Page 28 of The Mercy of Chance

H e called again?”

Elizabeth asked, looking up from the estate ledger as Jane entered the small study they shared.

“That makes four visits in eight days.”

“Six, actually,”

Jane corrected, settling into the chair opposite her sister.

“He came upon me in the kitchen garden this morning.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows.

“Before breakfast? The man grows bold.”

“He said he was out riding.”

“Conveniently near our kitchen garden, I see.”

Elizabeth set down her pen.

“And what did Mr Bingley have to say for himself today?”

Jane smoothed her skirts thoughtfully.

“Little of substance.

He admired the herb beds.

He again seemed surprised that we attend to such tasks ourselves.

I fear his understanding is not of the quickest.”

“"I suspect our departure from conventional female pursuits tax the capacity of his understanding,”Elizabeth commented dryly.

“He did say he finds our capabilities admirable.

Repeatedly.”

Jane added, her expression not pleased.

“How gracious of him to approve of our managing our own affairs,”

Elizabeth replied with a touch of tartness.

“Lizzy,”

Jane chided gently.

“I believe he means well.

It seems he lacks the resolution to declare himself on any matter of consequence.

He relies so upon his sister and his friend.”

“I would venture he appears most reluctant to commit himself to any decided opinion,”

Elizabeth leant forward.

“What are his intentions, Jane? He circles around you like a moth around a candle, never quite drawing near enough to declare himself, yet never flying away either.”

Jane sighed.

“I do not know.

At times I think he means to speak, but then he hesitates, as if uncertain.”

“Perhaps he fears rejection,”

Elizabeth suggested.

“Or perhaps he just enjoys the attention without obligation,”

Jane countered, surprising her sister with her frankness.

“I cannot afford to wonder, Lizzy.

There is too much to be done.

Kitty needs assistance with her remedies, and the household accounts will not balance themselves.

I shall put him from my mind.”

Elizabeth studied her sister’s face.

“You are not indifferent to him, though.”

Jane sighed.

“I am not precisely indifferent.

He is amiable and kind, and his conversation can be most engaging when he forgets to be nervous.”

“High praise indeed from my reserved sister,”

Elizabeth teased.

Jane shook her head.

“It matters not.

If Mr Bingley cannot bring himself to speak plainly, then I must assume he has no serious intentions.”

“Could you not encourage him? Few of us have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement.

What if you were to help him on?”

“To what end?”

Jane asked.

“A prolonged courtship with no certainty of outcome? I have responsibilities here, Lizzy.

The household accounts require attention, Kitty needs help collecting and processing her medicinal herbs before the hard frost comes, and Mamma depends upon me to manage the servants.

I cannot spare the time or attention for romantic uncertainties.”

Elizabeth’s expression turned serious.

“You deserve happiness, Jane.”

“I am content,”

Jane replied simply.

“If Mr Bingley wishes to offer more than that, he must do so directly.

I will not be trifled with.”

“Nor should you be,”

Elizabeth agreed firmly.

“We have worked too hard to build Longbourn to be distracted by gentlemen who admire our capabilities but fear our independence.”

Jane’s lips quirked upward.

“Is that what holds him back, do you think? Our independence?”

“Men often claim to admire a woman of substance,”

Elizabeth said, “but many prefer the idea more than the reality.

They wish for intelligent conversation at their convenience, but docile agreement the rest of the time.”

“You paint a grim picture of matrimony, Lizzy.”

“Not matrimony itself, but the expectations many bring to it.”

Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Besides, we are hardly conventional prospects, are we? Young ladies who manage an estate with no male supervision in sight.

Scandalous.”

Jane laughed.

“We are hardly revolutionaries, Lizzy.

We simply do what must be done.”

Elizabeth turned to her with a grimace.

“Which is precisely what frightens them,”

she countered.

“A woman who can manage without a man may choose to continue doing so, unless the man in question offers something of greater value than independence.”

Jane considered this.

“What would you consider of greater value?”

“True partnership,”

Elizabeth replied without hesitation.

“A meeting of minds as well as hearts.

Someone who values our capabilities rather than tolerating them.” She shrugged.

“I fear such a man exists only in novels.”

“You are too cynical,”

Jane chided.

“There must be gentlemen who desire a wife rather than a mere ornament.”

“I hope you are right,”

Elizabeth said.

“For both our sakes.

Since Mr Darcy has apparently found our ways unacceptable, I wonder whether Mr Bingley will follow.” She picked up her quill again.

“In the meantime, we have an estate to run and neither the time nor inclination to coddle uncertain suitors.”

“No,”

Jane agreed, rising to return to her duties.

“If Mr Bingley wishes to court me, he must declare himself.

I have responsibilities enough without tending to an irresolute suitor.”

“The most demanding sort of charge,”

Elizabeth added with a grin.

“Requiring constant attention and reassurance.”

The arrival of Mr James Fairfield at the Meryton Scientific Society’s weekly meeting caused quite a stir, although Mary Bennet appeared to be the only lady present who noticed neither his handsome figure nor his unfashionable attire.

Her attention remained fixed on his discourse about recent advances in soil chemistry until he began describing his correspondence with the Royal Institution regarding the effects of different mineral substances on plant growth.

She was determined to ignore his sparkling green eyes, his trim figure, and firm jaw.

She was a serious woman, after all.

“The traditional understanding of marl’s benefits proves insufficient,”

he was saying, spreading out several precisely drawn charts.

“Through systematic trials, I have documented striking variations in efficacy depending on the underlying soil composition.

Chalk marl, for instance, shows remarkable results in clay soils but proves nearly useless in already calcareous earth.”

Elizabeth, watching from her position near the window, found her scholarly focus unexpectedly wavering.

Mr Fairfield’s orderly examination of agricultural principles reminded her rather too forcefully of another gentleman’s careful attention to estate management.

Not that she was thinking of Mr Darcy, of course.

“By dividing each field into measured sections and varying only a single factor between plots, we can isolate the effects of specific treatments,”

Mr Fairfield continued, indicating his experimental diagrams.

“The Royal Society has expressed marked interest in my findings regarding the interaction between drainage patterns and fertiliser efficiency.”

Mary’s quill flew across her notebook.

“Have you observed any correlation between soil temperature and mineral absorption rates? I have noticed variations in plant vigour that seem to correspond with the timing of applications…”

“The temperature question is fascinating,”

Mr Fairfield replied, his eyes alight with enthusiasm.

“I have begun taking systematic measurements using Mr James Six’s newly improved thermometer design.

The data suggests optimal application times vary significantly by mineral type.”

The lecture continued with increasing technical detail, but Elizabeth found her thoughts straying treacherously.

She wondered if Pemberley’s master would implement any of her suggestions about drainage gradients.

Pure professional interest, she told herself firmly.

She dismissed her attraction to the handsome master of Pemberley as a fool’s errand.

It was all well and good to admire a well-favoured gentleman, but there was no future in it.

He had made that clear.

She could admire him, but she would not allow her affections to be engaged.

“My latest paper,”

Mr Fairfield was saying, “focuses on the relationship between soil composition and water retention.

I have developed a method for measuring drainage rates using calibrated vessels and precise timing…”

Mary leant forward, dropping her usual reserve.

“Have you considered how varying depths of cultivation might affect your results? I have observed in my own trials that deeper ploughing seems to alter drainage patterns significantly.”

Mr Fairfield’s eyes lit up with delight, “Such a pertinent observation, Miss.?”

His voice rose in question.

“Miss Mary Bennet,”

Mary replied, a blush pinking her cheeks quite becomingly.

After the lecture concluded, Elizabeth watched with quiet amusement as Mr Fairfield approached Mary with several rolled technical drawings under his arm.

“Miss Mary, you mentioned experiments with different fertiliser combinations? I should very much like to hear more about your methods.”

“Oh!”

Mary blushed.

“I have been testing various proportions of lime and night soil, following Mr Young’s recommendations but with some modifications based on local soil conditions…”

Their technical discussion continued as the meeting dispersed, Mr Fairfield seemed in no hurry to conclude it.

On her return, Elizabeth found Jane in the stillroom, sorting rose hips, her tranquil mien suggesting pleasant thoughts indeed.

“Mr Bingley called whilst you were at the Society meeting,”

Jane mentioned, trying to sound indifferent and not quite succeeding.

“Did he? And his family is well, and his friends?”

“They are.

Mr Bingley mentioned the most exciting news,”

Jane continued.

“His renovations will be complete by month’s end, and he intends to host a ball at Netherfield.” Elizabeth’s looked up in surprise.

“A ball?” she repeated, her tone neutral.

“Yes.

He was quite animated about it.

He said he wishes to offer some return for the many civilities his household has received in Meryton.”

“A ball at Netherfield…”

Elizabeth turned the idea over as if it were a foreign coin.

“I suppose all of Meryton will attend.”

“I imagine so.

Aunt Phillips has already begun speculating on gowns and partners.”

Elizabeth plucked a leaf that clung despite the cold.

“And Mr Darcy?”

Jane glanced at her sidelong.

“Mr Bingley believes he may return from London to attend, although he is often preoccupied with estate business these days.”

“Indeed,”

Elizabeth said shortly.

“How gratifying.”

Jane smiled faintly.

“You do not look as though you find the prospect particularly gratifying.”

Elizabeth shrugged.

“I find nothing especially diverting in the company of those who consider me beneath notice.”

“Is that truly your impression?”

Jane asked gently.

“Or your assumption?”

Elizabeth did not reply at once.

The rustling of the autumn breeze filled the silence.

“He is not a man who reveals his thoughts with ease.”

“No,”

Jane agreed.

“But he did send compliments on the success of our drainage works.

That seems…amiable.”

Elizabeth gave a faint, dismissive laugh.

“If a man advances his courtship by praising my ditch-digging, I shall know how to value it.”

Jane’s smile widened.

“Perhaps he means to compliment your intellect, not your spade.”

“What girl does not dream of such admiration? Not for her beauty, but for her theories on optimal ditch spacing.”

Jane tilted her head.

“A solid foundation for any match.

Provided, of course, the gentleman in question does not flee to London the moment it is suggested.”

Elizabeth gave a tight smile.

“His absence is easily explained.

I dared to mention turnip yield in polite company.

I may have driven him off with my radical fondness for symmetrical crop rotation.”

“And yet,”

Jane said, “if he were to ask you to dance…”

Elizabeth hesitated.

“I would of course be perfectly civil.”

Jane’s eyes sparkled.

“How gracious of you.

Civil, and perhaps—just slightly—pleased?”

Elizabeth huffed.

“Only if he praises my drainage gradient in front of the entire assembly.

If he even deigns to return to Netherfield for the event.”

Jane said nothing more, but her expression was thoughtful.

After a pause, she asked, “And what of your morning? How was the Scientific Society meeting?”

Elizabeth gladly seized the chance to discuss safer topics.

“Most illuminating.

I believe we may have found someone who can truly appreciate Mary’s intellectual pursuits.

Mr Fairfield has requested permission to call and examine her experimental gardens.”

“Indeed?”

Jane’s eyes sparkled.

“And did Mary seem… receptive to this scientific consultation?”

“Let us say that I have never seen our sister quite so animated in discussion of soil characteristics.”

Elizabeth smiled.

“Although she maintained her composure admirably until he mentioned his correspondence with Sir Humphry Davy.

I thought I might need to fetch Aunt Phillips’s salts!”

As they walked back to the house, Elizabeth’s thoughts drifted again to the upcoming ball.

What would it be like to attend an event among neighbours who had not always been accepting of their position?

Of course, she did rather look forward to discussing estate management with someone who understood modern methods.

At the ball.

If he attended.

Which she must consider a matter of complete indifference to her.