by Jann Rowland
“The Bennets are unsuitable, especially given the attention you are paying to Miss Bennet. It would not do to raise the girl’s hopes, expectations you can never fulfill. It would be best if we returned to London, sell the lease, and search for an estate in a more appropriate neighborhood.”
“I am quite settled at Netherfield, Caroline,” said Bingley.
“And if you choose to give up the Bennets’ friendship,” added Darcy, “you will do so without me. I find that I esteem the family greatly. If your brother intends to give up this estate, it is not my concern. But as I enjoy the neighborhood, I shall stay.”
Darcy turned to Bingley, noting the grin showing his concealed mirth. “In fact, old man, if you are intent upon giving up the lease, I believe I will take it off your hands.”
“That is kind of you, to be sure, Darcy,” replied Bingley, a hint of a chuckle accompanying his words. “It is unnecessary, however, for I am quite settled here.”
Then Bingley turned back to his sister who was regarding them with astonishment. “There—we are both comfortable here for the time being. And as you know, Louisa and Hurst are due to arrive tomorrow. I know we shall be a merry party, and I expect Louisa and Hurst will enjoy the society as much as we have.
“Now, if you will excuse us, I believe Darcy and I require a change of clothing.”
Following his friend, Darcy turned and walked toward the stairs, not daring to look back at the woman they had left behind. If he had possessed the fortitude, he was certain he would have seen her staring open-mouthed at their retreating backs. It was not in any way gentlemanly, but he found a savage sense of satisfaction welling up in his breast at the thought of Miss Bingley’s consternation.
“I thank you for your support, Darcy,” said Bingley as they gained the upper level. “But I will own to some curiosity. I might have thought you would balk at a connection to a tradesman.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth,” replied Darcy, forbearing to mention his friendship with Bingley himself. “Should this tradesman uncle be as estimable as the Bennets themselves, he must be an excellent man.”
“I cannot agree more. However, you know that my sister will not surrender.”
“Of course not,” murmured Darcy. “I would never have suspected her of it.”
Chapter XVIII
Louisa Hurst anticipated the coming stay at her brother’s leased estate in Hertfordshire. The previous months, she and her husband had been staying at his family’s estate, a picturesque plot of land near to the coast of Norfolk. While Louisa had always found the estate to be beautiful, she could not say the same of the time they spent there. There was a simple reason which could be summed up in a single name: Aloysius Hurst.
Aloysius Hurst was her husband’s father, Gerald Hurst, and a more cantankerous man she had never had the misfortune to meet. Having married at an already advanced age, her father-in-law was an aged man, though in excellent health, showing no signs of infirmity, other than perhaps that of the mind. Though he had always been a difficult man, according to her husband, the elder Hurst was also disapproving of his son’s choice of wife and was not hesitant to share his opinion. The Bingleys were, Louisa knew, descended from tradesmen, though her brother had sold his portion of the family business, but to listen to Mr. Hurst, his family were higher than the dukes. Thus, while he tolerated Louisa, he was not friendly, and the time they spent there had always seemed akin to a prison sentence.
Hertfordshire was a beautiful county, full of pastoral landscapes, gently rolling hills, and small neighborhoods, allowing Louisa to realize the rest she so desperately needed. The anticipation was not hers alone, however, for her husband had mentioned more than once how happy he was to leave Norfolk.
“With any luck,” said Hurst as the carriage rolled toward the country manor in the distance, “with Darcy in residence, there will not be much society.”
“I have no objection to taking part in society,” replied Louisa. “It is the quietude in the house I crave. Though I offer my apologies for speaking so, living with your father is not restful in any way.”
Hurst chuckled and grasped her hand. “There is little for me to do but agree. Let us hope, then, we have left our trials behind us.”
In their eagerness to reach Netherfield, however, neither Louisa nor Hurst had considered what might have happened in their absence. They were to learn soon after their arrival.
The greetings were exchanged as they ever were, Charles his usually happy and gregarious self, while Mr. Darcy, reserved, yet pleased to see them. Louisa knew Darcy considered her husband to be more than a little dull, and at times she was forced to agree with him, though Hurst was a good man. The final member of the welcoming party greeted them, and Louisa’s guard rose in an instant, for behind Caroline’s façade of welcome, discontent and anger seethed.
“Is it just my imagination or is Caroline angry?” asked Hurst as they made their escape and go to their rooms.
“I am surprised you noticed it, Husband,” replied Louisa.
“Believe me, my dear, I am well enough acquainted with Caroline’s moods to know when she is discontented.” Hurst paused and snorted, stopping to open the doors to their chambers and allow her to walk through. “Then again, I can always tell when Caroline is unhappy—when she is awake, she is almost always in that state.”
Louisa could not help the laugh which escaped, and she swatted at him in mock affront. The man grinned, unaffected by her show of displeasure. “Do not allow Caroline to hear you speak so. You know you and she do not get on at the best of times.”
“I find I am unconcerned for your sister’s resentment,” replied Hurst. “It would be best if your brother were to curb her excesses. Darcy has warned him several times she will shame him in society if he does not, and I agree with him.”
“Yet Charles is not a man to be firm with her,” replied Louisa with a sigh.
“No, he is not. But if Darcy and I keep speaking to him of it, perhaps he will do something. Regardless, let us change and attend your brother. I hope he has something stronger than tea at hand, for I need it after Norfolk.”
They parted, Louisa shaking her head at her husband with true amusement. There was little he liked so well as good food and smooth brandy, and as there was little of either at his father’s estate, it did not help his mood when they stayed there. Louisa turned her steps to her own chamber, calling for her maid and eager to change into something less dusty. With any luck, she would avoid her sister that day at least. Luck, however, was not with Louisa Hurst.
“Louisa!” the strident tones of her sister announced her presence before even the opening of the door could. “Why did you wait so long before joining us?”
“Hello, Caroline,” said Louisa, as the maid was making the last few adjustments to the repair of her coiffeur. “Our visit to my father-in-law’s estate was scheduled for two months—I am certain I informed you of this before we departed.”
“I know not why you go there at all,” said Caroline with her customary sneer. “A pitiful little plot in the middle of nowhere, and an argumentative old man who makes your life miserable. Besides, I had need of you here!”
While Louisa could not dispute her sister’s account of the elder Hurst, she did not appreciate her characterization of the estate her husband would inherit. Dunton Heath was not the greatest estate in the land, but it was respectable, with an income approaching five thousand a year. Then again, Caroline always had considered anything smaller than London itself to be a rustic country setting with no redeeming qualities. Louisa wondered why her sister was so intent upon marrying into the higher echelons of society—did she not understand they spent half the year at their country estates?
“I cannot imagine why you might have had need of me,” replied Louisa, smiling at her maid to allow her to depart.
“Then let me inform you,” hissed Caroline. “Not only is this neighborhood bucolic and rough, peopled wi
th savages who have no notion of proper behavior, but Charles has once again had his head turned by a young woman. Not only that, Mr. Darcy seems to find the country tolerable, and he has been paying attention to one of the barbarians himself. This is not to be endured!”
The news of Charles was unsurprising—Louisa had seen her brother’s infatuation frequently. He would lose interest like he had so many other times. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, had never so much as looked at another woman, except to find something to criticize. If it was something more than Caroline’s intense interest in the man for herself speaking, it explained her sister’s pique.
“Is he?” asked Louisa. “That is unusual.”
“We must do something,” said Caroline, beginning to pace the room. “If we can persuade Charles and Mr. Darcy we would be better in town—or even Pemberley!—we could leave this behind. I shall not have my brother marrying a country nobody.”
In the past, Louisa had always supported her sister. Of the three, Caroline was the most forceful, the most determined to have her way, and as Charles was as he was and Louisa of a quieter disposition, it had always seemed like the path of least resistance. Now, after a long journey, having spent the past two months in company with a man who saw fault in everything she did, the last thing Louisa wished was to be drawn into her sister’s schemes with respect to Mr. Darcy.
What Caroline would not acknowledge was Mr. Darcy’s lack of anything resembling interest in her. The mere mention of it would send Caroline into a rage, so Louisa usually avoided speaking of it where her sister could overhear. Mr. Darcy was a man capable of seeing to his own interests, having fended off every determined fortune hunter in society since he had inherited his estate five years before. On that day, however, fatigue, coupled with Caroline’s tiresome insistence wore on Louisa, and she was not as circumspect as she usually endeavored to be with her difficult sibling.
“Oh, Caroline,” said Louisa, sinking back into the chair from which she had just arisen. “There is little you can do to direct Mr. Darcy. Has he not proven it many times in the past? I cannot imagine the gentleman has any true intentions toward a woman of the country.”
“You have not seen them together.” Caroline growled and continued to pace. “Though I would not have credited him with such interest in a woman so unsuitable, his attentions have been unmistakable. Something must be done to stop it.”
Louisa made no reply, and she did not need to, for Caroline was deep in her own thoughts. For several moments she paced, the sound of her slippered feet striking the floor tiles providing a soporific effect, lulling Louisa to a sense of complacency. When Caroline spoke, it roused Louisa, though she remained in a state of lowered awareness.
“Perhaps a letter to that aunt of his—Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She would be no friend of Mr. Darcy’s attentions to this country nobody.”
“I do not think that would serve,” replied Louisa. “Not only are you unacquainted with the woman—a letter would be presumptuous—but by all accounts, Lady Catherine covets Mr. Darcy for her own daughter.”
“Perhaps she does. It seems she hopes in vain, however, for Mr. Darcy has not seen fit to offer for her.”
Lady Catherine is not the only one who hopes in vain, thought Louisa, though she would not say it aloud. “Informing her would do little. Unless you wish her to insist he marry her daughter.”
“I doubt he would. Lady Catherine would put a stop to his infatuation and then leave. With any luck, she would persuade him that leaving Hertfordshire is for the best, which would allow us to convince Charles of the same.”
“I am sorry, Caroline,” said Louisa, “but while you might not credit it, I have been eager for this holiday in the country, after two months with Hurst’s father. I do not wish to return to London.”
“Oh, do be serious, Louisa,” said Caroline, her tone dismissive and distracted. “Hurst may become soused on our brother’s brandy in town as easily as he may do it here. The important matter is to ensure we remove Charles and Mr. Darcy from these country temptresses.”
The slight directed toward her husband raised Louisa’s ire, but she forced down any number of retorts which would only set her sister off. Watching Caroline pace proved anything but calming, but a moment of holding her tongue eased the desire to bark back at her sister.
“I must find a way to do it,” muttered Caroline. “This cannot be allowed to stand. I had thought to prove my qualities to Mr. Darcy, to show him what an excellent mistress of his estate I can be. To be shunted aside by some country adventuress is not to be borne!”
“Perhaps you should allow the matter to rest,” said Louisa, fatigued by her sister’s ranting. Caroline turned a dangerous glare on her, but Louisa could not bring herself to care. “It has been two years, Caroline. If Mr. Darcy meant to make you an offer, do you not think he would have done so already? It would be best if you returned to London for the season with the intention of finding a husband who wishes to have you for a wife.”
“Mr. Darcy is mine!” hissed Caroline. “I shall not allow another woman to steal him from me!”
“It seems he is not yours. Else he would have offered for you. Find yourself a husband, Caroline—it will make you happier than scheming to entrap a man who does not wish you for a wife.”
“Perhaps you are content to resign yourself to a sodden bore for a husband, but I am not. I will be mistress of Pemberley!”
“That sodden bore is our only family connection to the gentry,” said Louisa, standing and glaring at her sister. “I will thank you to remember that he is my husband and deserving of your respect.”
Caroline snorted. “Respect, dear sister, is reserved for those who earn it.”
“Then perhaps you should leave,” said Louisa. “I have little desire to hear you disparage my husband. And as for your doomed campaign to tempt Mr. Darcy, I shall have you know that I am little inclined to assist you, given your unkind words about my husband. I should not wish such a wife as you on Mr. Darcy.”
“Traitor!” spat Caroline. “Is this how you treat me?”
“It is when you are so insulting and unreasonable.”
“Then so be it. I shall deal with it myself.” Caroline stalked to the door and flung it open, before turning and fixing Louisa with a baleful look. “When I am mistress of Pemberley, you should not expect any notice from me. It will be long before I will forget your betrayal.”
With those final words, Caroline stalked from the room, the sound of the door to the sitting-room slamming reverberated through the room and served to give Louisa a headache. Sitting in her chair again, Louisa reached up to massage her temples, wondering what she had done to deserve such a sister as Caroline. The sound of her husband entering the room was welcome after the argument.
“It seems your sister has a bee in her bonnet,” said Hurst.
With a single look, he exited, returning a few moments later with a glass of sherry. Hurst placed it in her hand, urging her to drink, which she did in small sips, while he placed his hands on her shoulders and massaged them gently. Louisa felt she could sleep at his ministrations, so heavenly did they feel at that moment.
“Now, perhaps you should tell me what has prompted your sister to anger.”
“What is always the matter with Caroline?” asked Louisa with an uncaring shrug. She sipped at her drink again, appreciating the sweet liquid as it lingered on her tongue. “Charles is infatuated, the country is unsuitable, and Mr. Darcy has not yet fallen at her feet.”
The derisive snort with which Hurst replied informed Louisa what he thought. “Your sister is delusional,” said he. “Darcy will never make her an offer. The sooner she acknowledges it the greater chance she possesses of finding a husband. At this rate, she will never marry.”
Louisa nodded but did not reply. The glass she set aside, as she did not wish to dull her senses further, given the difficult evening she expected in Caroline’s company. Hurst squeezed her shoulders once mor
e and stepped around her, pulling a nearby chair closer so he could sit with her and speak, his manner as serious as she had ever seen.
“It is good you put her off, Louisa,” said he. “It will not be a surprise to learn I dislike your sister. She is demanding and selfish, contemptuous of you and our marriage, and thinks entirely too well of herself in my opinion. While my father is difficult to endure, the fact is that your sister is intolerable—while my father refuses to leave the estate, your sister is, in fact, with us whenever we are not there. Her presence is not only ubiquitous, but it is disruptive and puts a strain upon our marriage which would not exist if she was not present.”
“I . . . I had not thought of it that way.” Louisa paused, looking down in embarrassment. “Caroline is my sister, and I, as the eldest, have always thought it my responsibility to care for her.”
“It is your brother who has the responsibility for her,” said Hurst. “Bingley holds her dowry in trust, provides her with an allowance—which she routinely exceeds, I might add—and your brother will approve of any suitors for her hand. Should there be any, of course. It is commendable you wish to see to her needs, but her selfishness makes it difficult.”
Thoughtful, Louisa nodded slowly, thinking of all the times Caroline put her own desires before those of anyone else. As there were no instances of the opposite which readily came to Louisa’s mind, many such events flashed across her mind, filling Louisa with a resentment toward Caroline she had never felt before. It was, perhaps, not laudable to feel that way for another, but Caroline did not invite sympathy, and the loyalty Louisa had always offered her sister had never been reciprocated. Now all Louisa could feel was fatigue, colored by a hefty measure of affront.
“Thank you for speaking, Husband,” said Louisa, focusing her attention once again on the man before her. He was not the most handsome or the most interesting, intelligent, or industrious man—but he cared for her and had always endured her sister for her sake. It was time she gave her support to him instead of Caroline.