Page 8 of The Same Noble Line (Darcy and Elizabeth Happily Ever Afters)

D arcy and Fitzwilliam stepped out of the church. “When did you ever meet someone from Russia?” Darcy inquired as he placed his hat back on his head.

“Whitehall,” Fitzwilliam replied. “One of the officers attached to the ambassador. Ugly fellow, not at all well liked. But his daughter . . .”

“Stop,” Darcy said, holding up his hand. “I have heard enough.”

“It is so easy to mortify you,” Fitzwilliam said with a laugh. “The phrase came from one of their folktales. She was eager to acquaint me with—”

“I beg you to stop.”

“Their culture , you idiot.” He chuckled, tugged at his gloves, and returned to the matter before them. “Yorkshire or Hampshire. Hundreds of miles between. The man might as well have said the Antipodes. And the Bennets not attending here complicates things further.”

Darcy pressed his lips together and stared down the main street of Meryton. “I should have known. I spent two months in Hertfordshire.”

Fitzwilliam grunted. “You were preoccupied, I imagine,” he said, his tone deliberately neutral. “But it will not be possible to check the register at a chapel so near Longbourn without alerting its master unless we know precisely when it shall be empty.”

Darcy inclined his head. “We will begin with Mrs. Long,” he said. “The vicar was correct about that. She is the worst gossip in the neighbourhood.”

“Then why did we not begin with her?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Because she is the worst gossip in the neighbourhood,” Darcy repeated.

They made their way back toward the carriage, their boots crunching against the frosty ground.

The ride to Mrs. Long’s home passed in relative silence, each man lost in his thoughts. Darcy wrestled with the growing realization that his own failings—his aloofness, his lack of curiosity about the Bennets—had contributed to his current predicament.

As they approached Mrs. Long’s home, Fitzwilliam smiled. “You know, Darcy, Mrs. Long will be expecting an explanation for why we have graced her with our presence. Shall I devise a story?”

Darcy shot him a warning glance. “Nothing outlandish, Fitzwilliam.”

The colonel’s grin widened. “What about this: we are here to inquire about her legendary recipe for gooseberry tart?”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “I doubt Mrs. Long would appreciate the implication that she cannot keep a cook. Have you no idea more plausible?”

As the carriage jostled along the road toward Mrs. Long’s house, Fitzwilliam leaned back, tapping his fingers against the window frame.

“Plausible, eh?” Fitzwilliam’s lips quirked into a grin. “We could tell her you are writing a treatise on the dangers of local gossip. She is clearly the reigning expert.”

Darcy shot him a withering glance. “A suggestion that does not insult our hostess, if you please.”

Fitzwilliam held up a hand in mock surrender. “Very well. We shall just stick with the original plan and tell her you are introducing your highly placed cousin to all the best families.”

Darcy arched a brow. “All?”

“Yes,” Fitzwilliam smirked. “You are making amends for being a fastidious oaf before.”

“I never said I was—”

“You did not need to,” his cousin interrupted. “I am well aware of your behaviour among those unfamiliar to you, Darcy. And I intend to enjoy myself a little.”

As Mrs. Long’s modest home came into view, Darcy straightened in his seat, glancing sidelong at his cousin. “Do try to behave, Fitzwilliam.”

The colonel’s roguish smile broadened. “When have I ever done otherwise?”

Darcy scoffed. “Shall I provide a list?”

Fitzwilliam clapped a hand to his chest in mock offense. “A list? Of my transgressions? My dear cousin, I thought you knew me too well for such formalities.”

He held his composure, though Fitzwilliam’s antics made him wish to laugh. “I should think a catalogue would be more fitting,” he replied drily. “But for now, I ask only this: do not embarrass me before Mrs. Long.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Of course not! I am here to repair your reputation, cousin. By the time I am finished, Mrs. Long will believe you are the very pinnacle of warmth and wisdom.”

“Even your vaunted social grace will not be able to achieve that.”

A footman opened the carriage door.

“Come now, Darcy. Let us meet this legendary historian of Meryton society.”

Darcy shook his head and descended, his cousin’s laughter fading as they approached the door. When Mrs. Long opened it moments later, her widened eyes revealed both astonishment and delight at the sight of her unexpected callers.

“Mr. Darcy,” she exclaimed, her voice bright with a mix of curiosity and delight. “What an unexpected pleasure! Do come in.”

He inclined his head. “Mrs. Long, thank you for receiving us. May I introduce my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

Mrs. Long said all that was polite and then ushered them into a small but comfortable sitting room where two young women sat stiffly on a settee. The nieces, Darcy presumed. He did not recall seeing them at the assembly the previous autumn, but then he had not really looked. Both women before him were dressed plainly but with a palpable air of anticipation, their wide eyes darting between the two men.

“Colonel, this is my niece, Miss Letitia Long,” Mrs. Long said with a flourish, gesturing to the elder of the two. “And her sister, Miss Agatha Long.”

Both young ladies curtsied, though Miss Agatha’s curtsy wobbled slightly. Darcy offered a polite nod while Fitzwilliam performed a gallant bow that left Miss Agatha blushing furiously.

“It is such a surprise to see you gentlemen here,” Mrs. Long continued, settling herself into a chair and looking at them expectantly.

“We shall be making visits to all the primary families in the area to introduce my cousin, Mrs. Long.” Darcy offered her what he hoped was an apologetic glance. “I mean to start out better on this visit than on my last.” Darcy’s glance toward Fitzwilliam carried a warning not to embellish.

Mrs. Long brightened at the compliment to her position in the neighbourhood. “A wise decision, Mr. Darcy. A gentleman of your standing ought to be on good terms with all his neighbours.”

Fitzwilliam leaned forward with an easy smile. “Indeed, Mrs. Long. My cousin has spoken of the families here with great respect, and I can see why. There is such genuine hospitality here.”

Mrs. Long was clearly a bit surprised by this, but her nieces exchanged pleased glances. The matron recovered quickly to say, “Oh, Colonel, you are too kind.”

Darcy nodded but knew not what else to say.

“Of course,” Fitzwilliam continued, “I have heard so much about the families here, most notably the Bennets, I suppose, given Mr. Bingley’s interest in the eldest. Five daughters do make quite an impression.”

The ladies’ expressions shifted, and Darcy caught a slight edge in Mrs. Long’s smile. “The Bennets? I suppose you might wish to know something about them, what with Miss Bennet so often praised for her beauty. But between us, Mr. Darcy, a fine gentleman like Mr. Bingley ought not make such a decision in haste. Beauty is not everything.”

Fitzwilliam’s smile deepened, his tone light but pointed. “Ah, yes, there are many fine young women hereabouts. How is it that there are so many, Mrs. Long?”

She tittered. “In the usual way, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Fitzwilliam smiled genially. “It is always fascinating to learn how families establish themselves in a neighbourhood. I imagine, Mrs. Long, that Meryton itself has seen much change over the years, with new families coming and others fading into history.”

Mrs. Long nodded, clearly pleased to be considered an authority on such matters. “Indeed, it has, Colonel. Many fine families have come and gone. Some settle here and thrive, while others . . .” She trailed off, her meaning clear.

Darcy’s words were calculated. “I expect, then, that the Bennets have been here for quite some time? Mr. Bennet strikes me as a man firmly rooted in his home.”

Mrs. Long pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Oh, yes, Longbourn has been in the Bennet family for several generations. Though Mr. Bennet’s father was the second son. They returned to Longbourn when Mr. Bennet was just a babe, after the death of his uncle. He had not been given the family living, for it was already occupied.”

“Ah,” Fitzwilliam murmured, exchanging a quick glance with Darcy. “So it was the elder line that originally held the estate?”

Mrs. Long inclined her head, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share her knowledge. “Quite so. It was rather a fortunate turn for the current Mr. Bennet, though I daresay he has managed it well enough.” Her emphasis suggested that she was not offering a compliment.

“Hmm,” he said carefully. “It is an interesting history. I suppose it speaks well of Mr. Bennet’s steadiness that he has kept the estate in good order.”

Mrs. Long’s smile tightened ever so slightly. “Well, it is a modest estate, Mr. Darcy.”

Darcy allowed a polite nod while Fitzwilliam deftly shifted the conversation to more general topics, satisfied that they had learned what they came to discover. But they could not leave yet. They would have to remain for the length of a polite call.

“The Lucas family has also made their mark in Meryton,” Miss Long began, folding her hands primly in her lap, “though Sir William’s elevation was more recent. He was a shopkeeper before.”

Miss Agatha nodded quickly. “Oh yes, Sir William was knighted a few years after Aunt Long came out. It must have been very exciting, though I believe some felt it was not entirely deserved.”

Mrs. Long sniffed delicately. “Indeed, my dears, it was quite a stir, though the Lucases have never been known for exceptional refinement. Miss Lucas is the best of them—it is a shame she is so plain.”

The women all looked at him hopefully, but Darcy had no idea what they wished him to say. Finally, he inclined his head, catching Fitzwilliam’s sidelong glance of amusement as he did so. The colonel leaned forward as though to convey a private thought.

“And yet Miss Lucas is engaged to be married now, is she not?” Fitzwilliam said, his tone curious but unthreatening. “To the heir to Longbourn, I believe?”

They had overheard Mrs. Bennet lamenting the upcoming nuptials, but Darcy was impressed that Fitzwilliam had recalled that detail.

“Oh yes,” Miss Long replied quickly. “Mr. Collins of Hunsford. A respectable match, though not one I imagine anyone here envied.”

“Indeed,” Miss Agatha added. “Though his living is believed to be rather comfortable, thanks to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Mrs. Long nodded sagely. “I daresay Mr. Collins’s connection to the lady is the most remarkable thing about him. And that he will have Longbourn one day.”

“Still, Mr. Bennet is not an elderly man. Mr. and Mrs. Collins may find themselves in Hunsford for rather a long time,” Miss Long concluded.

“And what of the Purvis family?” Fitzwilliam asked, smoothly steering the conversation away from the Lucases and Lady Catherine. Thank goodness, for their aunt was not a relation Darcy wished to claim just now. “Are they long established in Meryton?”

“Oh, the Purvis girls,” Miss Long said with a faint sigh. “They are quite plain, even plainer than Charlotte Lucas, if you will pardon my saying so. And with none of her sense or practicality to compensate.”

“Not that they lack advantages,” Miss Agatha interjected. “Their dowries are respectable.”

“But a dowry can only do so much,” Mrs. Long said firmly. “It is no wonder they remain unmarried.”

Darcy’s patience began to wear thin, though he remained outwardly composed. Fitzwilliam, however, appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

“And the Gouldings?” Fitzwilliam asked, his eyes alight with mischief. He had certainly made the most of his time with the younger Bennet girls, for he had seemingly committed the names of the most prominent families to memory.

Mrs. Long’s expression soured slightly. “Oh, the Gouldings have no daughters, only boys. And those boys, I am afraid, have no interest in Meryton girls. They are always gallivanting about London, where the company is showier but not of better quality.”

Darcy allowed himself a faint smile. Fitzwilliam’s friendly manner had eased the way for the ladies to speak openly. Mrs. Long seemed increasingly comfortable, and the nieces were clearly eager to present themselves as the most eligible women in Meryton.

“What of the other families, madam?” Fitzwilliam inquired.

Mrs. Long leaned forward conspiratorially. “The Longs have been on this land for nearly two hundred years. My husband and I have no children, but his brother had two daughters, and when their mother died, they came to us. We are very grateful, for they are such good girls, and they will have both this house and their father’s one day.”

Mrs. Long’s home was not a working estate.

“The Bennets think themselves quite grand, but they only came to Longbourn because Mr. Bennet’s uncle died before he wed. And Mr. Bennet’s father was in mourning for his wife and never remarried.” She sounded piqued.

No mother. That was all Darcy could take. He checked his watch.

“You must stay for tea!” Mrs. Long cried. “And perhaps a game of whist.”

Darcy rose, his expression polite but firm. “We are grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Long, but I am afraid we must decline. We have other visits to make today.”

“You are fortunate in your nieces, Mrs. Long,” Fitzwilliam said with a gallant bow of his head toward Miss Long and Miss Agatha. “They possess both elegance and good sense.”

Both young women blushed, and Mrs. Long preened visibly at the compliment. “You are too kind, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

He certainly was. Darcy cleared his throat lightly. “Your insights into the families of Meryton are most enlightening, Mrs. Long. I confess that my last visit left me sadly uninformed about the area. I am grateful for your generosity.”

Mrs. Long’s chest puffed with pride. “You are quite welcome, Mr. Darcy. And I will keep your visit in the strictest confidence. I know how easily the wrong sort of talk can spread, and I would not wish to misrepresent your intentions.”

The woman thought to encourage their interest in her nieces and did not want to alert anyone that Darcy was more kindly disposed to the local ladies than had been previously believed and that his cousin was everything charming. Her hopes were presumptuous and wrong, but they would work to his advantage.

Darcy nodded. “Your discretion is appreciated.”

As they rose to take their leave, Fitzwilliam lingered for a moment, offering a final smile to the nieces. “Perhaps another time.”

Miss Long smiled softly, and Miss Agatha stammered a polite response, her cheeks pink. Mrs. Long, meanwhile, glowed with satisfaction.

Once back in the carriage, Darcy exhaled heavily, shooting Fitzwilliam a look of exasperation. “You made that far too enjoyable for her. You are on your own for tea and whist.”

Fitzwilliam shook his head. “Nonsense. I only said, ‘ perhaps another time.’ Sufficiently vague. Besides, unlike you, I have nothing against returning for refreshments and a little entertainment. A soldier must find company where he can.”

“I do wish you would stop crying poor.”

“Compared to you, we are all poor.” Fitzwilliam stretched out his legs. “Well, cousin, we came for a crumb and left with a morsel.”

Darcy’s mood darkened. “Mr. Bennet was likely past his christening when he arrived with his father and no mother. I have only learned that which may support my being a usurper.”

“We need more than this to uncover the truth,” Fitzwilliam scoffed. “Mrs. Long is clearly desirous of damaging what she sees as the Bennet girls’ chances with us in favour of her nieces. And even if what she says is true, it could all simply be a coincidence.”

Mrs. Long was self-interested, that much was true. But being a gossip did not necessarily make her wrong.