Page 20 of Some Natural Importance (Pride, Prejudice and Romance #3)

CHAPTER TWELVE

Elizabeth threw off the bedclothes, less prepared to meet the day than she would like.

She rarely slept ill. At night when her head hit the pillow, she usually fell quickly asleep.

Thus it was difficult and frustrating that her first night at the Gardiners, she tossed and turned, her head filled with confusing thoughts centred on one subject: Mr Darcy.

Her aunt had told them only the outlines, as she recalled few details. Shortly after his father died and he became master of Pemberley, Mr Darcy had married his cousin. She had been sickly, and died within the year. Her mother had soon followed.

It was the same story Mr Wickham had told her, if not the same tale.

Yes, Mr Darcy was a widower. His wife and mother-in-law were dead, and their estate was his.

Was it a sad story of a broken-hearted husband who lost his wife soon after they wed?

Or was it the scandalous tale of a man who schemed to marry his rich cousin only to put both estates in arrears?

He was finely dressed, his horse was first class, he spoke not as a man in desperate straits but as one who was steady in his business and in his personal life.

Could Mr Wickham be so wrong? Her aunt’s news came in letters from friends in Lambton, while he and Mr Darcy had long severed relations. What was the truth?

Elizabeth leaned back against the pillows and tried to envision Mr Darcy as a young husband ardently in love with his new wife.

The images did not come easily. She could admit that when he smiled, his proud countenance was transformed to one of almost striking handsomeness.

His smiles were rare, but she had felt their power.

Had he used it on his cousin, to win her hand and her estate?

Had he used it on other ladies, fine ladies of the ton ?

He did not seem the type to flirt and charm; although he had lived in the world, he was a serious man.

What could he want with Longbourn or the Bennet family? An entailed estate, five daughters far beneath him in station...

Does he truly enjoy my father’s company, as he would his own father’s? Could it be so simple?

Perhaps like her, he found Longbourn’s book room to be a refuge. She was hiding from the chaos and noise of her sisters and mother. What was he hiding from?

There was never a mystery as to where Bingley was lodging.

His valet, the kindly but doddering Stevens, passed down from the elder Mr Bingley upon his death, did his best to keep up with his relentlessly energetic but untidy young employer.

When together at Netherfield or Pemberley, Darcy could always find a misplaced cufflink on a saucer, a quill on a windowsill, or an invitation separated from its envelope in the chair cushions.

Even here, in his own London house with his own stellar housekeeper and maids, Darcy knew he would find some marker.

He had not expected it would be flower petals.

After shocking Cook and her girls by entering his London home through the kitchen, Darcy had called for a bath and gone straight to his study to drop off his case.

Then he had headed upstairs to his rooms, veering two doors away to knock on the door to the green bedroom in the family quarters which Bingley favoured.

There, just outside on the carpets, lay a series of yellow flower petals.

The door pulled open. “I say, Darcy! What a surprise! Welcome to your home! Why are you here?”

Before he could form a reply, Bingley chuckled. “Oh dear, more losses.” He bent over and scooped up the petals in his hand.

Darcy followed him into the sitting room. “First, I surprise the servants, and now you. Did you not receive my letter to alert them of my arrival and keep the knocker off?”

Bingley turned thoughtful. “I did, yes, I did. Hudson kept a lid on it.”

“And this new collection of floral specimens? Is my butler maintaining that as well?”

“Ho, those are the loose ends of my crown.” Bingley picked up a limp strand of flower stems. “Miss Rose laced this for me earlier today at the park.”

“Miss Rose?”

“Miss Rose Gardiner, the little niece of the Miss Bennets.”

“Ah, yes. You have been spending time there.” He watched as a smile burst across Bingley’s face and ignored the small surge of agitation he felt at hearing such news.

“Have you read my letters? Jane Bennet is all her mother and sisters said—beautiful and graceful and kind…”

The opposite of your sisters, Darcy mused as he listened to his friend expound on the lady’s many attributes.

“…And we are to dine there tonight.”

“Pardon?”

“I am off to Netherfield tomorrow, and accepted an invitation to dine with the Gardiners and their nieces on my final evening in town. I will send them a note that you have arrived, and you will join us, of course. ”

He could decline. He should decline. But he would go. A dinner that allowed him to meet this Jane Bennet and see how his ‘kindred spirit’, Elizabeth Bennet, fared away from her home could prove useful. Even better, it kept him from his family.

“If it puts them to no trouble, then I will be pleased to join you at the Gardiners.” He straightened, thinking of the pile of cards and letters on his desk and the meeting he must secure with his solicitor.

“Bingley,” he added, drawing an envelope from his pocket, “this arrived for you yesterday at Netherfield.”

Bingley glanced at it. “Hmm, I do not recognise the...” He squinted. “Oh, Chelmsford.” He tore it open and looked up at Darcy. “I have won a horse!”

It was a long and detailed story, as it turned out, but Darcy, with no great inclination to read his own letters, listened patiently to his friend describe his ‘brilliant wager’ with Hugh Cromley and how winning it had resulted in rights to the most spectacular horse in England.

“Well, then. You will be off to Chelmsford before returning to Netherfield.”

“Um, yes.” Bingley looked at him hopefully. “Would you accompany me? It would be only a few days delay.”

Darcy shook his head. “I have business in town.” And off he went to his rooms to refresh himself before spending a long afternoon at his desk, reading letters, ignoring and setting aside invitations, and penning missives to his solicitor and to an old Cambridge friend who had excelled in Latin.

At five o’clock, Bingley appeared in the doorway of his study, wearing a look of happy expectation.

His own anticipation could not match Bingley’s but Darcy could not deny a sense of eagerness.

Since making her acquaintance, he had rarely passed more than two days without meeting Elizabeth Bennet, and he had missed her liveliness more than he liked to admit .

When the carriage pulled up to the Gardiners’ home, he was pleased at its size, its well-maintained appearance, even the polish on its shutters and the blooms in its window boxes.

Longbourn had a genteel shabbiness, a sense of neglect and disinterest about it.

Rather than hiring and empowering a steward to oversee his estate and keep his ledgers, Mr Bennet had invested his time and money into his books, while Mrs Bennet placed her priorities on gowns and entertaining.

One partner in a marriage needed sense. He might find some equal sensibility tonight in the Gardiners.

He did, and it was quickly done with a warm greeting from the couple, whose eye contact made clear the strength of their connexion and ease of communication.

The Gardiners were all graciousness, pleased to have him join them.

Neither took offence that he had waited till this evening to deliver the letters from Longbourn.

The Bennet sisters entered, and while Darcy tried to dismiss the rush of warmth he felt upon seeing Elizabeth again, Bingley practically jumped out of his boots at the sight of Jane Bennet.

The lady was as everyone had described, Darcy noted: classically beautiful, with a grace and composure rarely seen in a lady of her years, or admittedly, her country upbringing.

But warmth and affection? She smiled when she saw Bingley, and she appeared pleased to make his acquaintance, but her feelings were a study in quiet restraint when she looked at her admirer.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, exuded little but feeling.

Her eyes, as ever, shone with merriment and intelligence, and he saw an ease in her countenance that had not been present at Longbourn.

It struck him that perhaps she was assured here, in a home where there was gentility, love, and respect, where there were no silly sisters and illiberal mother to embarrass her.

She greeted them both with real pleasure, and he felt as though he was seeing a new side to her, a side perhaps nearer to the true Elizabeth Bennet.

She laughed as Bingley explained his happy news about his new horse and frowned, apparently reacting for her docile sister, when he admitted claiming the horse would delay his return to Netherfield.

Darcy anticipated a humorous scolding for his friend, and he was not disappointed.

“Mr Bingley, I remember a day at Netherfield when there was a slight chance of rain and on that likelihood, you determined to keep yourself dry and not venture outside. Yet here you tell us you have gambled and won a horse? There is a slyness about you that I had not suspected.” Elizabeth smiled prettily and Darcy wished he was on the receiving end of that smile.

Bingley’s jaw dropped before he guffawed. “You thought me incapable of scheming for advantage?”

“I thought you less interested in horses!”

When the laughter died down, Mr Gardiner pressed Bingley with questions on the horse and, after a glance at his wife, recounted the story of his own misadventures in the early days of his trading business, when, offered a low price on spices, he wagered on a strong demand for black pepper and lost, badly.

“I sneezed myself halfway to the poorhouse.”