Page 3

CHAPTER TWO

NETHERFIELD PARK

Darcy

F eeling slightly abused—well, to be honest, I was feeling horribly ill-used—I strove to get on with the business at hand.

I had come to Hertfordshire to help Charles with his first estate, albeit a leased one, and to give him a rudimentary education on what is expected should he indeed purchase a property.

Mr Hurst only roused himself to shoot birds or to sit down to a meal, and our mornings were consequently spent hunting.

The afternoons were taken up with the steward, surveys of the land, casual meetings with tenant farmers, and a frustrating attempt on my part to capture Bingley’s attention.

“If you purchase this place, Charles, you will have to do something about the home farm.”

“Hmm?”

“It is in a deplorable state. Did you not remark in what an outdated way the harvest is planned?”

“Oh…well. I suppose. Is it? What do you recommend?”

As we trudged along, I became more irritable by the minute. Finally, I blurted out what I was thinking. “Let us suspend our conference for now, Bingley. Your mind is not even in the room.”

“What? Oh. I suppose not. I say, Darcy, I have accepted an invitation to dine with the officers tomorrow afternoon.”

“What officers?”

“Colonel Forster and his lieutenants. The militia is encamped outside Meryton for the winter. You and Hurst will join me, will you not?”

I could hardly stay back and read in front of the fire. With such a temptation as my fortune, Caroline Bingley would find a way of falling into my lap in a theatrical swoon, and her equally calculating sister would find a way of being nowhere to be seen until she burst in upon our embrace .

While inwardly tallying the number of days remaining in my holiday, I agreed to go along, but the next morning I found myself unequal to another moment sitting attendance on Bingley’s family.

Nor did I seek out the vixen from Longbourn.

She was too sly for me by half. Instead, I called for my horse and turned up the road away from Meryton, heading for a hill the residents called Oakham.

Along the way I thought of my sister. I should not have been in Hertfordshire at all.

In truth, I was avoiding Georgiana because I was at a loss with regards to the inner workings of a girl of sixteen.

Her life had been almost completely ruined, having been nearly seduced into a disastrous elopement by a fortune hunter.

Time, I hoped, would do for her what I could not.

Perfectly caught up in this unhappy train of thought, I topped the rise and startled a young lady sitting alone on a fallen log overlooking the valley that spread out like a cottager’s quilt in shades of gold and red.

“Mr Darcy!”

“Miss Bennet!”

We were equally surprised and uncomfortable. To meet alone in this way was not without its risks. As one we looked at the road behind me to make sure we had not been caught.

“Few people come here, sir,” she said as she looked at me as though she expected me to bid her good day and continue down to the other side of the hill.

Perhaps it was only the shaded nature of my own thoughts that morning that led me to notice her shadowed eyes and a demure quality to her posture that I had not yet seen.

Something troubled her, and at once I was on the ground and tethering my horse to a sapling near the verge.

“But where is your fire this morning, Miss Bennet? You normally do not greet me with such reluctance. Are you not eager to put me in my place today?” I spoke with the intention of goading her, of rousing her to resume our flirtation.

She mustered a half smile and floundered for a reply. “Ah well,” she said weakly, “you have caught me in a rare moment of self-doubt. Do your worst, Mr Darcy, and snub me creditably.”

Her vulnerability alarmed me. “I shall do so, certainly, but first you must tell me what ails you. Are you ill?”

She chuckled softly. “Yes. Yes, I am so ill I have walked two miles up this mountain.”

“Very well,” I said reasonably, but in truth I was slightly nettled. “Do not tell me what has robbed you of your spark. I shall take my leave of you, Miss Bennet.” I said this without any intention of going away and it worked predictably.

“You are not in spirits yourself,” she said in an almost biting tone. “Shall I pry and ask you if you are ill? Do you have a headache? Are your affairs in disarray? Has your family caused you vexation?”

Her last remark was near enough to the truth, and I sucked in my breath involuntarily. “Very well. Gloves off, I take it? As a matter of fact, my life is not all comfort and ease.”

“You surprise me. I had thought that having the ready means to do almost anything in the world, to be secure, and to have the freedom that you surely have, would be sufficient to deflect almost every difficulty.”

She was dangerously close to provoking me in earnest, and I said in all seriousness, “You are not alone. I have troubles too, Miss Bennet.”

I would have turned to go then, but she averted her gaze very sharply, and I suspected she was swallowing tears. I held my breath.

“You may as well know because you will learn it soon enough. You are to dine with the officers this evening, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Mr Bingley’s sisters have invited my sister Jane to dine with them while you are away.”

“Oh? And how is this a matter that requires you to seek the solace of Oakham Mount?”

Her hesitation alarmed me, and I took a step towards her.

“My mother has insisted that Jane ride to Netherfield this afternoon, although those clouds coming from the east will surely bring on a hard rain.”

“Can she not take the carriage?”

“My mother forbids it, and my father only laughs.” In response to my frown of confusion she added, “Mama hopes it will rain and force my sister to stay the night.”

“To catch Bingley,” I said. My tone was now grim. I despise a fortune hunter.

Elizabeth Bennet protested a little sharply at the implication of my displeasure. “To attach him certainly is my mother’s aim, but Jane would never participate in any sort of compromise, I assure you.”

I looked out at the bank of clouds that had caused Elizabeth such dismay. “We had better turn back if we are not to be soaked ourselves. May I walk with you?”

“You need not be obliged, Mr Darcy. I am a strong walker and go everywhere alone.”

“Surely that does not preclude the reasonableness of my company. I must travel the same road after all, and I detest riding away from a lady who must cough in my dust.”

We walked along for about half a mile in silence. She is indeed a strong walker. I never once felt compelled to adjust my stride.

“Is your mother truly so determined to find husbands for her daughters?” I asked.

“Our estate is a two-thousand a year affair, entailed upon a cousin we have never met.”

“Ah.”

“Ah, indeed. There are no dowries to speak of for my sisters and me. My mother believes she will outlive Papa and end her days in the hedgerows.”

I deplore hyperbole. “Perhaps not the hedgerows.”

“No, of course not. But she will no longer be the mistress of a property, nor will she have the luxuries she is used to or have the standing upon which she relies to feel comfortable. My father, bless him, certainly does nothing to support her feelings of self-worth.”

“Is it really so very bad?”

“I believe it is. However, I cannot imagine Jane shrinking into ignoble spinsterhood. She is too beautiful…too good. Someone will love her, and I shall not repine for the rest of us. We will do, I assure you.”

“I do not doubt it,” I said, angling a pointed look at her.

“No,” she said crossly. “Do not infer upon me some quality of stoutheartedness, Mr Darcy. I am not the admirable sort. If the worst comes to pass, I shall weather it well only because I am stubborn.”

I smiled at her. “That I do not doubt. But what time will your sister leave for Netherfield?”

“Within the hour, I think.”

“Then I have time. If you will excuse me.” I pulled forward my horse and stepped into the stirrup. I tipped my hat and left the lady on the road choking in my dust.