Page 18 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Elizabeth left Longbourn balancing a tumult of anger, frustration, confusion, and worry, but now found a haven in this happy household of well-behaved children and her warm-hearted uncle and aunt.

At Longbourn, she had been absorbed in concerns about her father’s health, Mr Darcy’s past conduct, and his current behaviour.

She would not, she decided, confide her upset to Jane; she needed a bit of relief, and being here with her most beloved sister was that which could calm her spirits.

Jane appeared far happier than Elizabeth had seen her in some time, and the reason was more than the comfort of residing with their favourite, and most content, relations.

It was her new acquaintance, and caller, who was the source of such delight. Since delivering letters from Longbourn, Mr Bingley had called at Gracechurch Street three times and would come for dinner on his final evening in town.

“Your letters, dear sister, have been frightfully dull,” Jane said with some exasperation. “Counting grapes!”

“Nothing can compare to your joy. Playing with the children, kissing the baby, strolling in the park, entertaining Mr Bingley…” Elizabeth trailed off, smiling smugly at the blush spreading over her sister’s cheeks.

“Oh Lizzy, you wrote in your letters that he was a kind and handsome gentleman, but you did not describe how kind and how handsome. He says he will call on me when we return to Longbourn?—”

There it is then. My sister’s future is settled.

How wonderfully and quickly these two had discovered their mutual felicity.

How deep and true it ran she could not be certain, but Jane deserved the kindest, gentlest sort of husband, and Mr Bingley had never appeared as anything but sincere.

He might deserve even the most wonderful?—

“—along with his friend Mr Darcy.”

Her smile faded quickly. Mr Darcy. Though she had counselled him to stay and keep her father company, she could not help but wish he might soon return to his own life and cease muddling hers.

The life he needed to repair, the estates he needed to tend, or sell off, perhaps?

He was an unsettling sort of man, making her feel an intruder in her father’s book room.

Making her feel defensive of a man she barely knew.

Making her feel that he watched her for his own amusement and judged her wanting.

Their last meeting had found him laconic, and she suspected him of keeping secrets from her.

She had wanted to provoke him, wanted him to reveal the source of her father’s upset and tell her why he spent so much time at Longbourn.

“Lizzy,” her aunt said, “Jane is not acquainted with Mr Bingley’s friend but you have met him. Is this Mr Darcy of Derbyshire and Pemberley?”

“I believe so. I have heard mention of Pemberley. Is it so far north?”

“It is but five miles from Lambton, where I lived as a girl. A very large and impressive estate, and the Darcys were a fine family. What can you tell me of this young Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth would have preferred to ask her own questions, but after a sip of tea, she managed a detailed reply. “He is tall, rides often, speaks less, and spends much of his time with my father discussing books or playing chess.”

“You have a made a study of him.”

“No, Aunt. He is, simply put, always there.”

“Is that so?” Mrs Gardiner looked at her with interest.

“Always with my father in the book room, talking or playing chess or backgammon. Or with him on a horse, looking at drainage. Or off shooting!”

“With Papa?” Jane’s face bore an expression of incredulity.

“Yes. It is so odd,” Elizabeth said, pleased to have an eager audience. “Other than Uncle Gardiner, Uncle Philips, and Sir William Lucas, Papa has never had a friend, to my knowledge, who was not his neighbour or relation. But Mr Darcy offers him a companionship with common interest and intellect.”

“Mr Bingley did mention something of a shooting party, and how he enjoys my father’s company, but he was...we were...we were speaking of many things.” A blush spread across Jane’s cheeks.

“Were you?” Elizabeth bit back a laugh before feeling her aunt’s gaze on her.

“It is a kindness to show so much condescension for your family when he has his own estates and concerns to manage.”

Or perhaps he has less interest in his own concerns than he should . Elizabeth bit her tongue as her aunt continued.

“Your father has made a friend in Mr Darcy,” said Mrs Gardiner in a gently scolding voice.

“It is a rare thing to make a new friend when a man is as set in his ways and as immersed in solitary habits as your father. You should be pleased for him, Lizzy, unless you feel that Mr Darcy has supplanted you in the book room?”

Weighing emotional honesty against polite enthusiasm, Elizabeth shrugged. “I missed Jane. I was likely less patient with an intruder into the one place at home I had always found welcome.”

Her aunt nodded. “Well, now that you are here with Jane, your spirits are better, and your father and Mr Darcy can be in company without offending you.”

Elizabeth’s blush of embarrassment did not escape her sister’s notice. “It is, perhaps, an unusual friendship,” said Jane. “Mr Darcy is a young man of large fortune, leaving his company to come sit with my father.”

“Perhaps not so unusual.”

Elizabeth turned eagerly to hear her aunt’s explanation.

“His father was a good and benevolent man and all kindness to the tenants.

His mother, who preferred London, died a few months before I met Mr Gardiner.

Mr Darcy could scarce have been out of university when his father died some six or seven years later.

He became master of Pemberley and guardian to his sister, and I have heard naught but kind words of him from the family I still have in Lambton.

“So you see, he may enjoy your father’s company as he would a father’s.” Mrs Gardiner reached for her needlework. “’Tis a shame about his wife,” she said.

His hostess at Netherfield was displeased with Darcy’s announcement that he would follow her brother to London to attend to his own business dealings.

But after a brief reminder to Miss Bingley that she had other houseguests to entertain—Hurst’s mother, sister, and brother-in-law had lately arrived, and her own brother was due to return within the week—Darcy rode off in the direction of Longbourn.

Longbourn. Weeks ago, he had gone there for learned company and a well-played chessboard, but by the time of his third visit, he could no longer deny that much of the incentive driving him there was Elizabeth.

No sedentary activity for her. She moved around the room, watching them play; even if she sat, her eyes were busy, following a conversation or a game, their sparkle betraying her thoughts, her lips often curled in amusement or exasperation.

She was gone now to London, and he was to follow.

Not to see her, of course, although he likely would carry letters to her.

He wondered what activities she and her sister, the legendary beauty, might engage in with their young cousins. How often was Bingley calling at Gracechurch Street?

When he was announced at Longbourn, Mrs Bennet descended on him, her hands aflutter, clearly restraining herself from grabbing his sleeve, and steered him into the small parlour.

Darcy, though not unaccustomed to ladies trying to pull him into dark corners and empty rooms, was nevertheless startled by her actions.

“Yes, madam,” he said formally, keeping one eye on the door.

“Mr Darcy, I am not a woman accustomed to importuning gentlemen, but with Jane and Lizzy gone to London, I am alone at Longbourn except for my youngest daughters and Mr Bennet.”

“Indeed. Is there a matter of business with which I can assist you?”

“Sir, you have been a frequent visitor to Mr Bennet’s book room these many weeks. I daresay you have been more in his company than have I,” she cried.

“I apologise if I have monopolised Mr Bennet’s attention.”

“You misunderstand. He tells me nothing, but as the mother of five girls, I must know of your intentions. Do you call here only for Mr Bennet’s company or do you desire to further your acquaintance with one of my daughters?”

“Madam, I am not?—”

Suddenly her voice lowered to a whisper. “Is Mr Bennet well? He is pale and growing thinner. His handkerchiefs go missing, he does not eat, I hear him cough, he tells me not to worry.”

Darcy looked at her hand, now clutching his sleeve. “He continues to best me in chess and in debate. I shall observe him closely and enquire as to his health.”

“Thank you, sir. I fear for our circumstances.”

He patted her hand. “All will be well.”

But when he entered the book room a few moments later, it was clear Mr Bennet was not well. In less than two days, the gentleman looked as though he had aged ten years.

“Mr Darcy, please stop looking me as if I am a particularly unsavoury piece of boiled meat. I look just as well as I feel, and I blame all of it on the absence of the only two girls of sense from this house.”

He gestured to Darcy to sit down, adjusting the chessboard and looking up expectantly.

“I am afraid I have only a few minutes, sir.” Darcy watched his host grow paler.

“You are leaving Hertfordshire?”

“I am, sir. It should be but a few days, but I go on business for you.” He reached in his bag and withdrew the map Hurst had read for him.

“You expressed hope that this acreage you purchased outside the entail held value for Mrs Bennet. I believe it does. Improved irrigation techniques and a new dam would enrich the land for farming, but there is possibly more to this land than water rights.”

Darcy reached inside his pocket and removed the coin Bennet had loaned him. “This coin is Roman, and conceivably one of many on Copperdale.”

Mr Bennet leaned closer and scoffed. “It is a mere trinket for tiddlywinks and spinning.”