!” Elizabeth’s voice was low but urgent.

Mary’s fingers stilled mid-chord, and she looked up in startled confusion. But before she could utter a word, Elizabeth grasped her arm, gently but firmly pulling her up from the bench and guiding her swiftly into the front parlour.

They had barely arranged themselves on the settee when the sharp clattering of the door knocker rang through the house. Moments later, footsteps crossed the hall, and the drawing-room door was opened and their guests announced.

Mr Bingley led the way, followed by Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mr Darcy brought up the rear, looking serious and subdued, a stark contrast to the ease and affability of his companions.

Rising to greet the gentlemen and introduce them to her sister, Elizabeth was careful to direct most of her attention to Mr Bingley, who promptly claimed the armchair nearest to her. His open expression spoke of his joy at their reunion, in contrast to Mr Darcy, who appeared serious and subdued, his gaze carefully averted, as though he were determined to keep himself removed from the conversation.

Elizabeth clasped her hands tightly in her lap, willing herself to remain composed, even as she felt Mr Darcy’s silent presence weighing upon her senses.

“I am afraid you find us on our own this morning,” Elizabeth began, infusing her voice with as much equanimity as she could muster. “My father had business with his steward, and my mother and sisters have gone into Meryton.”

“Ah, then I must thank you for receiving us,” Mr Bingley replied with his usual good humour before saying in a rush, “although I certainly look forward to calling again when the rest of your family is at home.”

Elizabeth acknowledged his words with a small smile. “I should like to say my mother and sisters will return soon, but I fear they may be some time yet. They have been known to spend an entire morning at the haberdashery alone!” She continued amiably, “There is to be an assembly on Thursday, so it only follows that new ribbons and shoe roses must be procured for the occasion.”

Mr Bingley chuckled. “And what of you and Miss Mary? Have you no need of ribbons and shoe roses?” he asked with evident curiosity.

“Mary is not particularly fond of shopping,” Elizabeth replied. “As for myself, I was out walking when the party set off, so I shall have to be content with what I have already.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam then entered the conversation with the readiness and ease of a well-bred man, enquiring as to Meryton’s distance from Longbourn, the size of the town, and the types of shops that might be found there.

Elizabeth and Mary spoke at length about the neighbourhood, with Mr Bingley eagerly adding his share to the conversation.

Mr Darcy said nothing, merely watching the proceedings with a slight frown, until at length his civility appeared to be awakened, and he turned to address Elizabeth.

“You are fond of walking, I believe.”

Elizabeth blinked, momentarily startled by his sudden interjection. She noted the faint flush that crept into his cheeks as he added, “You mentioned earlier that you were out walking when the rest of the party left for the town. Do you walk often?”

“I do,” Elizabeth replied evenly, though she could not entirely suppress her curiosity at the turn in the conversation. “I walk most mornings, provided the weather is not too disagreeable.”

Mr Darcy nodded, his expression unreadable. “Is there a particular path you favour?”

Elizabeth felt a brief ripple of surprise but quickly schooled her features into neutrality. “My destination varies with the season and my mood. However, if you are asking for your own amusement, I can recommend Oakham Mount. The view is particularly lovely this time of year.”

Mr Darcy inclined his head in acknowledgement but offered no further comment, leaving Elizabeth to redirect her attention to Mr Bingley.

“And how are you finding Netherfield, sir?” she asked. “I hope you are not regretting your decision to enter the neighbourhood?”

This prompted an animated recitation from Mr Bingley. He enthused about the comfortable appointments of the house, the agreeable situation of the grounds, and the excellence of the stables. Everyone he had met thus far had been unfailingly kind and attentive, and he declared his joy at fully immersing himself in country life.

Elizabeth listened attentively, keeping her expression open and encouraging. When he paused for breath, she said lightly, “I am glad to hear it. I hope we shall have the pleasure of your company at the assembly on Thursday?”

“Indeed you will!” Mr Bingley replied with enthusiasm. “And I hope I might take this opportunity to solicit your hand for the first two dances, if you are not already engaged?”

Elizabeth hesitated for the briefest of moments, her eyes flickering to Mr Darcy. His countenance remained stony, his frown deepening ever so slightly, but she could not fathom what might cause such an expression. Pushing the thought aside, she returned her attention to Mr Bingley and offered him a gracious smile.

“I would be delighted, sir.”

“And Miss Mary,” Mr Bingley continued, turning to her sister with the same geniality, “I hope you will honour me with a dance as well?”

Mary’s eyes widened, her complexion turning a brilliant shade of crimson. She looked as though she might refuse outright, but after an awkward pause, she managed a faint nod.

Mr Bingley beamed, clearly pleased with the arrangements, while Colonel Fitzwilliam opened his mouth as though to extend a similar invitation. However, before he could speak, Mr Darcy abruptly rose, his movements sharp and deliberate.

“I believe we have taken up enough of the ladies’ time,” he declared in a clipped tone.

The suddenness of his action prompted Mr Bingley and the colonel to rise as well, though the latter cast a puzzled glance in his cousin’s direction. Still, Mr Bingley’s spirits were not dampened, and he extended his usual effusive promises.

“It has been a great pleasure to call upon you, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary. I look forward to seeing you both at the assembly.”

Elizabeth and Mary offered their courtesies, though Elizabeth could not suppress her lingering curiosity about Mr Darcy’s strange demeanour. His bow was perfunctory, his expression guarded as he turned to lead his companions from the room.

As the door closed behind them, Elizabeth allowed herself a small sigh of relief. “Well,” she said at last, turning to Mary with a faint smile, “it seems we shall be well acquainted with our new neighbours before long.”

Mary merely nodded, her cheeks still flushed, while the echo of the gentlemen’s departure lingered in the quiet of the parlour.

Darcy spent the remainder of the day in brooding silence.

He never should have agreed to call at Longbourn.

Watching Elizabeth Bennet turn her radiant smile on Bingley had been every bit as torturous as he had imagined, and the mention of a local assembly had been the final blow. The idea of standing on the periphery, watching Bingley dance with Elizabeth—not to mention enduring the ceaseless chatter of Meryton’s fortune hunters—was unthinkable. Thankfully, he had managed to cut their call short before his tenuous self-control had fractured and he had done something irredeemably foolish, like soliciting Elizabeth’s hand for a dance.

Upon their return to Netherfield, Darcy had feigned a headache and retreated to the sanctuary of his chambers. There, he paced restlessly, alternately berating himself for his earlier lapse in judgment and dreading the prospect of dinner. Yet even solitude brought little relief, for his mind relentlessly conjured images of Elizabeth: the graceful curve of her figure as she rose to greet them, the gentle cadence of her voice as she conversed with Bingley, and the sharp intelligence that glimmered in her eyes when she answered his own clumsy questions about walking paths.

He was shaken from his reverie only by the sound of Walsh’s arrival late in the afternoon. Darcy immediately went to greet him, though the encounter was brief; there was no time for more than a quick exchange of pleasantries before they were both obliged to dress for dinner.

By the time Darcy descended to the drawing room at the appointed hour, he felt as though every nerve in his body had been drawn taut. Walsh was already there, standing near the hearth with an expression of affable composure as he acknowledged their hosts. When Darcy entered, however, Walsh’s eyes flicked towards him, and within moments, the man had gravitated to his side, offering a respectful bow of his head.

“Has all been well?” Walsh asked in a low voice.

Darcy gave a curt nod. “Yes, quite. There have been no incidents since your departure.”

“Good,” Walsh replied simply, his sharp gaze lingering on Darcy’s face for a moment, as if weighing the truth of the statement.

Before either man could say more, Miss Bingley’s voice rang out from across the room. “Mr Darcy, Mr Walsh, do let us adjourn to the dining parlour! The soup will not wait.”

Darcy suppressed the desire to roll his eyes as he moved towards the dining room, Walsh falling into step beside him.

“Mr Walsh,” Miss Bingley began, as soon as everyone had been seated, “it is so good of you to join us. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

“Yes, I thank you, madam. Both for your kind words and your hospitality. It is good of you to have me on such short notice.”

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed with a tinkling laugh. “Mr Darcy is practically family, so any acquaintance of his is always welcome. Is that not so, Charles?”

“Certainly,” Bingley replied jovially. “Darcy is doing me a great service coming all this way to advise me. I fear, without his help, I should not know up from down when it comes to the running of an estate.”

“What are your plans for Netherfield?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, taking a swallow of claret before digging into his ragout.

Across from him, Bingley chuckled. “I suppose I must rely upon Darcy to tell me that. Although I have already spoken to the proprietor about making some improvements to the stables. They are quite large, but I believe the roof could do with repairing.”

“The stables? Honestly, Charles!” Miss Bingley interjected, her tone laced with exasperation. “The upstairs sitting room is simply ghastly, and the principal bedchambers look as though they have not been redecorated since the turn of the century. Yet here you sit, fretting over the accommodations for your precious horses. Sometimes I think you care more for ponies than for people.”

“Perhaps I do,” Bingley replied amiably. “I do not recall any of my horses overspending their allowance.” He laughed heartily at that before adding, “Besides, I did not hear you complaining when I purchased that chestnut gelding for you last spring.”

Caroline Bingley turned a deep shade of scarlet, her lips tightening as she muttered something unintelligible under her breath before offering to refill Colonel Fitzwilliam’s glass.

“Mr Darcy,” she continued with forced brightness, “may I pour you some more claret? Oh! But you have not even touched yours. I hope the vintage is to your liking?”

“I am certain it is excellent,” Darcy replied evenly, “but I find I am prone to headaches, which alcohol only exacerbates, so I rarely indulge.”

“Charles!” Miss Bingley cried, turning towards her brother with an indignant scowl. “Why did you not tell me that Mr Darcy does not care for wine?”

“Ah, yes, pray forgive me, Darcy. I am afraid I had quite forgotten. Shall I see whether there is any ale…or…tea?”

“I thank you,” Darcy replied stiffly, “but there is no need to bother anyone. I shall take tea after dinner.”

“Nonsense! You cannot mean to sit through the meal without drinking anything at all!” Miss Bingley pressed, leaning in his direction with an air of theatrical concern.

The back of Darcy’s neck prickled as all eyes turned towards him. He opened his mouth to speak, but Richard intervened with a disarming grin. “You must excuse my cousin his quirks, Miss Bingley. I am afraid it is a family trait. Both my aunt Lady Catherine, and his lordship—that is to say my father, the earl—eschew beverages with meals. However, your excellent wine will not go to waste, as I am more than willing to drink Darcy’s share.”

With that said, Richard drained his glass, holding it out to Miss Bingley, who refilled it with a confused smile before turning her attention to Walsh.

“And you, sir? More wine?”

“I thank you, madam, but I am afraid I must keep a clear head. Darcy and I have some business dealings to discuss later this evening.”

“Business! But you have only just arrived! Surely whatever you have to discuss can wait until tomorrow?”

Darcy shot Walsh a grateful look before replying with practised seriousness, “I am afraid it cannot. We must go over some estate matters so that I might write to my steward first thing tomorrow.”

Across the table, Miss Bingley drew her lips into an exaggerated pout, clearly displeased. “But I was so looking forward to entertaining you all at the pianoforte this evening! Though I would not be at all surprised to learn that the instrument in the drawing room is hopelessly out of tune.”

“Now, Caroline,” Bingley began, exasperation creeping into his tone, “I shall have you know?—”

As Bingley launched into a defence of Netherfield’s furnishings, Darcy leaned closer to Richard, his tone low and reproachful. “What were you on about just now?” he murmured. “You know full well that Lady Catherine never takes a meal without her beloved sherry, and I have personally witnessed his lordship polish off an entire bottle of burgundy before the second remove!”

Richard responded with a mischievous expression. “Yes, but they do not know that. If Miss Bingley believes abstinence to be fashionable, she is far less likely to pester you. I shall be surprised if we see another bottle of wine on the table for the remainder of our stay.”

With a barely concealed sigh, Darcy cast his cousin a look of exasperation as Richard took another leisurely sip of claret.

Turning his attention back to the conversation at large, he was just in time to hear Miss Bingley say in plaintive tones, “Well, I do hope you will both make some time for amusements while you are here. I know how fond Mr Darcy is of music.”

Darcy forbore to answer, leaving Bingley to jump into the breach with his usual enthusiasm.

“I, for one, intend to take advantage of all the diversions the neighbourhood has to offer! In fact, we learned earlier today that there is to be a local assembly on Thursday, which should provide an excellent opportunity to become better acquainted with our new neighbours.”

“Oh, Charles, really,” Miss Bingley replied with a faint sneer. “I shudder to think what might pass for an assembly in a place like this.”

Bingley bristled, his amiable demeanour hardening ever so slightly. “I am sure I do not know what you mean. I have found everyone I have met so far to be exceedingly pleasant. In any case, you may do as you wish, but I shall certainly attend. In fact, I have already secured Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s hand for the first set.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been following the conversation with a trace of amusement, raised his glass with a rakish grin. “Hear, hear! To local assemblies!”

Miss Bingley’s gaze widened, and a small crease formed between her brows. Although she was clearly unwilling to contradict the son of an earl, even one serving as a commissioned officer in His Majesty’s Army, she remained resolutely unmoved. Turning instead to Darcy, she said, “I can no doubt guess your feelings on the matter, sir. I do not imagine you would wish to pass an evening in such company.”

In truth, Darcy had every intention of declining. With very few exceptions, he avoided large gatherings at all costs, and a crowded, overheated assembly room in a provincial town was the last place on earth he wished to find himself. While he had narrowly escaped disaster at Lady Copley’s ball, he had no desire to tempt fate.

But to his consternation, he found himself fixing the lady with a level gaze and replying coolly, “You are quite mistaken, madam. It will be my honour to attend.”

Miss Bingley let out a startled gasp, her carefully arranged composure faltering for a moment. Across the table, Darcy caught the subtle shift in Walsh’s expression and the unmistakable twinkle of amusement in Richard’s eyes.

“Then we shall all go,” the colonel supplied cheerfully. “I dare say it will be an exhilarating evening.”

Darcy felt the weight of his cousin’s unspoken jest, but he kept his expression impassive. Whatever the consequences, he could not deny that the prospect of seeing Elizabeth Bennet again—even in so unlikely a setting—was proving impossible to resist.