Page 2

Darcy

London

T he drawing room in Matlock House, Lord Matlock’s Mayfair townhouse, was crowded, despite it being Wednesday evening. Fitzwilliam Darcy shifted in his seat, the collar that had fit perfectly at his valet’s inspection now seemed to tighten with each passing minute.

“Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?”

Lady Eleanor Hayward leaned towards him, her fan fluttering. Her countenance, though undeniably handsome, failed to stir any particular sentiment within him beyond polite appreciation.

“I beg your pardon?” Darcy replied.

The corners of Lady Eleanor’s mouth lifted in that particular way he had observed in a dozen ballrooms, just enough to signal pleasure at his attention, but not enough to suggest she felt any.

“I was remarking upon Lady Jersey’s ball last week.

The musical entertainment was far superior to that at Almack’s, would you not say? ”

“Indeed,” Darcy offered, though he scarcely recalled the musicians at either event. “Most diverting.”

“One can always rely upon Lady Jersey to secure the finest performers,” Lady Eleanor continued. “Though I confess, I find the crush at such gatherings rather tiresome. So many people of questionable connection gain admittance these days.”

Darcy made a noncommittal sound, glancing across the room to where his aunt, Lady Matlock, observed their conversation with unconcealed interest. Her meaningful glances between himself and Lady Eleanor left little doubt as to her intentions for the evening.

The dinner gong sounded, providing momentary reprieve from the tedium of conversation.

As the party proceeded towards the dining room, Darcy found himself guided to Lady Eleanor’s side, their places at table conveniently adjacent.

Lady Matlock’s orchestration could not have been more transparent had she declared her scheme from the rooftops of Mayfair.

From soup to dessert, Darcy discharged his social obligations. Yet his attention drifted further with every course, as Lady Eleanor recounted her musical accomplishments with self-satisfaction.

“My new pianoforte has the most exquisite tone,” she trilled. “Mr Stratham says my touch improves daily—though of course, he is too generous by half.”

“Miss Hayward’s musical talents are unparalleled,” proclaimed Lord Morton, Lady Eleanor’s father. “She practises for hours each day without fail.”

“Such dedication is to be commended,” Darcy replied, though inwardly he could not help but contrast her rigid routine with his sister Georgiana’s spontaneous affection for music. Georgiana needed no urging to practise; she played out of joy, not obligation.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh, seated at the opposite end of the table, raised her voice to be heard by all. “Accomplishments in a young lady are essential, but they must be pursued with proper method. I have always maintained that natural talent, without rigorous application, is of little consequence.”

The company murmured agreement. Darcy observed the satisfaction on his relations’ faces as they watched his engagement with Lady Eleanor proceed.

When the ladies withdrew after dinner, Darcy remained with the gentlemen only long enough to satisfy propriety before making his excuses.

“Estate business requires my attention,” he told Lord Matlock, who received the statement with barely concealed disappointment. “There is correspondence I must attend to this evening.”

“Surely it can wait until morning,” his uncle protested. “Lady Eleanor expressed eagerness to hear more of Pemberley’s famous grounds.”

“Another time, perhaps,” Darcy replied. “Pray make my apologies to the ladies.”

He departed with a sense of relief, instructing his coachman not to return to his townhouse but to proceed instead towards Brooks’s Club, where he might enjoy more congenial company.

***

The heavy oak door of Brooks’s closed behind Darcy, shutting out the bustle of St James’s Street.

Within, the air was heavy with the scent of cigar smoke, mingled with brandy, leather, and beeswax polish.

Darcy scanned the room and allowed a rare smile to touch his lips upon spotting a familiar figure.

Charles Bingley sat alone in a corner, a glass of brandy before him, his usually cheerful expression shadowed. At Darcy’s approach, however, his face brightened.

“Darcy! What good fortune. I had thought to spend the evening in solitude.” He gestured to the empty chair opposite. “Join me.”

Darcy signalled for brandy and took the offered seat. “I did not expect to find you here. Were you not to dine with the Rochester’s?”

“That was the plan, yes.” Bingley’s smile faltered. “But it appears Miss Rochester has formed an attachment to a captain in the militia. Her grandfather made it clear my attentions are no longer welcomed.”

“I see.” Darcy accepted his brandy from the servant. “You seem to bear the disappointment with admirable calm.”

“What would you have me do?” Bingley shrugged, his good humour gradually returning. “Miss Rochester was pleasant enough, but I confess I felt no particular attachment. My sisters will be relieved—they found her connections wanting.”

Darcy took a measured sip, the warmth of the liquor easing the stiffness of the evening. “And what now? Do you intend to remain in Town for the Season?”

“No, I think not.” Bingley leaned forward, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I’ve rented an estate in Hertfordshire—Netherfield Park. A fine property with excellent prospects. The agent assures me the land is fertile, the house commodious, and the hunting respectable.”

“Hertfordshire,” Darcy repeated, considering its proximity to London. “When do you take possession?”

“Staff have already been sent to prepare the house. I shall follow within the fortnight.” He hesitated. “I had hoped you might accompany me. Caroline and Louisa will be there, of course, and Hurst by extension—but your knowledge of estate matters would be invaluable.”

Darcy considered. The prospect of escaping London—and his family’s matrimonial ambitions—held undeniable appeal.

“The local society will be limited, I imagine.”

“On the contrary,” Bingley grinned, “the nearest village—Meryton—boasts several genteel families, according to the agent. There may even be some country girls for us to dance with. A change of scenery might do us both good.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Your pursuit of Miss Rochester has ended abruptly, and already you contemplate new introductions.”

“Not all of us approach matrimony with your degree of caution, Darcy,” Bingley retorted. “Indeed, one might wonder whether you mean to marry at all.”

The question struck closer to the heart of Darcy’s current unrest than Bingley could know. He set down his glass, choosing his reply carefully.

“Marriage, as an institution, holds little appeal,” he said at last. “Too many unhappy alliances are formed for advantage rather than affection.”

“Surely your parents’ marriage was not of that kind?”

Darcy’s expression cooled. “My father held my mother in high esteem. She fulfilled her duties as mistress of Pemberley admirably. Theirs was a rare example of a happy outcome. As for me, my family increase their efforts to see me settled,” he continued, his voice low.

“Since Anne’s marriage to Fitzroy’s son, Lady Catherine has turned her full attention to me—and to Lady Eleanor Hayward. ”

“Ah, I wondered at your expression upon arrival. Was this evening especially trying?”

“A dinner arranged with transparent purpose,” Darcy confirmed. “My uncle and aunt Matlock have allied themselves with Lady Catherine. They believe Lady Eleanor an appropriate match—her lineage is unimpeachable, her dowry generous, her accomplishments many.”

“Yet you remain unmoved.”

“She lacks… spirit,” Darcy said after a pause. “She would satisfy society as Pemberley’s mistress, but I find no pleasure in her company.”

Bingley regarded him gravely. “You need not marry where your heart does not lead you. Your position affords you that liberty.”

“My position creates the pressure,” Darcy said. “The Darcy name must continue. Pemberley requires an heir.”

“But surely not at the expense of your happiness?”

Darcy glanced down at the amber swirl in his glass. “Perhaps happiness in marriage is a luxury few can afford.”

“You sound like an old man already,” Bingley laughed, though his tone remained earnest. “Listen to me, Darcy. I may lack your fortune and consequence, but I know this much—I shall marry only where I can both love and respect my wife. You deserve no less.”

Darcy inclined his head, quietly grateful for the honesty. “Your counsel is well taken, though not easily acted upon—especially under Lady Catherine’s siege.”

“All the more reason to retreat to Hertfordshire,” Bingley urged. “Put distance between yourself and their schemes. Give yourself time to consider what you truly want.”

“You make a compelling case,” Darcy admitted. “Very well. I shall accompany you to Netherfield. But I warn you—I’ve no intention of dancing with every country miss who crosses my path.”

Bingley’s face lit up. “Excellent! And I would never presume to dictate your partners. Still, I maintain that a lively country assembly may be the very antidote to Town’s pretensions.”

Conversation flowed more easily now, anchored by good humour and brandy. As the hour advanced, the rigid weight Darcy had carried all evening began to loosen. Hertfordshire. It might be the very thing—a reprieve from interference, a place to think clearly, and space to choose his own future.