“Bingley!” Darcy welcomed his friend, rising from his cluttered desk. “Hail to England’s latest country squire!”
Bingley, whose open and pleasant face bore a famously large smile, came through the door and shook hands happily with his friend. “Darcy!” cried he, “how good it is to see you. It has been an age! I have not seen you since you left us for Ramsgate last summer. Oh, and I say! you never told us how your surprise visit to Miss Darcy went off.”
A cloud passed briefly across Darcy’s face and he shot a cautious glance at Bingley; seeing nothing but a friendly, confiding countenance, his own brow cleared. “Ramsgate, it was…indeed…” he said in his momentary confusion. “My sister was thoroughly surprised by my arrival, I assure you. I found her, though…not in spirits…and so took her back to Pemberley directly after.” He returned quickly to his first topic: “But here you are, and set to become a landowner! Squire Bingley, commissioner of the peace and patron of the parish! Or have you done another about-turn and decided to leave off?”
“No, no,” replied Bingley with a self-satisfied air, taking a seat and stretching out his legs, “I have no thought but to proceed.”
Darcy arched a brow. “What, a full month gone and you still steady to your purpose? The heavens must be reeling!”
“Come, Darcy, I am not as bad as all that. In any event, the countryside is delightful, and I have met several of my new neighbours already; they seem a decent lot.”
“And how many beautiful country misses have you fallen in love with?”
“Nary a one, so far,” replied Bingley, his smile making another appearance. “But I have heard rumours of several very pretty girls in the neighbourhood. I mean to track them to their lair this coming week. I am to attend a ball…well, an assembly, really…Tuesday next.” He looked at Darcy optimistically. “I am hoping to persuade you to accompany me.”
“Bingley,” Darcy groaned, “you know how I hate balls…and at a village assembly! Great Heavens!”
“It is not such a very small village,” Bingley protested, encouraged by not receiving a frank negative. “Meryton is quite a decent-sized little market-town. Caroline says she will go, but only if you do.” He looked hopefully at his friend.
At this Darcy’s shoulders sagged imperceptively; he saw defeat looming before him. Bingley’s shot, loosed at random, had found the chink in his armour. His friends could always urge Darcy to action on the strength of his sense of duty and propriety, especially where a lady was concerned. Not that this was Bingley’s intent, nor did he even realise it; his own desire for society, particularly in company with ladies, was so constant, so honest and forthright, that he often carried his friend along while being completely unaware that Darcy was acting contrary to his own wishes—the nicety of Darcy’s scruples quite escaped Bingley’s notice. Miss Caroline Bingley, Mr. Bingley’s younger sister, was not a great favourite with Darcy, but he had admitted her into his acquaintance willingly for Bingley’s sake, and over time had even allowed her a degree of familiarity unusual in his general acquaintance. Having thus admitted her, he recognised his duty to play the gentleman to her—at measured intervals, at any rate. But though his attendance at this country affair might be unavoidable, Darcy had no wish to let Caroline Bingley think she could call his tune. “I shall consider it,” he replied evenly. “But in any event I stand ready to accompany you into the wilds of Hertfordshire. I am most anxious to see what you are getting yourself into.”
“Oh, that is excellent, Darcy! Would it suit you to go down on Monday?”
“Admirably.”
“That is all I could hope for! But now I must run; I am sorry I cannot stay longer, but will you come round for dinner on Sunday? Caroline would be delighted, and it would certainly brighten my afternoon.”
“I thank you for the invitation, but will you allow me to exchange it for one of my own? I have been haring all over London since the moment I arrived, and I was looking forward to a bit of quiet this weekend. Come and dine with me, instead.”
“With very great pleasure!” Bingley agreed with alacrity. He looked questioningly at Darcy. “Do you feel the need to extend your invitation to my sisters?”
“‘Sisters’? Are both your sisters in Town, then?”
“Yes, Hurst has been staying here for his mother’s sake. She has been feeling poorly, or so she says, and Hurst and Louisa have been up to see to things for her. They said she was on the mend, though. Caroline invited them for Sunday, without discussing it with me, mind you, so I should be happy to forego the pleasure in favour of dinner with you.”
“Done, then. Shall we say six o’clock?”
Bingley agreed and the matter was settled. Offering his compliments, repeating his happiness at seeing his friend, as well as his gratitude for Darcy’s obligingness, he slowly worked his way to the door. When the door finally closed on his effusiveness, Darcy instructed Goodwin to pass the word of his travel arrangements for the Monday following.
Chapter Two
Early Sunday evening Darcy and Bingley were doing the right thing by an especially fine roast of venison while Bingley responded to Darcy’s catechism on his new property.
“Now then,” Darcy began, “tell me about this acquisition of yours. What size is it?”
“It is rather small, really, only about a thousand acres. But a good half of it is sound farmland. And, to anticipate your next question, no, I do not know about the drainage. It is not flat land, though, and I saw no standing water in the fields. Does that say anything?”
“It says you can tell the difference between Hertfordshire and Lincolnshire; I am not sure it says much else,” was Darcy’s wry reply. “A field can go sour in a valley just as well as in a fen. What crops were there this year?”
“I am no farmer,” Bingley protested. “I cannot tell one type of stubble from another once the harvest is in!”
“Nor should I expect you to,” allowed Darcy. “But surely it was all laid out in the ledgers.”
Bingley found a sudden deep interest in the food on his plate. When the moment stretched until it was obvious there would be no reply, Darcy lifted his eyes heavenward. “You did not even trouble yourself to look at the ledgers? Bingley!”
“But the property looks so very prosperous! The manor house is lovely, and the park and shrubbery are well-maintained,” Bingley defended himself. “Surely that proves the estate can support itself.”
“Proves it? No, it suggests it; more than likely it was built by just such another Londoner as yourself, with more ready than prudence, who sank the lot into a pretty manor for a shooting box only to lose the whole thing because it haemorrhaged money at every turn.” He turned a sharp eye on Bingley. “In your letter last month you said it would need an infusion of capital; how did you arrive at that conclusion, ignorant as you are of the finances of the place?”
“How the Devil you remember these things is entirely beyond me,” muttered Bingley. “I know it pleases you to fancy yourself one of London’s leading intellects, but let me tell you it is very rude behaviour in common usage.” When Darcy did not release him from his expectant gaze, Bingley grudgingly admitted: “The leasing agent told me it would.”
“The leasing agent!” Darcy exclaimed. “Great Heavens, man…you let the other fellow’s agent tell you about the finances of the place? I thought your family was in trade! Did your father teach you nothing?”
“You need not take it like that”, Bingley bridled. “My father did not wish me to engage in trade, he intended for me to be a gentleman-said he had made enough for both of us.”
“I dare say he had,” agreed Darcy. “But what about your sons, and their sons? Let me tell you something my father told me. He said that a family’s fortunes were either rising or falling—they never stay the same. If you are not increasing your capital, you are losing it. You can see it in every corner of the Kingdom, where some ancient landed family can barely keep up its liabilities to the Crown. There is nothing particularly g
entlemanly about living beyond your means, whatever the current fashion for excesses might be. Never squander capital! Getting that thought into my head was my father’s last legacy to me, and by Heaven, if need be I shall nag you into an understanding of it just as he did me.” He fixed Bingley with a fierce eye.
Bingley fought back gamely: “Come now, Darcy, you cannot claim that Pemberley is what any one might call a Spartan, utilitarian sort of place.”
“No,” Darcy replied. “But neither is it a pleasure-palace. You know yourself that the family quarters constitute considerably less than half the manor. The rest is given over to the requisite chambers for guests, social events, and administrative concerns.”
“In a rather grand manner,” Bingley said pointedly.
This Darcy could not dispute. “True enough. We certainly make no secret of our standing, but who does? I am not saying that one should not live up to one’s condition, only that one must not ever lose sight of one’s expenses. Why take a property that cannot support itself when there are so many that will?”
“We do not know that Netherfield cannot pay for itself.”
“The point is, you did not bother to enquire into the matter. You never look before you leap. That you usually land on your feet is purest luck, and no man can afford to run his affairs in that manner. And I mean affairs in both senses of the word.” Darcy arched his brow at Bingley.
“You must forgive me, Darcy,” said Bingley with evident sincerity. “I fail to take your meaning.”
“Bingley, do you mean to tell me that you are unaware of the speculations—nay, the expectations—you gave rise to amongst Miss Grantley’s friends last June? Surely you must be aware that all of Society had marked you off the list of marriageable men on the strength of your obvious regard for her.”
“I was rather partial to her,” Bingley admitted.
“Partial! I should say! You had even me wondering.”
“Darcy, you cannot suppose there was any impropriety in my actions, nor in my intentions,” Bingley said in an injured tone. “I never even hinted at an offer; nor were we ever alone, or close to it!”
“My dear man, I should never dispute your integrity, nor your intentions; I know you. Your honour and character are beyond reproach. It was only that you spent so much time in her company and were so unguarded in your partiality that any one looking on would naturally assume an understanding existed between you.”
“But I liked her,” Bingley said with simple innocence.
“And she liked you, I am sure. But this is London, and Society is a jungle where bachelors are legitimate prey. It is the duty of every woman of standing to procure an advantageous marriage. Do but consider that in showing so marked a preference you were, in effect, keeping her from her duty; while you occupied her attentions, she could not turn them to another, more profitable line.”
“I never thought of it that way,” Bingley said. “I say, that’s a rather unromantic way of seeing things, Darcy.” He studied his friend silently for a moment. “I cannot say I like looking at it that way.”
“I cannot say I do either,” Darcy agreed with a tinge of bitterness. “But there it is: life is what it is, and our wishes will not change it.”
“But Darcy, marriage must be more than a business venture, surely! From what you have told me, your own parents’ marriage proves that it can be otherwise.”
Darcy sat back. His parents were now both dead, his mother over eight years and his father five; he remembered them with a pain of loss undimmed by the passage of years. They had indeed seemed to enjoy that felicity and sublime unity of spirit one hoped for in one’s married life. Yet….
“Does it? Does it, truly?” Darcy mused, slowly pushing his food about on his plate. “My mother was the eldest daughter of the Earl of Andover; she married into the Darcys—hardly what you would call an imprudent love match. The fact that they were happy together is, I am forced to conclude, happenstance; merely one of those rare sports sent down by Heaven to plague us with a vision of perfection that none of us can ever hope to realise.” His own profitless Season and Georgiana’s broken heart were much in his thoughts as he spoke.
“That is rather hard,” said Bingley in protest. “A bleak prospect for the rest of us, I must say, if that be the case.”
“How many of your married acquaintances would you say were happy?” Darcy challenged him. “The Hursts? Your own parents? Any one in your entire acquaintance?”
“The Hursts! I cannot think what Louisa was about when she accepted him. And my parents…. Well, my father was always so busy, you know, and Mater…” Bingley broke off with a rather embarrassed air.
“Just so. It is the same with me: I cannot think of any one outside my parents whose nuptials did not signal a very decided decrease in their happiness. By simple observation we must conclude that this is the rule, not the exception.”
Bingley shook his head. “However sound your logic might be, I refuse to accept your conclusion; it does happen. And as long as a marriage such as your parents’ can happen, why should it not happen to us? No, Darcy—as long as there is hope, I will hope.”
Darcy slowly gave half a nod and said, “You are right, of course, Bingley. One can always hope—no matter how dismal the prospects seem.” His air was even less optimistic than his words.
Bingley made an attempt to lift his spirits. “Speaking of hope, let us entertain some hopes for this Tuesday’s dance: who can say but what we will meet the companions of our future lives that very night?”
“My dear Bingley, what can you be thinking of! What ladies of any consequence, save your own sisters, do you suppose might attend a country assembly in a three-by-four market-town?”
“What does consequence have to do with it?”
“You were speaking of hope, were you not? If you did not mean the hope of finding a suitable young woman of good standing, I quite mistook your meaning.”
“Well…yes, of course. But gentlemen’s daughters are to be found in the country, I assure you.”
“None likely to suit. Now really, Bingley, would your family countenance a girl without a fortune to do justice to your family’s position?”
“If she were sweet enough, I am sure they would.”
“Are you, really? I do not think I could say the same.”
“Darcy! Would you truly form an attachment for purely mercenary reasons?”
“I should not choose to do so; but if the women of Society have an obligation, so do we men: marry well and secure the line. Form an attachment? Perhaps not, but it does not follow that there can be no marriage where there is no attachment.” That Darcy’s words were meant in all sincerity might be argued, but last winter’s Season had indeed been bleak.
Bingley was clearly shocked. “I cannot believe you really mean that, Darcy.”
Darcy stared over his friend’s shoulder for a moment before drawing a sigh. “Well, perhaps I do not,” he admitted in a conciliatory manner. “I do not wish it so, but look around you, man! I have been at this game longer than you have, and, whilst I do not pretend to plough the ground quite so rapidly as you do, I have covered the territory—last winter was my ninth Season, after all. Yet whom have you ever met who you would seriously consider offering for?”
“No one. But all the more reason to broaden the search. And I say, let us begin in Hertfordshire! I will have you come to the dance, Darcy!”
Darcy grimaced. “I really have no stomach for it, Bingley. Let your sister find a swain from among your new neighbours, I pray you. No doubt there will be many young men simply panting to make her acquaintance.”
“I am thinking of you, Darcy, not my sister. I cannot abide seeing you give way to such feelings. It is not you. I know it is not.” Having stepped thus far beyond the bounds of masculine decorum, he quickly shifted his ground, saying, “Besides, I have already told Caroline you were to attend. She is doubtless choosing her gown at this very moment.”
“No, Bingley, I was too ha
sty. I do not wish it. I dislike dancing. I always feel such an object! Being sensible of the girl’s expectations and hopes; being stared at by her mamma—not to mention the rest of the company, all the cats behind their fans; no—I shall stay at home and be at ease.”
“You dislike dancing so much because you have never had a partner you were partial to, that is all.” Darcy shook his head without speaking, and Bingley switched back to his strong suit: “Truly, though, it would be awkward for Caroline to have no partner in the beginning; makes her look a bit undesirable, does not it? She would not care for it, and neither should I, if it comes to that. She would not go, and I really could not blame her. Then how should we appear to those Country gentry you speak so feelingly of?”
Darcy sighed heavily and reluctantly conceded: “I would not deny your sister the opportunity to establish herself properly in the neighbourhood.”
“Excellent! Done, then,” said Bingley, fairly pouncing on Darcy’s words. “She will be most pleased.”
“Yes, quite,” said Darcy dryly. “But let us have a right understanding; I shall squire her into the room, and I shall dance one dance with her, but that is my uttermost limit. No doubt she will establish herself as queen of the ball without any further assistance from me, and I have no inclination to make a display of myself amongst strangers.”
“Display!” scoffed Bingley. “How, precisely, can dancing at a ball be translated into making a display of oneself? Every one does so at a ball; that is its purpose, after all.”
“Not for me, I assure you. I have never in seven-and-twenty years managed to get through a dance with any degree of pleasure, and I cannot imagine that I shall learn differently in the five days before your assembly.”
“You, Sir, are impossible. I…”
Into Hertfordshire Page 2