Page 21 of Succession

M r. Darcy apprised his appearance in the mirror; he was satisfied with what he saw. He was no dandy, but he felt that tonight he should look his best. He had rather astonished Evans when he had expressed a wish to wear his best waistcoat and newest Hessians.

It was still too early to expect the Bennets, but he nonetheless descended to the drawing room to wait for Bingley’s guests calmly. Calmly , he stressed to himself. There was no need to be nervous, was there?

Mrs. Bingley was already in the drawing room and she welcomed him warmly. “Mr. Darcy, I must tell you that my husband cannot stop speaking of how delighted he is to have you here.”

He bowed to her. “Mrs. Bingley, I am grateful for your kind welcome, as my visit is long overdue.”

“Yes, my sister told me that your mother had asked you not to come last fall. I hope she was not unwell?”

How could he explain this? “Not unwell, precisely, but we lost my father three years ago, and she has not quite recovered herself.” Was that true, he wondered. Or had she used the death of her husband to force him to do her bidding? No, surely not. He pushed the thought away.

Mrs. Bingley’s thoughts might have been running along similar lines, as her brow was furrowed and she regarded him for a minute in silence. Finally, she said, “It is doubtless hard to lose a husband.”

He inclined his head, grateful for her words.

Then she said, “Might I tell you a bit about my family before they arrive?”

“Please do,” he replied. “Miss Bennet told me a little, but truth be told, you were her chief topic of conversation when it came to her family.”

She laughed, softly. “Lizzy and I have always been very close. In any case, my father is a gentleman, with an estate called Longbourn. It is not three miles from Netherfield. Though he is a landowner in fact, he is a scholar at heart, so the estate is not his primary focus. Elizabeth has done a good deal to help matters at Longbourn by reading about farming techniques and engaging my father in discussions on the subject. She then helps him plan how to implement what they agree would best suit the tenant farms.”

“I find it astonishing that a young lady would, by choice, read about farming techniques,” Mr. Darcy observed.

“By choice? No, by choice my sister would read history or poetry; she reads about farming so as to help our family and our tenants.”

“It speaks well of her.”

“It does, indeed. But to continue – my mother is the daughter of an attorney, so she was not raised to be a gentlewoman. As a result, she has not known how to bring up her daughters in that higher sphere.”

Mr. Darcy objected, “But you and Miss Bennet are absolutely perfect!” He blushed at his own words, but continued on. “Your manners, your bearing, your speech – you both exhibit the very epitome of lady-like behaviour.”

“I thank you for that, Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth and I were fortunate enough to spend a good deal of time with our aunt and uncle in town, the Gardiners; there, we were taught proper manners.”

“Your sister mentioned relatives in town.”

“And I am certain that she was looked down upon for having relatives in trade, but it was those very same relatives who taught my sister and I how to behave properly. In any case, by the time our younger sisters were of an age to spend time with the Gardiners, we had little cousins, and my aunt and uncle no longer had the time – or the energy! – to teach Mary, Kitty and Lydia.”

“You are telling me, then, that the behaviour of your younger sisters is not the equal of yours and Miss Bennet’s.”

“I will include my mother in that category, Mr. Darcy, though I blush to do so. That said, she is a warm-hearted, open-handed mistress of Longbourn. She is famed for her dinners; no one in Meryton will ever turn down an invitation to dine with us. My middle sister is religious, which would be considered a virtue in many households, though not in ours. And my two youngest sisters should be in the nursery, not out in society, but that was not my choice to make.”

“I honour you for your candour, Mrs. Bingley.”

“One last thing, Mr. Darcy. My father knows that Lizzy was forced to abandon her visit because of your aunt; my mother was told only that she had become homesick.”

Mr. Bingley appeared, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Mr. Darcy rose to his feet.

“Darcy! There you are,” Bingley said.

“Your good lady has been telling me about her family, Bingley. Good evening, Mrs. Hurst, Mr. Hurst. I hope you have been well?”

Courtesies were exchanged, after which Mr. Hurst grumbled, “Wait until you have met all the Bennets, Mr. Darcy. You will think you are at Astley’s Amphitheatre.”

Mrs. Bingley blushed unhappily as Mr. Bingley took his brother-in-law to task. “Hurst, you are welcome to return to your townhouse in London if you are unhappy here.”

Mr. Hurst muttered an apology, which Mrs. Bingley acknowledged only by a nod of her golden head.

Just then, Netherfield’s butler announced, “Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Bennet, Miss Mary Bennet, Miss Catherine Bennet and Miss Lydia Bennet.”

A multitude of people crowded the drawing room – Astley’s Amphitheatre indeed! – but Mr. Darcy heard and saw none of it, as his eyes fastened immediately upon Miss Bennet. No, he had not imagined her beauty, her lithe figure, her graceful movements! When her eyes met his and then widened, he knew he had not imagined their chocolate colour, her long lashes, or the intelligence that shown like twin lanterns! He had imagined none of it, it was all real, she was real, and she was here with him in this very room. It was better than he had ever dared dream of! His pulse quickened, he took a step toward her…

He returned to himself with a shock when he heard his name. “…Mr. Darcy, my good friend.”

Mr. Darcy tore his eyes away from Miss Bennet’s and bowed politely to Bingley’s guests.

Mr. Bennet addressed him. “I believe you met my daughter Elizabeth not long ago in Kent, Mr. Darcy.” The words were pleasant enough, but the tone was steely. Mrs. Bingley had told him that Elizabeth’s father knew the truth of the Kent disaster and he clearly was not pleased.

“I had that pleasure, yes, Mr. Bennet. I also had the pleasure of playing your literary game with her.”

“Literary game? Oh, the First Line Game. Yes, she mentioned that you and your cousin were worthy opponents.”

As they spoke, Mr. Darcy’s eyes followed Miss Bennet as she sat beside Mrs. Bingley and engaged her in earnest conversation.

“Mr. Darcy, you must come to dinner at Longbourn while you are here in Meryton,” Mrs. Bennet’s voice snapped him to attention.

“I would be delighted to do so, Madam, and I thank you.”

Mr. Darcy could now see that Mrs. Bingley had gotten her blue eyes and blonde curls from her mother; the two youngest girls had also inherited Mrs. Bennet’s colouring. Miss Bennet had inherited her dark hair and dark eyes from her father. The middle girl, Miss Mary, was also brown-haired and brown-eyed, but she had not Miss Bennet’s playful demeanor and lively eyes. Nor was she well-turned out, as her gown was a muddy brown and her hair was pulled back too tightly.

They were soon called in to dinner, and Mr. Darcy had the great pleasure of discovering that he had Mrs. Bingley on his left and Miss Bennet on his right. He wasted no time. “I am delighted to see you again, Miss Bennet.”

She was silent for a moment. Was she angry at him? Did she blame him? He was suddenly awash in fear. Finally she spoke, softly, “And I you, Mr. Darcy.”

His relief was enormous. “I was afraid that you blamed me for what occurred in Kent.”

“I did blame you, a bit,” she confessed.

“A bit?”

“Well, I did ask you to ignore me, so as not to draw Lady Catherine’s attention to me.”

“I know, but you recall that I told you I could not ignore you!”

She blushed as she replied, “I should have told you not to call upon me at the parsonage, but I enjoyed our conversations too much to do so. So I finally realised that I was equally culpable.”

“No, Miss Bennet, we are neither of us to blame. The responsibility for the unpleasantness must be placed squarely on the shoulders of my Aunt Catherine. I would never have believed her capable of such bad manners.”

“A mother will do much to ensure the happiness of her child,” Elizabeth mused.

“Indeed, but to the extent of causing misery to others?” As he spoke, Mr. Darcy thought of his own mother, and her apparent willingness to place her happiness above his own.

His thoughts were interrupted by an unhappy voice on the other side of the table. One of the young ladies – Miss Lydia, was it? – was complaining in a loud voice to her mother, who was sitting opposite her. “I do not think it right that Maria Lucas should have a new bonnet and I not have one as well!”

Mrs. Bingley, on his left, now commanded his attention. The second course had begun and she likely wanted to divert him from her sister’s tantrum. “I hope your room is comfortable, Mr. Darcy?”

“Very, Mrs. Bingley, I thank you. And I must compliment you on your cook, as the mackerel with fennel and mint was excellent.”

She blushed, charmingly. “I will pass your kind words on to our cook and her assistant, as well as to our gardener, who grows the mint.”

She looked down at her plate now, allowing Mr. Darcy to do the same. He gave his attention to the roasted meat and vegetables now on his plate, and noted that his wine goblet was full. The wine was excellent, but he decided to be careful not to consume too much. His behaviour tonight must be impeccable.

As the third course was served, he was able to turn his attention back to Miss Bennet. “Might I be permitted to call on you at Longbourn, Miss Bennet?” Was it too soon? It was, of course, far too soon, he admonished himself. This was their first meeting since the disaster at Kent. Should he have waited before speaking his intentions so plainly? Definitely. But it was too late. The die had been cast. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she forestalled him.

“I hope you will, Mr. Darcy,” she said, raising her magnificent eyes to his.

Joy flooded Mr. Darcy’s entire being.

There was another fracas down at the other end of the table. Mrs. Bennet was scolding one of her daughters for something or other, Mr. Darcy did not know what, nor did he care.