Page 20

CHAPTER 20

New Arrivals at Netherfield

15 OCTOBER 1811

A lmost a fortnight after the assembly, the expected visitors finally began to arrive at Netherfield.

Miss Bingley was delighted that the countess of Matlock would be joining them that afternoon.

She had imagined this visit for days, planning precisely how she would present herself and carefully preparing remarks to steer the countess away from any warm opinion of the Bennet family.

She was significantly less pleased, however, when her brother informed her that not only would Mr. Darcy’s family arrive today, but another visitor as well.

For the first time during this visit, she was grateful that Darcy had absented himself from the morning meal even if it meant he was likely in company with those Bennets he seemed to admire so much.

“Aunt Horatia arrives this morning,” he said casually, reaching for the marmalade.

“Her carriage should be here within the hour.”

Miss Bingley lowered her knife mid-slice, her surprise clearly on her face.

Horatia Bingley had always been a stern, unyielding woman with no patience for pretension or ambition.

She disapproved of her niece’s aspirations and was unmoved by either tears or charm.

When Edwin Bingley sent his daughters to a fashionable seminary near Oxford, Horatia called it a mistake, insisting it only taught girls to think above their station.

Her niece had never forgiven her.

Even in London after their education, Horatia remained critical, claiming Louisa had improved while Caroline had become “insufferably pleased with herself.” The connections she made with well-connected young ladies meant nothing to her aunt who dismissed her ambitions at every turn.

“Aunt Horatia? Whyever is she coming?” Miss Bingley asked when she recovered her voice.

Bingley did not look up, refusing to meet his sister’s eyes as he stated calmly.

“I asked her to. After seeing how little regard you seem to have for our neighbours, I thought it wise to have someone here who would welcome them properly when we have guests visiting. As you know, we have been invited to many places, but we have yet to invite anyone here.”

“You thought it wise to replace me as your hostess?” she asked sharply, her voice dripping with disdain and undisguised anger.

“I did not say that,” Bingley replied evenly.

“But your feelings towards everyone in Meryton, particularly the Bennets, have been made quite plain—and I have no desire to offend Darcy or Lady Matlock. Aunt Horatia will bring the necessary…steadiness and welcome that has been missing. I would have asked Louisa, but I did not want to put her in that position.”

Miss Bingley pressed her lips together, her brother’s words landing like a slap.

“How thoughtful of you,” she said coldly, each syllable clipped with disdain.

She said nothing more for the remainder of the meal.

Instead, she finished her breakfast in silence, her posture rigid, her appetite clearly diminished.

The moment her plate was cleared, she rose without a word to anyone and left the dining room, her heels striking sharply against the floor as she went .

Once within the sanctuary of her bedchamber, Miss Bingley did not hesitate to give vent to her frustration.

She seized a porcelain shepherdess from the mantel and hurled it against the far wall, where it shattered with a satisfying burst. Two more figurines followed before she called out, voice raised, “Jenny! Come and clean this mess—immediately!”

Her maid entered with a wide-eyed glance at her mistress, but said nothing, setting to work at once to clean up the mess.

Miss Bingley stood at the window, breathing hard after her exertion.

The crash of porcelain had provided some release, but not nearly enough.

Her mind churned. Her aunt’s arrival at this time was not just a slight—it was a complication.

A serious one. Her aunt’s presence would make it far more difficult to carry out her intentions without scrutiny.

Horatia missed nothing and trusted no one, least of all her.

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

If she was to salvage the countess’s visit—and prevent the ruinous match she most dreaded—she would need to be cleverer than ever.

Horatia Bingley had long been a thorn in her side.

Older, unmarried, and possessed of a fearsome command of silence, she had never approved of her younger niece’s conduct or aspirations.

That she had now been summoned to manage the household at such a critical moment rendered Miss Bingley’s humiliation complete.

With Aunt Horatia under the same roof, it would be far more difficult to set her plans into motion.

Miss Bingley greeted her aunt alongside her brother and sister, doing little to conceal her displeasure at the new arrival.

Only a short time earlier, she had burst into her brother’s study, intent on persuading him to reverse his decision to replace her as mistress.

She stopped short, however, upon seeing Mr. Darcy present.

Unable to express herself freely in front of the gentleman, she had been forced to hold her tongue while her brother calmly—and firmly—restated that their Aunt Horatia would indeed be taking charge of the household during Lady Matlock’s visit.

It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep from erupting.

Although she privately insisted she no longer harboured any real hope of securing Mr. Darcy’s affections, she was unwilling to appear ill-bred or ungoverned in his eyes.

That he had borne witness to the exchange was mortifying enough; she would not give him further reason to report to his aunt—or any of his illustrious relations—that she had behaved in a less than seemly manner.

Having read her nephew’s letter, Horatia Bingley had formed her own opinions before she boarded the carriage south, and was hardly surprised at her niece’s cold welcome.

“Caroline, I understand additional guests are expected today,” she said, handing her wraps to the waiting maids.

“As your brother has asked me to serve as hostess, should I consult with you or the housekeeper regarding the arrangements already in place?”

Her voice was calm, laced with effortless poise, but the underlying message was unmistakable: she knew exactly why she had been summoned—and she would brook no opposition.

Miss Bingley sniffed at the pointed reminder of her new position within the household.

As the women entered the drawing room, Aunt Horatia immediately took charge.

“What arrangements have already been made for our guests, Lousia, Caroline?” she asked.

Miss Bingley sputtered at the direct question.

“Lady Matlock and Georgiana… ”

“Miss Darcy,” Aunt Horatia corrected.

“As I understand it, Miss Darcy is rather young and not a contemporary of yours. Has she given you leave to address her by her Christian name, or did you merely begin to do so in order to curry favour with the girl and her brother?”

“I…” Miss Bingley stammered again, suddenly aware that she had, in fact, done precisely that.

Mr. Darcy had corrected her more than once regarding the informality, and although his sister had never voiced an objection, Miss Bingley now realised—with a slow, sinking clarity—that Miss Darcy had always appeared uncomfortable when addressed so familiarly.

She had never once returned the liberty.

The silence stretched between them.

Mrs. Hurst merely looked on, waiting to see how her sister would react as she glanced between the two.

Aunt Horatia raised a brow.

“I thought as much. It would be best, going forward, to observe the proprieties. Familiarity, when unearned, tends to reflect more poorly on the speaker than the subject.”

Miss Bingley pressed her lips together, colour rising in her cheeks.

She managed a faint nod but could summon no words.

“Although Miss Darcy is younger, she is more highly placed than you in society, seeing that she is a gentleman’s daughter and connected to an earl. By rights, you should have allowed her to control the level of informality between you,” Aunt Horatia said.

Outwardly composed, Miss Bingley was seething about being lectured by her aunt in this manner.

She was very aware of both her place and Miss Darcy’s in society, and that was exactly why she had so often pretended, if not outright forced, an intimacy between them.

Did her aunt not recognise that their success depended upon the connections they made?

“Enough of that,” her aunt concluded a few moments later, her tone sharp.

“One would think you would have learnt these things at that expensive school your father insisted upon—but evidently, the lessons did not take.”

Without waiting for a reply, Aunt Horatia launched into a flurry of pointed questions.

Her enquiries came so swiftly that neither Miss Bingley nor Mrs. Hurst could keep pace, and both began to flounder under the weight of her scrutiny.

At last, with evident displeasure, she turned and rang the bell.

When Mrs. Nicholls, the housekeeper, entered a moment later, Aunt Horatia faced her directly.

“Mrs. Nicholls,” she said sharply, “what precisely have my nieces done to prepare for the countess’s visit? Or have the arrangements, as I suspect, fallen entirely upon your shoulders?”

Mrs. Nicholls, a capable woman with a calm manner and keen sense of hierarchy, gave a respectful curtsey before answering.

“The drawing room and parlour were seen to by the maids under my direction, ma’am,” she said evenly.

“Cook and I planned for refreshments to be served soon after the guests’ arrival, but the dinner tonight will be rather extensive at Miss Bingley’s orders. There are not enough footmen who have been trained properly to serve, but we will do the best we can with the meal. Miss Bingley requested several additional dishes just this morning, and we have done our best to accommodate her.”

Aunt Horatia’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.

“Is bathwater being heated for the newcomers? What if the countess or Miss Darcy do not wish to dine with the family this evening, or if their carriage is delayed? What arrangements have been made?”

“None, madam,” Mrs. Nicholls replied.

“I did order bathwater to be warmed when your own arrival was imminent, and it is still sitting on the stove. More will be added when our other guests are expected. ”

“I see,” Aunt Horatia said, pursing her lips in obvious displeasure.

“Well, Mrs. Nicholls, what do you need from me to assist you as you prepare?”

“Mr. Darcy selected several rooms near his own for his sister, aunt, and cousin,” Mrs. Nicholls explained.

“Those have been cleaned and aired. Mr. Darcy also lent us the aid of some of his own staff since we have not yet been able to hire enough servants for a house this size. I believe he sent for a few maids from London to assist those already here, and his footmen have been helping out as necessary.”

“Are there not enough servants in the area available?” Aunt Horatia asked.

“We had several more, but a few left, deciding they could earn more elsewhere,” Mrs. Nicholls said evenly.

Although she had spoken plainly until now, she chose her words with greater care in Miss Bingley’s presence.

She did not add that those who had departed had done so for similar wages in nearby households, but also for kinder treatment and more reasonable expectations—matters better left unspoken before present company.

There was a brief pause—just long enough to be noticeable—and long enough for Mrs. Nicholls to know what she had left unsaid had been understood.

“I see,” Aunt Horatia said, her voice cool.

“You have done well, Mrs. Nicholls. You may return to your duties.”

The housekeeper curtseyed again and withdrew, leaving an uneasy silence in her wake.

Aunt Horatia turned back to her nieces, her gaze steady and unrelenting.

“Louisa,” she said, her voice cool, “I would have thought you , at least, would know better than to leave the oversight of everything to the servants. Mrs. Nicholls appears competent, to be sure, but you have been married several years now, and your husband will one day inherit an estate. At some point, you must cease following your sister’s lead and take up the responsibilities you have married into. This would have been good practice for you—yet you chose to step aside and let Caroline seize the reins, rather than standing up to her.”

Louisa’s complexion visibly paled at the rebuke.

She opened her mouth as if to respond, but no words came.

Instead, she pressed her lips together and stared at the carpet, her hands knotting themselves into the folds of her gown.

Unmoved, Aunt Horatia turned her attention to her younger niece, scowling when she saw the disdainful look on her face.

“And you, Caroline,” she said sharply, “I am well aware you attended that expensive seminary of yours, but it seems you learnt very little of proper behaviour. Your brother writes that you hold yourself higher than the local population—and that your conduct towards your neighbours has been more hostile than hospitable.”

Miss Bingley merely sniffed in response, lifting her chin in silent defiance.

She would not give her aunt the satisfaction of seeing how bitterly she resented being spoken to like an errant child.

Observing them for several moments, Aunt Horatia grimaced, then stood.

“I will seek out the housekeeper and speak to her about a few more arrangements. Since you are no longer the hostess, Caroline, I will join your brother to welcome our guests when they arrive. However, I will speak to him first to see what he expects from me. You are, of course, welcome to wait for us in the drawing room—tell me, is this room best suited to welcome guests, or is there another that you prefer? Since the house is merely leased, I presume you have not made too many changes, and from what I have seen, it is tastefully decorated, if not a little overly embellished in places. That can easily be resolved. Louisa, I will find you later to speak to you further about our guests. ”

Having said all she intended, Aunt Horatia swept from the room, leaving an oppressive silence in her wake.

No sooner had she gone than Miss Bingley gave vent to her frustrations, failing even to ensure the door had properly closed following her aunt’s departure.

“How could our brother have replaced me as his hostess?” she seethed, pacing furiously across the room.

“And on the very day of the countess’s arrival—and Georgiana Darcy’s?”

“It is done, sister,” Mrs. Hurst said cautiously, attempting to placate without fully agreeing.

“And perhaps it would be best if you held your tongue. If you are not acting as hostess, you will have more time to spend with Miss Darcy, and you can further your friendship with her. You may not marry her brother, but her friendship would still benefit you.”

“What good is that now?” Miss Bingley snapped, her voice rising.

“There is no point in currying favour with that mealy-mouthed child! I only ever paid her attention to gain Mr. Darcy’s notice—to make myself indispensable to him by flattering his precious sister . And what has it earned me? Nothing! Less than nothing! I spent months fawning over her and offering her compliments after nearly every word that came out of her mouth.”

She began to pace the room, her skirts rustling sharply with each angry turn.

“I demeaned myself,” she muttered furiously, more to herself than to her sister.

“I endured endless, tedious conversations about pianoforte lessons and watercolours, pretending every word was brilliance—and for what? To be cast aside and humiliated in my own brother’s house, while others—those Bennets, of all people—climb higher and higher in his estimation.”

She stopped abruptly before the fireplace, her cheeks flushed with anger .

“All wasted,” she said bitterly.

“And now I am expected to stand meekly aside, while girls of no consequence—no fortune, no connections—are elevated before me! He invited his sister and aunt here to introduce them at Longbourn, and I have been displaced by my aunt. Why did I ever bother with Georgiana Darcy? I ought to have known she was just as useless as Charles.”

A noise from the doorway made them both turn.

Darcy stood just beyond the threshold, his expression cold, his posture rigid.

“It is fortunate,” he said, his voice clipped with barely restrained contempt as he glared at Miss Bingley, “that I never had any intention of offering for you. For anyone who could speak so of my sister is no friend of hers—or of mine.”

Miss Bingley blanched, her mouth opening and closing without a sound.

“Forgive me,” Darcy said, his voice unyielding, his brief apology directed at Mrs. Hurst. “I had no wish to overhear. Yet, with the door left so carelessly open, I could hardly help it.”

Then he turned, fixing Miss Bingley with a look as cold as ice.

“Rest assured, Miss Bingley, I shall see that Georgiana does not trouble you with her company. I expect she will find far more genuine friendship among the Misses Bennet.”

With a curt bow, he turned and departed, leaving Miss Bingley frozen in place, humiliated, furious, and, for once, utterly speechless.