Page 7

CHAPTER 7

E very gentleman within a reasonable riding distance of Meryton met on Wednesday afternoons to play chess, exchange news and opinions, debate politics, and eat and drink without the supervision or disapproval of their wives and mothers. These meetings lasted well into the night and were very well attended, according to my source of information, Sir William Lucas.

The Golden Lion was too grand a name to describe the establishment designated to house these important weekly meetings, but the inn was clean and the innkeeper was affable. He motioned over his shoulder toward a hallway that led to the private parlors. “Just follow your ears to the gentlemen. Will it be wine or ale… or something a little less common for you, sir?”

I rarely imbibed when I was in social groups, preferring to keep full control of my faculties, but if I wished to win the favor of Meryton’s finest, it was necessary to join them. One drink might be sufficient. “I will have whatever the other gentlemen are having.”

“Ale it is, then. I’ll bring it in shortly.”

Nodding my thanks, I continued down the hall, following the boisterous sounds of lively discourse to the first door on the left.

A dozen gentlemen had convened in clusters, newspapers strewn about between ale tankards and plates of roast beef, rolls, and butter. All fell silent when I entered the room. Bingley’s mouth dropped open.

My inclination was to take affront at their bewilderment, but Mrs. Bennet’s voice whispered at my shoulder like a conscience. Given the silence in the room, she was not the only one to think poorly of me.

Right on cue, the innkeeper arrived with my ale. Taking it from him, I held it up to the group, asked him to bring in another round, and took a sip of the beverage. It tasted better than I expected. By the time I lowered the pewter from my lips, Bingley had found his tongue, and the appreciative landowners were welcoming me heartily to their pack. I joined Bingley’s group, taking great care to greet everyone and exchange a few pleasant words.

The men had as much gossip to exchange as the ladies did after the Netherfield ball, although I heard nary a comment about coiffures (other than the occasional jab at each other’s lack of hair) or the fineries worn. What was fashion to horses, hounds, and pheasant hunting?

Having nothing further to say on those subjects, the weather, or the roads, I sought Sir William Lucas, whom I knew to be capable of carrying on a conversation without my participation. His eldest son sat beside him, full of pride over his prized purchase from Tattersalls. An invitation to inspect and admire his recently acquired stallion followed. With neither a reason to refuse nor the heart to dampen his enthusiasm, I accepted and agreed to call at Lucas Lodge on the morrow.

After a few hours, another tankard of excellent ale, and several games of darts, it was drawing close to the dinner hour. Having arrived last, I decided it best not to be among the first to depart, so I remained behind and waited for Bingley to bid his farewells. He was in no hurry, though. It became increasingly difficult to hide my desire to stand by the window and observe the occupants of the room in contemplative silence without adding to my reputation of arrogant aloofness.

I slid nearer to Bingley, hoping my presence might inspire in him a desire to return to his home. Even Sir William and his son had decided it was time to go. I smiled and bowed at their departure, curious to see on the morrow how much John Lucas’s claims about his stallion were true. The thought led me to the perfect solution, and I addressed my friend. “Did you not tell me there was a horse at the Meryton stables that had caught your eye?”

Bingley bolted upright and out of his chair. “I had forgotten!” He scratched his head and turned to me. “Do you suppose it is too dark to have a look?”

“At the least, you could make arrangements to inspect the horse on the morrow in the daylight.”

“It is a good plan. Let us go directly before I forget again.”

We bowed our leave and finally reached the hall, only to find Sir William and his son on either side of Mr. Collins, who looked more somber than usual.

Already knowing the cause of his distress, I sought to quietly slip by him.

However, upon spotting me and Bingley, Sir William begged us to join them. He rested his hand on Mr. Collins’s shoulder. “What ails you, dear fellow? You look as though your favorite horse ran off.”

The clergyman sighed deeply. “My esteemed patroness charged me with an important mission here, and I have failed her.”

His dismay over Lady Catherine’s disapproval far eclipsed any personal heartache he might have suffered over the lady who had refused him. I could only imagine how he had framed his proposal; my aunt must have featured prominently in his speech. No wonder Elizabeth refused! If Mr. Collins’s purpose in life was to please my aunt, he was doomed to a life of misery. She disapproved of everyone and everything. While I genuinely pitied him for the life of frustration to which he was bound, I could not help but be grateful Elizabeth refused to share it with him.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “I do not know how I shall return to my parish bearing the burden of this dreadful news.”

Sir William, not knowing my aunt or her tendency to dictate other people’s lives, motioned for a drink to be brought for his new friend. “What is this? If there is any way I might assist you, I assure you that I am at your disposal, sir.”

What Mr. Collins relayed was only sufficient to provide some clarity to the others regarding what had occurred, as he, understandably, would not wish to expose the extent of his humiliation.

Nor did Sir William allow him to continue once the source of the clergyman’s distress had been grasped. “Refused, you say?” he gasped, one hand rubbing his chin pensively. “My good fellow, I take it you have quit Longbourn? Where are you staying presently?”

“I have taken a room here for the night. I intend to rehearse my reason for returning unbetrothed to Lady Catherine.”

Sir William draped his arm over his shoulders. “A man of the cloth staying at a public inn? As fine an establishment as this is, it pains me to hear it! I would be happy to welcome you as my guest at Lucas Lodge, sir. Who knows… perhaps we might come to an… arrangement… to assuage your patroness’s wish? My eldest daughter is known to be a sensible creature. She would do any gentleman credit.”

This prospect cheered Mr. Collins greatly, again proving his pride had suffered far more injury than his heart. Eager to pursue his goal—or rather, Lady Catherine’s—he went to settle accounts with the innkeeper.

Mr. Lucas clapped his father on the back. “Well done, Papa! Charlotte will be pleased.”

I was at a loss to understand how any lady would be pleased to receive a proposal so soon after the man had made an offer to another. Did Collins possess no romantic inclination at all?

As though sensing my doubt, Sir William nodded at me. “My Charlotte is not romantic. She is practical and will act sensibly. I dare anyone to find fault in her steady character.” He jabbed me in the arm, leaning in. “I am aware Her Ladyship is your aunt. Pray inform her of my presentation at St. James’s. It should predispose her toward my Charlotte.”

In the face of his certainty that his daughter would accept a marriage proposal not yet offered, I promised what I could. “If Mr. Collins makes an offer and Miss Lucas accepts, I will make a point to speak favorably of her to my aunt.” Indeed, I thought highly of Miss Lucas?much higher than I did of my aunt’s choice of rector. It was difficult to believe a man such as Mr. Collins was capable of inspiring tender emotion in any woman, or even respect.

What would Elizabeth think of such a match? Would she seek to dissuade her friend, as I would have tried to dissuade Bingley had I not been locked in the library at the ball? I suspected so. She would see it as her duty as a good friend, just as I would.

And I would have been wrong. Perhaps Elizabeth would also be wrong to advise Miss Lucas. Unlike Bingley, however, her friend had a more decisive character. If she wished to marry and held no romantic expectations, she could do far worse than to accept Mr. Collins. He had a home and a gentlemanly profession that would provide for them well. If she managed her husband and circumstances wisely, she could live comfortably. In that regard, her happiness was entirely in her control.

What had seemed distasteful at first became rational the more I thought about it, though I doubted Elizabeth would find anything to recommend the match. She would never be satisfied with such an arrangement, and she would not understand how her close friend could be content with her choice.

Sir William chuckled and rubbed his hands together. “Oh, but Mrs. Bennet will be vexed! I would love to see her face when she hears the news!” A devilish grin spread over his jolly face. “I shall allow my wife the privilege of calling to share in our joy.”

His son cackled. “We ought to thank Miss Lizzy for refusing the poor man!”

“Such are the consequences of encouraging extensive reading.” Sir William shook his head. “Miss Lizzy always has her nose in a book. She is lively company, though. Never a dull moment when she is in the room.”

Those were some of the very qualities in the lady that I most admired. She was not content to live in ignorance or accept the views of others without examining them. Granted, she was blind to false charm, but I could not fault her for that. Wickham had spent his lifetime perfecting the art of deception. He had fooled my own father for years.

Bingley and I departed before Mr. Collins returned from collecting his belongings. Darkness would soon make the return to Netherfield more difficult, but Bingley insisted that, if we did not stop at the stables just then, he would likely forget on the morrow.

He was likeably persuasive, and the owner of the stables was obliging. They arranged for the horse to be brought early on the morrow to Netherfield Park, where Bingley and his groom might examine him at their leisure and run him through his paces.

As Bingley was more inclined to purchase the horse than not, I said nothing about the overly generous arrangement. Instead, I took to inspecting the horse as quickly and thoroughly as I could in the dimming light for obvious injuries the owner’s groom might later accuse my trusting friend of inflicting. Bingley would never think of being taken advantage of in such a manner, as he always thought the best of people.

The groom watched me and nodded knowingly. “You are cautious for your friend, sir. It is fair. Allow me to assure you the horse is sound as of this moment.”

I nodded, still skeptical but more inclined to believe him honest.

To Bingley, he added, “He is a touch flighty, but you do not strike me as a man who is easily unseated.”

Bingley chuckled and stroked his hand down the horse’s neck. “I hope not!”

The stable boy set down his wheelbarrow. “He won’t hang around if you end up on your backside in the mud.”

His employer shushed him with a look. “That is no business of yours, lad.” He nodded at the horse. “He is right, though. This one is not likely to stand around waiting for you to get off the ground. He’ll find his way back here, where we’ll see to his needs and keep him for you. No doubt, though, if you choose to buy him, he’ll get so comfortable at Netherfield that he will soon forget this place.”

The following day, the horse was delivered and received the approval of both Bingley’s groom and mine. I donned my brushed riding coat and polished boots to meet my friend out in the stables and test the newly arrived gelding.

My groom met me at my horse’s stall, twisting his hat in his hands. “He’s off his feed this morning, Mr. Darcy. Seems sound in every other respect, but I should keep an eye on him.”

“You are welcome to my horse,” offered Bingley, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Turning to the stable boy laying fresh straw, he said, “Have the new horse saddled for Mr. Darcy.”

“The horse from Meryton? Would you not rather ride him yourself?” I asked.

Bingley shoved his hand through his hair. “I have a great deal too much on my mind to give examination of the horse my full attention.”

His uncharacteristic response concerned me. Bingley never had too much on his mind. He had the special talent to live from moment to moment and see the silver lining in every cloud. It was a cheerful way to live, if not oftentimes impractical.

When I continued to regard him with a questioning gaze, he shoved his hand through his hair again and came perilously close to scowling. “Louisa and Caroline believe a match between me and Miss Bennet would be disastrous.”

This was no surprise to me. However, I wondered whether his attachment to Miss Bennet was strong enough to withstand the disapproval of his sisters. “Do you agree?”

“How can I? Miss Bennet is the daughter of a gentleman. Her position is superior to mine! The advantage is all mine.”

His sisters would disagree… vehemently. They would accuse her of marrying Bingley for his fortune. To have any chance of standing up to them, he would do well to prepare a rebuttal. “What of her lack of fortune?”

He scoffed. “What is the benefit of possessing a fortune if it does not provide the freedom to select a wife who looks at me the way she does? I would not want a wife who prefers wealth more than my company, so why would I do the same?”

His reasoning was solid. Had the Bennets been moved by fortune, they would have sunk their claws into me at the first opportunity. I had expected it, but they had rejected me both times the occasion had presented itself. The Bennets might be many things, but they certainly were not afflicted with avarice.

A shadow fell over the pavers, and I turned to see a maid bob a curtsy. “My apologies, Mr. Bingley, but I am sent by Mrs. Hurst to fetch you. She begs you to return to the house immediately.”

Bingley stepped toward her. “What has happened?”

The maid hesitated. “Apparently, Mr. Hurst is unwell. He will not eat his breakfast.”

He and my horse both. Like my horse, Hurst never missed a meal. Perhaps he truly was unwell, but I doubted it.

Bingley sighed and frowned. “I will be in directly.”

Once she had retreated a fair distance, he mumbled, “They are trying to prevent me from calling at Longbourn. I told them I would be going to Lucas Lodge to look at a horse?—.”

“You would have stopped at Longbourn before you returned.”

“Of course I would have! But I did not tell them that!” He took his gloves out of his pocket and smacked them against his hand. “Very well. I will do as they bid and send for the apothecary or the surgeon as necessary, but I still wish you would ride the new horse. He is already saddled and looks eager to go.”

This change of plans would have prevented me from calling on my own at Lucas Lodge had Mrs. Bennet’s poor opinion of me not circulated in my mind.

With no other option but to continue as originally planned, I first focused my attention on Bingley’s prospective acquisition. I ran him through his paces, noting his response to my commands. He was quick, if a touch flighty, just as the stable owner had said. The gelding would require a steady hand.

Once I sensed his jitters had subsided and I had no other excuse to delay, I directed his steps to Lucas Lodge. Here I was, making a call I would rather not make on a horse I would rather not be riding, and for what? To appease a woman whose opinion ought to signify nothing to me.

A thick raindrop plunked against my hat and rolled off the brim. The sky rumbled and cracked, and the gelding shied to the side. I calmed him and glanced at the clouds, grateful to be just a mile or so from Lucas Lodge and shelter. I had not covered half a mile when it began to rain in earnest and became foggy. I nudged the horse faster, tucking my chin under the collar of my greatcoat.

Ahead and to the left of the footpath upon which I rode, a figure emerged. A woman. She was running toward me along the hillside, away from Lucas Lodge. I urged the horse to hurry, intending to get to her before she became ill in the heavy rain or got lost in the fog.

Suddenly, her arms flailed upward. A second later, she disappeared.

By the time I reached her, she was lying in a motionless heap at the bottom of the hill. I dismounted and looked about for something on which to tie the flighty mount’s reins. When there was nothing to be found, I had no choice but to hang onto them. Praying nothing would spook the gelding until I had a firmer grasp on his reins, I dropped to the lady’s side.

She clutched her ankle and groaned, and my heart stopped.