Page 7

Mr. Bennet watched the exchange, his eyes bright and darting from one person to the next. “I have heard the owners are seeking to sell Netherfield. May I enquire if such was mentioned to you, sir? I know the neighbourhood is concerned of who might purchase the property.”

“With good reason,” said Bingley. “None of us wishes to be accused of witchcraft. Meryton is one of the few magical hamlets remaining near London. I find the town enchanting, and it would be a shame if the neighbourhood did not remain as it is. Do you know how long it has existed?”

Mr. Bennet relaxed into his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Meryton is recorded as having existed in the Domesday Book. I have documents stating the Bennets were gifted their land in the 6 th century. I assume the town came into existence not long after.”

Miss Bingley’s nose crinkled as though she smelt something foul and looked at Mr. Hurst who mirrored her sister’s expression. They would never see the value of such a place.

“’Tis that old?” asked Hurst. He was already in his cups, so thankfully, he had not said anything more thus far.

“How fascinating!” Bingley grinned from ear to ear.

A surge of what could only be described as joy filled Fitzwilliam, and he steeled himself to force his friend’s emotion from his body.

Bingley needed to control himself. The elder Bingley son had been the heir, but he had died five years ago.

Bingley was, as a result, head of his family, but with no more than the mere talent of being able to project his happiness onto those around him.

The magic suited him. Bingley was so pleased with everything and everyone, it was almost contagious.

A chuckle came from Mr. Bennet. “’Tis an interesting gift you have, sir.”

Bingley reddened. “Forgive me. I had not intended—”

Mr. Bennet held up a hand. “I am not offended. Spreading happiness to others is harmless. I would wager a little joy could do many a great deal of good.”

“Well, Darcy is helping me learn to control my outbursts. They occur less often than they once did.”

“Bingley was often exhausted and drained from the power he was exuding,” said Fitzwilliam. He could recall Bingley’s eyes being red-rimmed and lined with dark circles. Holding in his emotions had been difficult at first, but Bingley had practiced and become more proficient.

“Forgive me, Mr. Bennet, but I must ask,” said Bingley. Fitzwilliam had to keep from laughing. Bingley wore an expression that made him appear almost like an eager puppy. “But I have heard mentioned that you have five daughters—all reputed to be rather pretty.”

Bennet’s eyebrows shot up. “I do have five daughters, and I believe they are all beautiful in their own way, but I am hardly impartial. My eldest is Jane, then comes Elizabeth, Mary, Kitty, and Lydia.”

“I heard they are all out?” asked Miss Bingley.

“Their mother insisted upon it, so yes, but I would not approve of an engagement for Kitty or Lydia as yet. They are still too silly to understand a lifelong commitment.”

The clock in the hall chimed and Mr. Bennet stood. “Well, I should be returning to Longbourn. Will we see you at the next assembly? I believe it is in a little over a fortnight.”

“Yes,” said Bingley, beaming. “I should be pleased to go.”

“Good.” Bennet stepped forward and offered his hand.

After Bingley shook it, he held out his arm towards the door. “Let me walk you out.”

Fitzwilliam stood. This was the opportunity he required. “I shall join you.”

His friend shook Bennet’s hand one more time at the front door, but Fitzwilliam stepped outside with Mr. Bennet and walked with the gentleman to his carriage.

“You look just like your father did at this age,” said Mr. Bennet. “I would have recognised you instantly in a crowd. You do have your mother’s eyes and nose, however.”

Fitzwilliam laughed. “Yes, Mrs. Reynolds tells me the same quite often. Has Elizabeth told you of our meeting?”

“She did, but should you not call her Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, I should, yet the glimpses I’ve had over the years of her have been frequent enough to make me feel as though I know her. I assure you; I shall address her properly when we are in company. ”

The older gentleman dipped his chin with a slight smile. “From what Elizabeth has told me, you intend to court her instead of relying upon the arrangement. Well done, young man. My daughter can be wilful, and she was not best pleased at the idea of marrying a stranger.”

“I dreamt of your conversation of our engagement.”

“A fortuitous foresight I would say,” said Mr. Bennet.

“Yes, I have known of this most of my life while she has not. I am uncertain whether she has had visions of me, so she may not have any attachment. I shall not know more until I can talk to her.”

“She speaks little of what she sees. I have impressed upon her the importance of allowing the future to unfold as it will.”

Fitzwilliam nodded. “Yes, I would not have spoken of the matter unless I was assured it had already happened.”

Mr. Bennet clapped him on the shoulder. “Knowing your father as I did, I am sure you would not. Since I would prefer you to wed my daughter over anyone else, I shall tell you she takes walks every morning, usually in Oakham Forest. She likes the stones and visits them often. There is also a willow near the brook where she seeks solace on occasion.”

“Will she not object to you revealing her sanctuaries?”

He grinned with a slight chuckle. “Most certainly.” He wagged a finger. “But ensure you win over that beast of hers. Herne is quite protective of her.”

Fitzwilliam allowed a quirk of his lips. “She named him Herne?” Herne was said to be a ghost with antlers who haunted Windsor Forest in Berkshire. The name was appropriate.

“She thought it fitting.”

“Well, he did not take issue with me speaking to Elizabeth the night of the equinox festival, but I shall be prepared nonetheless.” An apple or carrot would be appreciated by the stag, would it not?

He had never left treats for the deer on Pemberley grounds, but his horses appreciated those particular foods.

“You could see him?”

“Yes; I could also sense the protection spell, but I could not miss him when I approached the forest.”

Mr. Bennet looked at him over his half-moon spectacles. “How fascinating! If I may ask: your friend, Mr. Bingley—I have sensed that he is a good sort of gentleman?”

With a frown, Fitzwilliam shrugged one shoulder. “He can be capricious, but he is not one to do evil. His brother was the heir, but he died five years ago. He was thrown from his horse.”

“How tragic,” said Mr. Bennet.

“Yes, and Bingley was left to take up the mantle. He may have difficulty finding a wife who is willing to settle for a talent, but he is a good fellow. Why do you ask?”

Mr. Bennet waved a hand. “No reason, really. Just wanted to ensure my sense of others is still working properly. But I should go. My wife was in an ill temper when I departed, so I should return.”

“Of course. I hope Mrs. Bennet is feeling better.”

“Thank you, Fitz. . .” He laughed and shook his head. “I should call you Darcy now, though it is strange to do so.”

When Mr. Bennet climbed inside his carriage, Fitzwilliam stepped forward to close the door. “I shall see you soon, sir. Good day.”