Page 2

CHAPTER 2

Impressions

H ill escorted the men to their rooms, where their trunks had been neatly placed and were awaiting them.

Each man retreated to prepare for the ride.

Fitzwilliam Darcy, the youngest of the group, was quick to change, but found his curiosity piqued as he surveyed the space assigned to him.

While arranged neatly and all the personal items stored away, the room still bore the faint traces of its usual occupant.

A delicate scent of lavender lingered in the air, and subtle touches betrayed a feminine hand.

In particular, the bookshelves drew his attention.

They were filled with well-worn volumes, ranging from novels to poetry, the spines bearing evidence of frequent handling.

A glance at the desk revealed a few sheets of paper with faint imprints on them as though notes had recently been written and removed.

It struck him that this must be the room of one of the absent Bennet daughters, likely pressed into service to accommodate the unexpected visitors.

Which one? he wondered .

Jane, the eldest—whom her father described as a beauty but said little else about?

Or perhaps the second, Elizabeth, who, from the little he had heard, seemed to possess a lively wit and keen intelligence?

It was unlikely to belong to the younger girls who were still in the schoolroom and at home.

His gaze lingered on a book left on the nightstand— A Midsummer Night’s Dream .

Its placement seemed deliberate as if the owner had only just set it aside.

He smiled faintly, wondering whether the one who read it preferred the mischievous Puck or Titania for her nobility.

The thought warmed him, even while he reminded himself again of the impracticality of such musings.

His father would never approve of a match with a young lady so far beneath their social station, would he?

Fitzwilliam shook his head, clearing it from such fanciful thoughts.

Why would I even contemplate such a thing?

he asked himself. It is likely this room belongs to a young lady, nearly a child still, and I certainly am too young to consider marriage right now.

Soon, all four men gathered again downstairs.

They heard a shrill cry somewhere in the house followed by the sound of multiple feet coming down the stairs.

“Mr. Bennet, you neglected to mention that your guests had arrived.”

Mrs. Bennet turned to look at them, not bothering to acknowledge her daughters behind her, immediately honing in on the youngest of the group.

Two of the girls were giggling loudly while the third merely looked on.

“Oh, which one of you gentlemen brought your son with you? It is a shame my dear Jane is in London, for she is ever so beautiful. Are you going to London now?” she asked, her voice grating to Fitzwilliam Darcy’s ears .

“No, madam, we are bound for the north when we leave here,” George Darcy said.

“I thank you for allowing us to stay the night in your home before we continue. Bennet, will you introduce us to your family?”

Bennet complied with his friend’s request, introducing his wife and the three youngest daughters to their guests.

Almost at once, Lydia—the youngest of the group—sidled up to Fitzwilliam Darcy with a giggle and a flutter of her lashes, eager to practise what she had overheard her mother advising her older sisters was the proper way to catch a husband.

Fitzwilliam stiffened, his discomfort plain as he took a step back, putting distance between himself and the girl.

His eyes flicked to the others in the room, silently pleading for intervention from the child’s parents—but none came.

When he looked back at Lydia, his expression had hardened into a mix of disapproval and unease.

He glared at her for a moment before turning his back fully, his displeasure unmistakable—even to Lydia, who responded with a sulky pout.

Fitzwilliam glanced towards his father, hoping for some guidance or an end to the awkward encounter, but George Darcy merely watched, his expression unreadable, leaving his son to handle the moment alone.

His hand brushed the edge of a nearby chair, as though seeking something to steady himself.

He had not expected such forwardness, especially from someone so young, and the impropriety of it all made his skin crawl.

The behaviour only seemed to underscore a troubling lack of guidance in the household—a thought that deepened his unease.

However, Bennet only laughed, clearly unbothered by his youngest’s behaviour.

“Pay her no mind, young Darcy. Lydia is her mother’s daughter, and she has decided our daughters do not need a governess.”

He spoke with such casualness that he failed to notice the expressions of the three gentlemen who exchanged glances of surprise and concern.

Had he observed their reactions, he might have been less surprised by the pointed remarks that would come from his friend during their ride.

After they had ridden for some time, the elder Darcy slowed his horse to a walk and urged Bennet to do the same.

They lapsed into a silence that stretched for several minutes before Darcy finally spoke.

“Bennet,” he began, his voice steady but firm, “you know I value our friendship. But I can remain silent no longer on this matter. You must take an interest in your daughters’ lives. Your neglect is doing them no favours.”

Bennet remained silent, his lips set in a firm line, and Darcy pressed on.

“The man I knew at Cambridge was idealistic and intelligent, but through your letters, I have watched you allow your bitterness over your choice of wife being taken from you turn into someone else entirely. If you do not act soon, all your daughters will be nearly unmarriageable—not through any fault of their own, but by the actions of your wife and youngest daughter. They are already disadvantaged, but did you not see the look of disgust that crossed my son’s face when your youngest daughter rubbed against him and tried to flirt with him? She’s a child, Bennet! Do you not see anything wrong with a nine-year-old thinking it appropriate to flirt with a man twice her age?”

Darcy’s tone grew more urgent as he continued.

“Bennet, wake up and take a look at your family. Do something—anything—but stop hiding away in your study and allowing your second child to manage the estate because you will not.”

When Bennet finally spoke, he was scowling at his friend.

“Lydia is a foolish child, just like the rest of them. “Why should I bother to do anything?

” he asked, his bitterness obvious as he continued.

“It is not as though any of them could inherit.”

Darcy just shook his head.

“If you truly ask that, my friend, I am afraid I do not know you as well as I once thought. The man I believed I knew was, perhaps, equally interested in books, but not content to sit back and passively let life pass him by. You were once better than the man I have met today. That man would have never allowed bitterness to consume him as you have.” With that, Darcy spurred his horse to catch up with the others, leaving his friend behind, unwilling to hear his retort.

Little was said during the remainder of the ride as Bennet lagged behind the others.

When the men returned to the estate, they all retreated to their rooms for a rest before dressing for dinner.

Feeling all the awkwardness of their earlier encounters, all four men waited until the last possible moment to return downstairs.

Bennet was quiet throughout the meal.

His friends seemed to recognise his need for reflection and so attempted to speak amongst themselves.

However, Mrs. Bennet and the two youngest daughters frequently interrupted their conversation by asking questions about the men’s estates and houses in town and other equally grasping questions.

Despite his lack of participation in the conversation, Bennet was keenly aware of it and, as the evening wore on, a deep sense of shame settled over him.

Among other things, it became painfully clear that his youngest daughters should not have been in company that evening.

Their behaviour was crude, and their lack of proper instruction was evident.

Regardless of their ages, they should have known how to conduct themselves with more restraint.

Lydia’s constant interruptions and her glaring ignorance were impossible to disregard, prompting frequent, disapproving glances from all three men, even the younger Darcy, which were often followed by pointed looks at Bennet.

When the ladies left the table, after much prompting from Bennet towards his wife, Bennet finally addressed his friends.

“Darcy,” he began, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly, “do you think you might know someone who can help me find a governess for the girls? One who is wise enough that she might take my daughters in hand while also helping my wife learn proper behaviour. I think you will find me writing far more often in the future since I need to do something to save for their dowries. Perhaps I will even send the two youngest to school. Watching them, it seems possible that Kitty will improve more quickly if she is separated from Lydia.”

The two older men nodded in agreement while Fitzwilliam Darcy subtly distanced himself from the conversation.

He was much younger than the others and had little to contribute, but he also did not want his father’s friend to feel hesitant to speak because of his presence.

As he listened, his thoughts drifted to the two older Bennet daughters.

The fact that one daughter, just fourteen and soon to be “out,” had been trained by her father to manage the estate—and was evidently doing a competent job of it—particularly intrigued him.

As he thought about it and the limited regard he held for most women he had met in society, Darcy briefly wondered if perhaps he should marry a country girl—someone practical, capable, and less concerned with the superficialities that often dominated society, which already made him uncomfortable.

He chuckled to himself, causing his father to look in his direction.

At his father’s questioning look, the younger Darcy shook his head.

Later, when everyone had retired for the night, George Darcy made his way to his son’s room.

“What was so amusing after dinner?” he asked, settling into a chair near the fire and looking around at the well-appointed room, his eyes scanning the bookshelves just as his son had done earlier.

“Merely an idle thought, Father,” Fitzwilliam replied after a moment.

“I was thinking about Mr. Bennet’s fourteen-year-old daughter practically running the estate. I was certain she must have had some assistance from her father, but during our ride, the gentleman admitted she is largely responsible for much of what happens. Here I am, twenty-one with a university education, and yet I do not feel prepared to manage an estate the size of Longbourn, much less Pemberley. That led me to consider seeking a wife from the country rather than from the ton . I chuckled because I cannot imagine you ever approving of such a choice as my bride.”

George Darcy sighed heavily.

“Actually, Fitzwilliam, I would have no objection to you marrying a country miss in a few years, particularly if you find one similar to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Neither of us has met her, but from what her father has said about her, I think you might find her interesting despite her age. Of course, you are far too young right now to consider marriage, and so is she. The Darcys are sufficiently wealthy that you could easily afford to marry a woman with no dowry. We have ample connections; I should think you would say we have too many.”

“But would my marrying a ‘country miss’ injure Georgiana’s chances of marrying well?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Georgiana has a dowry of thirty thousand pounds, and she is the granddaughter of the Earl of Matlock, in addition to being a Darcy. I have no worries that she will not be pursued; the bigger challenge will be finding a suitor who is acceptable. But just as I hope for you, son, I want Georgiana to find a man to marry who will love her for who she is and not for the dowry she will bring. Fitzwilliam, I married your mother for love. It was to my advantage that she happened to be an earl’s daughter. When it comes time for you to make a choice, concern yourself less with wealth and connections; choose a young lady based on character and affection. I do not want you trapped in a miserable marriage made solely for material reasons.”

George Darcy paused for a moment, his gaze steady as he placed a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder.

“When the time comes for you to manage Pemberley, son, I have no doubt you will do well. I sincerely hope that day is still many years off; still, I am confident you will be an excellent overseer. You have worked alongside me every summer and during each holiday when you are home and, over the years, you have gained a keen understanding of the estate, its operations, and our various investments. Your ability to grasp the complexities of the estate has always impressed me, from managing our lands to understanding the financial intricacies of our holdings. In many regards, you know nearly as much about it as I do, and you will only continue to grow in knowledge and experience over the coming years.”

He gave his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, his voice softening.

“I have always been proud of you, Fitzwilliam. You have an intelligent mind and a strong sense of duty, both of which will serve you well when the time comes and I am gone. In the matter of taking a wife, I trust you will do so in your own time with all the wisdom and caution I know you possess.”

Darcy was momentarily at a loss for words in response to his father’s praise, but he nodded his quiet acknowledgment.

A surge of pride swelled within him, knowing that his father held such a high opinion of his abilities.

The two men continued conversing for a short time though George Darcy, observing his son’s thoughtful silence, could tell that Fitzwilliam was reflecting on their discussion.

After a few more exchanges, the conversation naturally wound down, and in the morning, the three gentlemen set off for the north to continue their journey.