Page 50 of The Mercy of Chance

S ome days had passed since the Chancery ruling, yet the dining room at Longbourn still bore the echo of celebration—its triumph now tempered by the shadow of their grandfather’s decline.

The triumph had settled into something quieter now—gratitude tempered by worry.

Mr Bennet’s illness, grown more grave since their return, hovered over the household like a veil, muting laughter and sharpening every glance toward the staircase.

Elizabeth watched the rhythms of family interaction shift in this new light, each sister’s response to their changed fortunes as characteristic as it was revealing.

“The Lodge would have served well enough,”

Mrs Bennet said.

“Yet, one does grow attached to particular views.

The breakfast parlour receives the morning sun in a most agreeable manner.”

“And the sheep fold at Longbourn lies closer to the main route to market,”

Lydia added with practicality.

If we are to increase the flock as intended, the location is most advantageous.”

Jane exchanged a quick glance with Elizabeth at this evidence of their youngest sister’s growing ambition.

“The Lodge might serve other purposes,”

she suggested gently.

“Mary has been studying methods of soil improvement, I believe?”

“The southern exposure offers particular advantages,”

Mary pronounced with genuine enthusiasm.

“Given regular attention to enrichment, the kitchen gardens there might prove most productive.”

Kitty dropped her fork with a faint clatter, then picked it up only to turn it absently in her fingers.

Her usual animation had deserted her; even Lydia’s antics failed to draw a smile.

“The improvements can wait,”

she said firmly.

“There are more pressing matters requiring our attention at present.”

“Indeed.”

Mrs Bennet’s fingers worried at her napkin, her thoughts straying toward the upper floor.

“Although your grandfather wishes us to conduct ourselves as usual.

He always says …” a sob interrupted her words.

“The estate requires constant attention,”

Jane supplied smoothly, covering their mother’s momentary distress.

“As does family.”

“Just as Grandfather taught us,”

Mary declared with her characteristic certainty, although her voice caught on the word ‘Grandfather.’ “One must consider both immediate needs and future prospects.”

“Future prospects,”

Mrs Bennet echoed, her expression shifting between pride and peculiar vulnerability.

“How pleased your father would be, to see his daughters so… so very capable.

And now, you will hold all the land from here to Dunbar Court!”

“As for Dunbar Court,”

Jane said, setting down her soup spoon, “the revellation about the Matthews’ sale of the properties during the hearing proved rather… illuminating.”

Elizabeth’s attention sharpened, although she maintained her focus on her plate.

Mrs Bennet asked indifferently, “Indeed?”

“When Lord Matthews was pressed about authorisation for certain actions on the property,”

Jane continued with perfect composure, “he explained that his Lordship’s interest had been transferred some months prior.

Mr Darcy’s ownership of the estate caused quite a stir in the gallery.”

“Mr Darcy?”

Mrs Bennet’s fork paused halfway to her mouth.

“Dunbar Court belongs to Mr Darcy? But how? Why…”

“A sound investment,”

Elizabeth managed, her look a study in neutrality that fooled no one at the table.

“How very exceedingly convenient,”

Lydia interrupted, her smile suggesting depths of comprehension her sixteen years should not possess.

“That such a particular piece of property should draw Mr Darcy’s investment interest.

Although one imagines improvements might require frequent consultation between neighbours.”

“The soil composition there matches Longbourn’s northern fields rather remarkably, as Mr Fairfield observed just yesterday,”

Mary interjected with animation.

“His studies of agricultural chemistry suggest that similar underlying clay deposits--”

“Mr Fairfield calls rather frequently to discuss soil,”

Lydia said, her voice sweetened with unmistakable mischief.

“Though I daresay he studies Miss Mary’s expressions even more closely than the clay content.”

Mary’s cheeks coloured, but she lifted her chin.

“Scientific inquiry demands rigorous attention--”

“And Mr Fairfield’s attention appears most rigorous indeed,”

Kitty managed, momentarily roused from her worried contemplation of the empty chair at the table’s head.

Civility also demands attention, Lydia—and a sister’s well-earned admiration ought not be the subject of sport.”

Elizabeth said lightly, casting Lydia a glance that held more edge than her words.

Lydia grinned, unabashed.

“Besides,”

Jane added with a gentle look in Mary’s direction, “Mr Fairfield seems genuinely interested in Mary’s observations.

And Mary’s experiments with the Lodge soil have already yielded promising results.”

“Whilst Netherfield stands empty,”

Mrs Bennet sighed, her thoughts shifting direction.

“Although Mr Bingley’s steward maintains the house, the servants were all dismissed, and I hear he has no plans to return.”

Jane’s even temper displayed upon her features did not falter, although Elizabeth noted how her sister’s fingers tightened so subtly it could scarce be marked.

She stirred her soup slowly, long after it had cooled, as though unaware of the motion.

“The damage from the flooding will require significant investment to repair,”

she said at last, her voice steady, though her eyes remained on the untouched bowl.

“Though not beyond the scope of proper management,”

Lydia declared with all the confidence of sixteen.

“If he had only attended to the drainage when first advised--”

“As Mr Fairfield explains it,”

Mary began earnestly, “the underlying soil structure--”

“Yes, dears,”

Mrs Bennet interrupted with unexpected gentleness.

“Although perhaps we might save detailed scientific discussion for your next consultation with the gentleman.

He appears especially eager to share his knowledge with you, my dear.

My nerves are unequal to the rigours of agricultural chemistry”

The exchange of glances around the table spoke volumes about Mr Fairfield’s evident partiality, although Mary’s fierce concentration on her plate suggested she was not yet ready to admit her interest.

Darcy stood at his study window, the untouched brandy in his hand reflecting the spring evening’s fading light.

Colonel Fitzwilliam occupied the chair near the fire, his usual animation somewhat subdued.

“Bingley abandoned Netherfield completely, then?”

The Colonel’s voice held careful measure.

“Rather a reversal, given his enthusiasm throughout autumn.”

“His attempts to play gentry paled after his initial enthusiasm.

His solicitor is negotiating termination of the lease.

His more personal investment has faded as well.

His sister whispered of impropriety, and suddenly female capability became an insurmountable barrier to happiness.”

Darcy said with rather more bite than he intended.

“Ah yes, the terrible burden of a bride who understands her duties.”

Fitzwilliam studied his glass with unexpected intensity.

“Indeed, Miss Bennet’s particular blend of grace and understanding… one could sympathise with Bingley’s retreat.

Her knowledge is far superior to his.

Such perfection would prove rather daunting to lesser mortals.”

Something in his cousin’s voice made Darcy turn.

“You speak with marked warmth of Miss Bennet’s qualities.”

The Colonel’s smile held edges of what might have been regret.

“Perhaps I simply appreciate the rare combination of beauty and genuine intelligence.”

“I had not realised you observed her with such particularity.”

“Intentionally so.”

Fitzwilliam’s said, but volumes remained unspoken.

“I would never permit anyone to think I would toy with a lady’s…well, no matter now.

Bingley’s retreat leaves the path clear for more resolute admirers, should any present themselves.”

Darcy studied his cousin’s artfully arranged features.

“Do you mean to suggest…”

“That a poor, battle weary soldier might appreciate serenity when he finds it? That intelligence wrapped in grace might prove devastatingly appealing?”

The Colonel set down his glass.

“Although of course, a younger son’s admiration must remain purely theoretical.”

“Richard--”

“No, no, pray do not look so concerned.

I merely observe that Bingley’s loss might prove another’s gain, were circumstances different.”

His smile recovered some of its usual light.

“But come, tell me of your plans regarding Miss Elizabeth.

I daresay I hope you mean to show rather more resolution than our retreating friend?”

The shift in topic carried clear warning against further enquiry, although Darcy wondered how he had missed this particular undercurrent in their previous discussions of the Bennets.

Yet his cousin’s determinedly bright manner suggested some confidences were to be left unexplored. For now.

“I mean to travel to Meryton tomorrow,”

he said instead.

“The Matthews property requires attention.”

“A pressing concern, all at once—how curious.”

The Colonel’s eyes held a glint of their usual humour.

“How fortunate that such matters require frequent consultation between neighbours.”

Darcy pierced his cousin with a glare.

“I am in possession of a minor estate which has suffered rather pronounced neglect.

It is my duty to inspect Dunbar Court.”

No doubt the property shall demand your most scrupulous attention—now that it proves so conveniently situated,”

the Colonel mused, his offhand manner belying the sudden interest in his expression.

“As your nearest relation currently in London, I feel rather duty-bound to offer my assistance in the inspection.”

Darcy’s eyebrow lifted.

“Your sense of familial obligation grows remarkably acute.”

“One must consider the broader implications of such an acquisition.”

The Colonel’s smile held just a trace of self-mockery.

“The property’s proximity to certain… established estates might affect its future prospects considerably.”

“Particularly now that Longbourn’s future ownership may shift.”

Darcy watched comprehension dawn in his cousin’s eyes.

“The dissolution of the entail removes those ancient constraints.

Without an entail, the estate may follow a path of Bennet’s own choosing rather than that dictated by legal precedent.

He is likely to leave the estate to his granddaughters.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam leant forward in his chair, the firelight casting thoughtful shadows across his features.

“A remarkable development, considering how few avenues society typically affords women for such independence.”

“Indeed.

Although they have already demonstrated considerable aptitude in its management, even under the shadow of legal challenge.”

The Colonel mused, not quite meeting Darcy’s eye.

“Military service does instil certain organisational principles that translate rather effectively to estate management.”

Darcy arched a brow.

“Am I to understand that your interest extends beyond theoretical considerations of land management? Perhaps to a particular manager, er manageress?”

“Your regard for delicacy, as always, is refreshingly absent.”

The Colonel set his glass down and straightened.

“Miss Bennet combines practical wisdom with a rare gentleness of character.

Such a combination proves… difficult to dismiss from one’s thoughts.”

“Yet you maintained your distance.”

How could I not? With Bingley’s prior attentions so well known, and her situation seemingly dependent on an advantageous marriage, duty dictated restraint.”

The Colonel’s fingers tapped briefly against the arm of his chair.

“One might forgive hesitation in matters of war, but to retreat from Miss Bennet?”

He shook his head slowly, disbelief writ clear across his features.

“That is a failure of judgement bordering on the absurd.

She was all grace, discernment, and quiet strength—and he cast her aside as though such a woman might be found upon every street in London.”

Darcy did not reply at once, and the fire snapped in the grate.

“I own,”

the Colonel continued more quietly, “that duty has grown increasingly burdensome with each passing day.”

“And now?”

Darcy leant back, studying his cousin with newfound interest.

The Colonel smiled faintly.

“A man’s happiness might lie in directions he had not…previously permitted himself to contemplate.” The Colonel’s voice dropped.

“Her composure in company is remarkable—a quality I once mistook for indifference.

But there are moments when that composed exterior yields to something warmer.”

“You believe her affections might be engaged?”

“I believe they might be awakened by the right suitor.”

The Colonel’s expression grew contemplative.

“Her particular combination of grace and capability proves rather devastating to a man’s peace of mind.”

“Your regard, if it existed, was guarded to the point of invisibility.”

“A gentleman does not interfere where another gentleman’s interest appears engaged.”

Fitzwilliam’s voice carried an edge of self-mockery.

“Although there is good reason to question the wisdom of such restraint.”

“Particularly now that the field lies open?”

Darcy’s said with careful query.

“She maintains such perfect composure in company, it is no simple task to discern her particular inclinations”

The Colonel’s smile held surprising warmth.

“You recall she stood up with me twice that evening?”

“As she did with another gentleman, I believe.”

“Ah, but when I approached for that second dance…”

Fitzwilliam’s expression softened at the memory.

“There was a moment, just as the set was forming, when her composure faltered—just slightly, yet unmistakably.

I fancied myself the recipient of a smile a lady grants to one whose attentions she does not politely tolerate but perhaps anticipates.”

“You speak as one who has made a most attentive study of Miss Bennet’s every subtlety of expression”

“One does acquire some aptitude for subtle signals in military intelligence,”

the Colonel replied with attempted lightness.

“In truth, none of my campaigns has ever required such careful attention to the precise degree of warmth signalled in her greeting.”

“And these signals suggest…”

“That perfect serenity might conceal depths of feeling, given the correct encouragement.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression shifted to something more serious.

“That a lady’s carefully maintained public face might allow for private preference, should the right gentleman present himself.”

“And you would be the right gentleman?”

“My dear cousin, not all of us can boast your particular combination of looks and fortune.”

The Colonel’s spoke with careful lightness.

“Some of us must rely on more modest attractions.”

“The son of an earl, with distinguished service and excellent connections?”

Darcy’s eyebrow lifted.

“I hardly think Miss Bennet would find such a prospect wanting.

Particularly when combined with your evident appreciation of her worth.”

“Worth indeed.”

Fitzwilliam’s expression softened.

“Her beauty is considerable, to be sure—but it is her tranquil intelligence… the way she manages chaos with such gentle certainty…” He caught himself, clearing his throat.

“Although I speak only from general observation, you understand.”

“Naturally.”

Darcy’s words suggested he understood rather more than that.

The Colonel’s expression shifted through several interesting variations before settling into studied neutrality.

“Tomorrow, then? For the inspection? One should understand these matters thoroughly before contemplating any… strategic alterations.”

“Tomorrow,”

Darcy agreed, noting his cousin had acquired an unfamiliar animation.

“Perhaps we might call at Longbourn afterward.

To discuss boundary considerations.”

“Purely practical matters,”

Fitzwilliam agreed with suspicious readiness.

“One must maintain civil neighbourly relations.”

Neither gentleman felt compelled to examine too closely how their separate paths toward happiness had somehow aligned into a single campaign.