Chapter 7

Netherfield Estate

A Few Hours after Noon

Fitzwilliam Darcy pulled on the reins of his horse, and the beast came to a halt at the top of the hill, his great nostrils steaming white clouds in the chilly air.

Darcy patted Phoenix’s black neck affectionately; the stallion was but three years old and powerful, and only Darcy and two of his servants could ride him with ease. He was not a difficult horse, exactly, but he needed a strong hand on the reins and a skilled rider. Darcy had both of those attributes, along with a genuine love for equines. Phoenix had been born in the Pemberley stables to one of Darcy’s best mares, who had been mated with a thoroughbred stallion belonging to another estate owner in Derbyshire. He would probably use Phoenix for breeding in the future, but in the interim, he enjoyed galloping, and jumping, and trotting on one of the best horses he had ever owned.

He looked around thoughtfully as his mount stood still save for the occasional flicker of a black ear. He was at Netherfield’s highest point, which allowed him to look over the countryside. The fields surrounding him were shorn now; the harvests were in, and the land would lie fallow until the spring plantings.

To an untrained eye, the fields might look drab and dreary, their lush crops borne away to barns to leave only brown soil and dry stubble. It was not a prepossessing view, Darcy admitted readily, but he could see beneath the emptiness that the land here was good. He had spent many hours not only poring over books of theory and of farming but out walking and riding his own land and even, on occasion, the estates of friends and family. He was well acquainted with the look of fertile earth and poorer soil alike.

The Netherfield land was rich, the fields sensibly laid out and well-drained, the ditches cleanly maintained, the livestock whole and hale. Bingley had chosen a good estate to start with in order to learn management; the tenants would, by and large, be able to care for themselves as long as their master was not negligent or unkind.

Not even Bingley’s greatest detractors could accuse him of being unkind, and Jane Bennet, surprisingly and pleasingly, was already showing her concern for the well-being of the tenants and servants. Darcy approved thoroughly of the couple’s determination to care for the estate and her inhabitants properly.

George Darcy had made sure to teach his son the value of plowing money back into the land, rather than squeezing every penny out of the estate and wasting it away on frivolities as did so many of his peers.

“The rents are not the most important part of Pemberley, Son,” he had said gravely to a wide-eyed, attentive eleven-year-old lad. “Just as our income comes from our tenants, so too do they depend on us for their livelihoods. It is the responsibility of the estate’s master to see that his tenants are not left in want or his land wrung out while he takes his ease.”

Young Fitzwilliam had taken the lesson to heart and dedicated himself to the well-being of those who depended on Pemberley. It pleased him now to see Bingley taking up the same burden to care for Netherfield and her people.

His mind returned, rather reluctantly, to his conversation with Bingley earlier this morning. After his friend had left to spend the day at Longbourn, Darcy had retreated to his room, nominally to write letters, but in actuality to think.

Bingley’s strictures on his behavior were well warranted. Darcy had previously thought that he was taking the high road by refusing to speak about Wickham’s poor behavior. While he had anticipated that Wickham would gossip about him, he had kept his mouth shut and his chin up. He was Darcy of Pemberley, and could not be bothered to defend himself against the scurrilous accusations of a penniless rogue.

It seemed reasonable, even godly, to avoid speaking negatively about Wickham in return, but by being silent, he had allowed Wickham’s story of the disputed living to spread far and wide, including to Longbourn.

Including to Elizabeth Bennet, who believed Wickham’s lying lips completely, based on her comments during their dance at the Netherfield Ball.

He had thought it did not matter, but it did. She was, because of her unfortunate connections and vulgar relations, not a worthy wife for him. She was, however, a wonderful, charming lady, who deserved to know the truth about the man who had targeted her with his lies and perhaps his questionable intentions.

The question was, what could he do about Wickham? He could throw him in Marshalsea, of course, but that would not improve Miss Elizabeth’s opinion of him, especially since Wickham would doubtless use his smooth tongue and charming smiles to explain away the debts…

But he was not willing to let this situation continue. Bingley was correct; it was the duty of a gentleman to protect the lower classes in their sphere of influence. Bingley, at least, was in some small capacity responsible for Wickham.

And Darcy was as well. If Wickham had not been raised at Darcy expense, he would not be the polished, well turned out rogue that he was.

Something must be done. And Darcy was the one who must do it.

/

Dining Room

Longbourn

Late Afternoon

Dinner at Longbourn was typically a noisy affair, but this evening it was even louder than usual. Jane and Bingley, seated side by side, were talking calmly and quietly to one another, lost in a bubble of their own love, but everyone else was chattering so enthusiastically that Elizabeth, generally the healthiest of women, felt a headache coming on.

Or perhaps it was not the din causing her head to hurt, but the shock of this afternoon’s meeting with Charlotte Lucas.

Elizabeth had returned to Longbourn from Meryton to discover her closest friend waiting for her. Charlotte, the eldest of the Lucases’ daughters, was seven and twenty years of age and a sensible woman. She was also, as of now, affianced to William Collins, the heir of Longbourn, who had only a few days previously offered his hand to Elizabeth.

She had wondered if her ears were deceiving her; surely Charlotte, an astute woman, would not dream of marrying such a smug, irritating oaf? But it was true, all true; the eldest Miss Lucas, perilously close to being on the shelf, with no dowry and little beauty, had decided that an annoying husband was better than no husband, especially when the gentleman in question possessed a good living in Kent, and was heir to the estate of Longbourn.

Elizabeth had expressed her distress rather too openly, and Charlotte had been, under a veneer of determined courtesy, obviously taken aback. Elizabeth regretted that. There was nothing to be done now, but it had been a dreadful shock to think of her dear friend tied to a nincompoop.

Mr. Collins himself had departed for Kent this morning, before Charlotte had visited. Elizabeth was relieved that she was not subject to that gentleman’s gloating over his engagement. At least Jane and Bingley were engaged, and they were well-matched indeed, and…

“If only Lizzy had accepted Mr. Collins!” Mrs. Bennet cried out and poured a full glass of wine down her throat before continuing. “I would have two daughters well engaged, but now Charlotte Lucas will be mistress of Longbourn when you are gone, Mr. Bennet!”

“I cannot agree with you, my dear,” her husband replied, turning an approving look on Elizabeth. “I confess that I was quite gratified to discover that Charlotte Lucas, whom I have been used to thinking tolerably sensible, is as foolish as my wife and a good deal more foolish than my daughter!”

“Indeed, Mr. Bennet,” Mrs. Bennet wailed, only to be interrupted by Bingley, who said, “Mrs. Bennet, I hope that you know that when Mr. Bennet passes on to his reward, I will be honored to care for you and your daughters as needed.”

“Oh!” the matron said, smiling brilliantly. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, how very kind you are. It is such a comfort. My dear Jane, so beautiful! And obedient! At least one of my daughters is obedient in accepting a good offer!”

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment, but Bingley merely smiled at her and turned his attention back to Jane.

It was tedious being scolded for refusing Mr. Collins’s offer, but at least Jane would be well married soon. The hedgerows were no longer of any concern for the Bennet family.

/

Drawing Room

Netherfield

“We simply must stop this engagement somehow!” Caroline Bingley said for the fourth time.

Darcy also opened his mouth to respond for the fourth time and then closed it, rose from his chair, and said, “If you will excuse me, I just remembered that I have an urgent letter to write.”

He stalked out of the room rapidly and pushed the door firmly closed behind him, leaving Caroline Bingley, her injured leg propped on a stool, staring after him.

“I told you that Mr. Darcy will not interfere,” Louisa said wearily.

“Nor should he,” Hurst drawled. “Miss Bennet is a gracious, agreeable lady. She will be a good sister-in-law.”

“She most certainly will not,” Caroline spat, so vigorously that froth spurted from her mouth. She wiped off her lips with a handkerchief, too angry to feel embarrassed. “Charles was meant to marry Miss Darcy!”

Hurst groaned, stood up, and turned to his wife. “I confess to being tired this evening, my dear. I will seek my bed.”

Louisa shot an indignant look at her husband, which he ignored, and a moment later, the two sisters were alone.

“How could this have happened?” Caroline finally asked, genuine tears slipping down her cheeks.

/

Jane Bennet’s Room

Longbourn

Midnight

Jane, busily stitching a handkerchief, looked up at the sound of a hard rap on her door. She called a soft welcome, and the door opened to reveal her favorite sister, who was standing in her nightclothes with a candle in one hand.

“Lizzy, do come in and warm yourself by the fire!”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, and hurried over to seat herself on an unoccupied chair. She held out her bare hands towards the flames and sighed with happiness. “That feels good. It is a cold night, and my room is a trifle chilly.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Well, I do not feel sleepy, so yes? So much is happening right now that my mind is awhirl.”

“You are distressed about Charlotte Lucas?” Jane asked sympathetically.

“I am, very. It is truly dreadful to think of my friend tied to such a tiresome man!”

Jane turned her attention back to her handkerchief and said, “My dear Lizzy, do consider Mr. Collins’s respectability, and Charlotte’s prudent, steady character. Remember that she is one of a large family, so that as to fortune, it is a most eligible match. Try to believe, for everybody’s sake, that she may feel something like regard and esteem for our cousin.”

Elizabeth snorted and said, “To oblige you, I would try to believe almost anything, but if I did so, I would be thinking worse of Charlotte than I already do. My dear Jane, Mr. Collins is a conceited, pompous, narrow-minded, silly man – you know he is, and you must feel, as I do, that the woman who marries him is making a great error. More than that, for her to marry a man whom she neither likes nor respects is not honorable!”

“I believe your language is too strong in speaking of both,” replied Jane, “and I hope you will be convinced of it by seeing them happy together… although not as happy as Charles and I will be, of course!”

This final, cheeky remark had the beneficial effect of cooling Elizabeth’s temper over the engagement, and she said, “My dear Jane, I do apologize. It is unkind of me to complain to you when you are in the midst of such joy.”

“It is quite all right. I am ready and willing to listen to you anytime.”

“What are you doing?”

Jane blushed and said, “I am embroidering some handkerchiefs for Charles for St. Nicholas Day. He has promised to be back by then.”

“Back?”

“He spoke to Father tonight and is traveling to London to arrange for the settlements on Monday. He already had business left undone because he hurried back to Netherfield after Caroline’s injury, and now he needs to talk to his man of business about our marriage. But he will return as quickly as possible.”

“I have no doubt of it. When do you intend to marry?”

Jane blushed brighter in the flickering light. “We will have the banns called tomorrow for the first time and intend to wed before Christmas.”

“I am happy for you,” her sister said, and then, observing her sister yawning, stood up. “I feel rather tired now and will leave you. I love you, Jane.”

“I love you too, Lizzy. And do remember that, while I will soon no longer live at Longbourn, I will always be your sister. Feel free to come to me whenever you need to talk.”

Elizabeth smiled gratefully and walked out of the door, down the corridor, and into her own bedchamber, which was next to Jane’s. Within a few minutes, she was curled up in bed under a pile of blankets, cozy and comfortable.

She was not, however, able to sleep immediately. In the midst of her joy over Jane and Bingley’s engagement and her distress over Charlotte Lucas’s sudden engagement to the idiotic Mr. Collins, there was another concern niggling in her mind.

Mr. Wickham had offered to buy ribbons for Lydia. That was not appropriate at all, as Wickham was neither a brother, a father, or a fiancé to the youngest Miss Bennet.

What had he been thinking? Was it possible that Wickham merely saw Lydia as a child? She was only fifteen years of age, and Wickham was nearly thirty. That must be it – that he looked on her as a mere girl who could receive a gift without any associated expectations.

But even if that were so, how had the man run up four pounds of debts at the haberdashery in a few short weeks? There must be some practical explanation. Perhaps he had purchased gloves for his uniform? Perhaps he had female relations to whom he sent presents on occasion? It was nearly St. Nicholas Day, and if Wickham had needed to send presents elsewhere, he would have purchased the items by now. Yes, that must be the explanation. Mr. Wickham was a gentleman with a tender heart. She did not know how much the militia officers earned, but doubtless he would settle his debt when he was next paid.

She felt her body relax in relief at this thought, and she turned over and fell asleep.