by Anne Morris
"And where was she before school?" Darcy asked.
"Can't rightly say," replied the old lady, "she is the daughter of Mr. Harper's wife's sister."
"Has he lost his wife? I believe I have not met her," asked Darcy.
"Years gone now, twenty years or more," replied the old lady.
"And Miss King is a niece because his wife had a sister?" he asked, outlining the relationship.
"Yes, though I cannot recall her name. I barely remember what Mrs. Harper looked like, let alone what Mrs. King would have looked like when she came visiting two decades or more ago!" said the old vicar's wife.
"No," he replied, "thank you," he remembered his manners at the last, and walked away.
• • •
Bingley had been happy, as he always was, with the social outing and said so as they sat with their feet splayed out in front of them, alone together, drinking late into the night.
"Charles, I think Mary King is Mr. Harper's natural daughter," said Darcy, interrupting his friend's remembrances about the evening.
"What!" cried Bingley sitting up quickly and spilling port onto his pantaloons. He swore then, an act uncharacteristic of him. He bounced out of his seat and found his handkerchief; decided his trousers were more in need, and began to blot at them, the chair's upholstery could be left to a servant. "Why do you think that?"
"Because of her ears, their ears," answered his friend.
"Their ears?" Charles Bingley stopped his blotting to look at his tall friend sitting placidly in his chair with a blank, even bored face. "You can make such an accusation based on…ears?" he cried and whipped the wet handkerchief restlessly about in his hand.
"Yes," said Darcy and handed over his own handkerchief. "I fear port stains leather terribly. You may never get that out."
"Explain," said Bingley, sitting down in a different chair and began to blot again.
"I have made a careful study of ears, and all members of a family appear to share the same ear shape," he said.
"But Miss King and Mr. Harper are of the same family," said Bingley.
"But not by blood, according to the elder Mrs. Hale. Miss King is supposedly the daughter of Mr. Harper's dead wife's sister. She has been at school for many years, and if the previous vicar's wife—a sure source of gossip—knows nothing about her, then what do we or anyone in Meryton know of Miss King's past?"
"I still fail to see why this proves Mr. Harper is her father?" frowned his friend.
"Perhaps it does not conclusively prove it. I can dig around and find out more about her schooling, where she grew up—who her father, Mr. King, is supposed to have been—but why then do she and her uncle have those similar ears?" Darcy raised an eyebrow, and then his glass.
"Sounds far-fetched to me," argued Bingley.
"I shall ask around as to who is to be Mr. Harper's inheritor, and we shall see if I am not proved right," Darcy drank.
Bingley stopped his blotting to stare at his friend. "Why are you so concerned? Why do you care so much?"
"I do not care at all; it was simply a little conundrum I set myself to pass the evening. More port, Bingley?"
"No, I will go and change, and send a servant to see to the chair," cried his friend and departed.
• • •
Darcy enjoyed the day of shooting; he liked the sport though Bingley was not a man so used to such long days in the field—nor was Mr. Hurst—and Netherfield had not been used for shooting for many a year since the owner moved to London. Bingley was also distracted as the dinner that evening was to be at Longbourn, and he thought and spoke often of seeing Jane Bennet. Bingley's shooting prowess suffered because of it.
The Philips made fourteen at the table; it was a noisy but excellent supper. Darcy found himself next to his hostess, but also next to a Miss Mary Bennet who was no beauty, and he recalled Bingley attempting to induce him to dance with one of Jane Bennet's many sisters at the Assembly ball. Mary Bennet was a reader—which he discovered Mrs. Bennet was not—and she also could answer questions put to her about Mary King.
It was common knowledge that Miss King was to be Mr. Harper's heir, and that he endowed her with a dowry of ten thousand pounds—the largest one of any of the young ladies in Meryton. There seemed no plans, however, for taking her to London for a Season. Mr. Harper had said he despised the city—more so than even Mr. Bennet did—and she would simply have to find a husband in Meryton.
Darcy nodded as his suspicions about Miss King were all but confirmed: she was Mr. Harper's heir but such a man did not wish to parade his natural daughter in London, so dowered her well then waited to see what fish would take the bait in their little country corner. Perhaps they might someday travel to a watering hole like Bath or Scarborough if she had no luck finding a husband in Hertfordshire.
So long as Mr. and Mrs. Philips' presence was before him—they had been introduced as sister and brother-in-law to Mrs. Bennet—Darcy kept up his study of ears. He confirmed that the two matronly ladies, and all the Bennet daughters, shared similar ear shapes, but Mr. Philips had vastly different ones, and to Darcy's horror, ones with tufts of hair growing out of them, a condition Fitzwilliam Darcy hoped he would never suffer from.
4
—
His Eyes Met Hers
Darcy noticed her at the third dinner. The Gouldings had a large party of neighbors at their house as a son was home visiting. It was the oldest Bennet daughter: the one he believed he had scoffed at, and had declined dancing with at the Assembly. He had barely allowed her to be pretty a week before; she was prettier than the one he had talked to last night, Miss Mary. But Miss Elizabeth Bennet was, and here he struggled for words, beautiful beyond the ordinary way of regular features, symmetry of face, eyes, lips and cheeks.
He was struck by the intelligence displayed in her face, and by her expressive dark eyes. She was taller than average, and with a sophisticated figure; her form was pleasing as he watched her walk. She was, however, prone to a certain playfulness which he saw reflected in the way she carried herself. Rather than moving with a formal and stately gait like Miss Bingley, there was spirit in her gestures, liveliness to her movements. She seemed particularly drawn to young people, a group he avoided at all costs, and odd when he thought about it, since his sister fell into that category. Miss Elizabeth Bennet seemed, as oldest sister, to play a sort of protective role with her younger sisters and even with other young ladies, often inviting one standing alone to join her.
Darcy could not account in any rational way for why he felt drawn to Elizabeth Bennet the more he watched her. He had no reason why such a woman should draw him in and more reasons why she should repel him. The previous evening, her aunt and mother had displayed vulgar manners. Eager and overly friendly, often not waiting for answers, but interrupting others, Darcy had found them irritating women, self-assured in their own sphere that they could disrupt his own, and that of his friends, with an assumed association he could only describe as unpleasant. But Elizabeth Bennet was self-assured and friendly, intelligent not ignorant, with a droll humor not a crude one, and underlying it was some unmatched charisma he thought he had never seen in any other woman.
He encountered many different women when in London, of various types, but Elizabeth Bennet was not like any of those, high or low. That entire evening at the Gouldings, he sat and watched her as she moved about the room; he watched as she gently corrected the behavior of her two youngest sisters. It was such a contrast to the hard hand of matrons and governesses that he had seen tugging debutantes into instantaneous good behavior. A hard hand made for sour faces, but her gentle words made for smiles and corrections in a way he thought remarkable.
She spoke with assurance when conversing with the elder Mr. Goulding about the lateness of the crops because they had been sowed late, due to the wet spring. Later, she moved on to speak to Captain Carter about news on the Peninsula. Then she moved on to speak to a young lady about an embroidery stitch. Beyond the discussion on emb
roidery, he had not really heard such discussions on the lips of a lady.
She ended the evening sitting with an elderly woman and lending her an ear when all the younger members were ensconced on one side of the room laughing and flirting. Elizabeth Bennet seemed perfectly content to sit and listen to the chatter of the elderly lady; he recalled Miss Bingley discussing one of her aunts with a disgust at the commonplace and dull topics the aunt chose, the tendency to repeat herself. Yet Miss Bennet seemed at ease, with a small smile on her face, nodding and encouraging her companion; her eyes were on the elderly lady's face and not looking elsewhere, as if missing out and seeking further entertainment.
• • •
Charlotte Lucas, her mother, and younger sisters came to call on the Bennets and to extend an invitation to a large party in two days' time. Charlotte was the eldest child of the Lucas family, about twenty-seven, and Elizabeth's intimate friend.
Charlotte, slender of body, was thin and plain of face. Her hair was of an undistinguished color and so in contrast to her two sisters' who had pale, almost white-blond, hair. Maria had curls and Susan was without, but both had plump cheeks naturally covered with a rosy hue that young men always found appealing. Susan was eager to be out of the nursery, and Maria had approval at seventeen to be in society, as if everyone knew plain Charlotte would not be marrying at all. Not that Charlotte did not keep to her task and attend every social engagement she could. Her four younger brothers—between herself and Maria—were often mortified with the idea that one or other of them would need to maintain her in her old age.
Charlotte smiled as she took Elizabeth's hand in her own and sat next to her friend. Elizabeth was always captivating, even in a three or four year old gown, which Charlotte knew had been done-over once to change the sleeves, and again to augment the neckline as Elizabeth seemed to have grown a little bustier, even though she grew no plumper. Her naturally curvaceous body of twenty-three was that of a woman and no stick figure like her sister Catherine, nor was it like the curves of Lydia, which were curves only because that sister loved sweets so much.
"You look well, Charlotte," said her friend.
"Thank you, Eliza," she gazed at the familiar face, the waving hair that always responded so well to curling papers when her own straight hair often caused her to give up on the idea of curls altogether. "Mamma has brought some fashion plates to share with Mrs. Bennet and your sisters; we may be here for a while." They both looked over at their mothers who were holding up pictures; Mrs. Bennet was pointing out some detail then they heard her call Jane over to her to look.
"Mamma will have us all ordering new gowns," sighed Elizabeth.
"What is wrong with that?" asked her friend.
"We truly have no need for new gowns," said Elizabeth. Charlotte reached over and tugged gently at the sleeve of Elizabeth's gown exposing a small gap in the sleeve between the shoulder and the sleeve cap when it had been remade.
"Truly, Eliza? How many times can you remake a gown before it stops being practical and you simply must order a new one made for you?" Elizabeth looked down at the gap in the seam, looked up at Charlotte, and then laughed, squeezing her friend's hand as she did.
"That is why I love you, Charlotte; you bring out a better side of me. Perhaps I need a new dress or two. Lydia thought I should be daring, and try orange!"
"You might look good in orange," said Charlotte tilting her head, "any dark color." They looked over at their mothers. All the Bennet girls, and the two visiting Lucas sisters, were clamoring over the fashion plates.
"Perhaps we might steal into the gardens for a short walk?" suggested Elizabeth.
"The weather is indifferent, but let us go," said Charlotte, and they walked out of the parlor with no one noting their absence to fetch bonnets and shawls. It was chilly, and the wind snatched at the two once outside, pushing them with hurried footsteps until they reached the more sheltered walk by the vegetable gardens. Elizabeth laughed as she had her arm around Charlotte, and Charlotte joined her as they moved with less grace than their mothers would approve of, but they held onto their shawls.
"I told you the weather was poor," laughed Charlotte, "in fact, the wind has picked up since we arrived."
"But at least it is not raining again," said Elizabeth. "It is so good to be outside, the rain, all of these dinners, and visiting now that Mr. Bingley has come, has put a damper on my morning walks."
"Are you not enjoying his company, Eliza?" Charlotte looked at her friend, "you, like me, have declared yourself nearly on the shelf, so it is not in your interest to catch his eye, but you usually enjoy such outings into society."
"I have, and I do," said Elizabeth, "though I cannot say that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst have added much to our circle of acquaintance."
"They are very respectable women," said Charlotte softly.
"They are snobs," she should be shocked by Elizabeth's plain speech, but that was why she loved her so much.
"They have added a certain elegant style to our parties," tried Charlotte.
"They make our sisters and mothers green with envy over the amount of money they spend on lace," Elizabeth laughed even harder.
"They appear to be very kind to Jane and even Mary," ventured Charlotte. Elizabeth stopped her mirth.
"It is all appearances, an affectation. Really, I suspect them," said Elizabeth, "know their hauteur means they must have some 'playthings' for want of a better term, while in the country, and why not Jane with her sweet, accepting temper? And where Jane goes, Mary is often at-hand. Mary, who tries so hard, I worry that they will both be hurt by this behavior."
"Mr. Bingley certain admires Jane—that much is in evidence," said Charlotte.
"Jane with her affectionate heart, how can any young man not admire her? She is such a loving person," said Elizabeth.
"I believe she has always had half the young men in the county in love with her," said Charlotte. "With her looks and nature."
"I know, 'tis true," said Elizabeth, "but I think it is also sometimes off-putting since she is that way with everyone, that she knows not how to show particular regard."
"What do you mean?" Charlotte looked at her with a confused frown on her face.
"I believe she is uniformly cheerful in her manner and composed, even when she is with Mr. Bingley; how does he know that she likes him? I sometimes think she ought to at least let Mr. Bingley know, with an extra hint, or word, or gesture, that she likes him best, but Jane also hates being the center of any gossip," explained Elizabeth.
"And would that help? That extra word?" Charlotte's eyebrows were raised then.
"It might make the difference with his heart," said Elizabeth.
"And what do you know of men's hearts, Eliza?" smiled Charlotte, her face softening to its usual contours again.
"Nothing whatsoever, but can they differ from our own, Charlotte?" mused Elizabeth. "Would you take a man without a little encouragement to falling in love?"
"I certainly do not wish Jane to be as eager as Mrs. Long's nieces in their admiration for gentlemen—the Miss Martins can be embarrassing to watch!" They both laughed at such an image.
"What would you do, Charlotte, how would you act?" Charlotte stopped walking to look over at her friend and wondered why Elizabeth had asked the questions, her eyes were not laughing, but sincere.
"I am beyond the age when any man is going to come courting me with sweet words," Charlotte replied. "I am twenty-seven, Eliza, and plain, with no real dowry to speak of."
"You never know, Charlotte, some interesting and worthy man may come courting." Charlotte only smiled at this.
"And what of you, Elizabeth Bennet? With your beautiful face, daughter of one of the oldest landed families around here?" she squeezed her friend's arm.
"My dowry, like yours, is paltry," chimed in Elizabeth.
"And to my knowledge you have had any number of beaus. I thought for sure Richard Goulding was in love with you," said Charlotte, "even if your family
wished the oldest son for you."
"Perhaps he was, but I did not love him, and he and his new wife seem quite happy together so it has all worked out," answered Elizabeth. "I am determined to only marry for the deepest and most profound love—perhaps I am a fool or a dreamer when in all other areas of my life I am so eternally practical. I believe that means I shall never marry, for I am a fool to believe in such a thing at my advanced age. But if I do not marry, my portion can help out the younger girls in securing their own situations." She smiled. "And I can always live on Simon's charity."
"John is mortified that I should do so," replied Charlotte about her oldest brother.
"That is because he is four years younger and can recall you growing up together. You, no doubt, teased him far too much." Elizabeth cocked her head to give a mischievous smile to her friend.
"I never did!" protested Charlotte, who turned to see that her friend was teasing her. It had been difficult with four brothers in rather quick succession. All that noise in the Lucas nursery meant she frequently sought solitude where she could—the kitchen for a treat, or even forbidden rooms like her father's study where all the books resided. The two women made their way back inside having not been missed at all.
• • •
There followed a few days of sport which satisfied Darcy greatly. He and Hurst and Bingley enjoyed a good table for two nights running. She seemed determined to prove that she could run a household, now that there was one to run. Darcy wondered who she was trying to impress, and if it was not the master of Pemberley she was still trying to entice in some way, when he thought they had agreed they did not suit. Perhaps Caroline Bingley, at twenty-three, had begun to worry, despite her dowry, and her handsome face, that she would never marry. She had been six years in London for the Seasons without really showing any signs of interest in any gentlemen. Darcy wondered if Caroline wished for Charles to never marry that she might always keep his house and be near her brother. Darcy had suspected that despite the four older sisters, Caroline felt closest to Charles. But he wondered if Charles Bingley felt particularly attached to any of his five sisters, or if Bingley had grown away from them as he reached manhood and had different pursuits.