Chapter 3

Three

October 4, Netherfield Park

"Mr Darcy! At last!"

The door had scarcely closed behind him when Miss Bingley moved swiftly into the hall; her sister, older, married, and far less shrill, trailed behind. "Thank goodness you have arrived! We are in desperate need of your advice! Would that my brother spoke to you before signing the lease for this estate. There is but one well-appointed room in the house, and the town itself is?—"

Darcy handed his hat and coat to the butler and did his best to appear interested as Miss Bingley clutched his arm and continued her narrative.

"—and we have been here scarcely a se'nnight, and already my brother has become enmeshed in misadventure!"

Darcy maintained a stoic expression. Gambling with the officers or insulting a neighbour's cattle, no doubt.

Mrs Hurst took a step closer. "Of the romantic kind."

Of course, he sighed . It is Bingley. Darcy had no intention of being pulled into another of his friend's romantic imbroglios. Was it not enough he had left Georgiana with their relations, uncertain of her own appeal after Wickham's fortuitous desertion and ashamed that her actions had led to the dismissal of Mrs Younge? After a week of Lady Matlock hectoring him to find a wife to help ease Georgiana's way into society, Darcy lacked the patience for any conversation on love, marriage, duty, or obligation. Shaking his head to dispel his drifting thoughts, he realised Miss Bingley felt more urgency to complain to him than to see to his comfort, and he requested a few moments to refresh himself.

Sometime later, after he had sent his man to unpack his trunk and was sitting in a striped maroon chair on a maroon carpet in a maroon drawing room, he looked at his expectant hostesses and asked where Bingley and Hurst could be found. Miss Bingley waved her hand impatiently. "My brother busies himself all over the county. They are visiting the officers or shooting or some-such. While Charles is out, we must speak on a matter of urgency."

Sighing, he reached for his tea. "Your brother is a sociable fellow. You believe his amiability has led to some dire situation?"

Miss Bingley exchanged a look with her sister and leant towards him. "Charles is besotted with a local chit."

Darcy looked at her over his cup; he had lost count of the number of times Bingley's sister had complained he was ‘besotted', and the man's feelings had never lasted more than a few days. "Do you mean he admires her looks, or has he expressed his infatuation openly?"

"He speaks of her kindness and beauty!"

This was a little alarming. Bingley was usually more guarded with his thoughts on a woman—at least around his sisters or when he was sober. "You arrived here less than a week ago. He speaks so openly of a woman, in front of the servants?"

Mrs Hurst glanced at her sister. "Not exactly. He was talking to my husband?—"

"—and could be clearly heard through the door," Miss Bingley concluded, her expression triumphant.

"I see. A private conversation between brothers—this is what we must discuss in confidence?" He could not help himself; such brazen eavesdropping to glean gossip was unworthy of his attention.

Miss Bingley softened her tone to something less than imperious. "Mr Darcy, you are his friend, the wise gentleman he counts on for guidance. We felt you could dissuade him from taking notice of her and counsel him to return to town, where more suitable ladies are found."

"I know of one or two local estates—Haye-Park, Lindon Hall. This lady…she is a lady?" At their grim expressions, he frowned. "She is not the daughter of a shopkeeper or such?"

The women looked at him, clearly horrified at his misunderstanding. "No! She is the daughter of a gentleman, but she is a country girl and not of our circle," cried Miss Bingley. "And she is engaged! It is scandalous!"

"Engaged?" Bingley, what are thinking, you sapskull? Darcy assured the ladies he would seek out their brother immediately and advise him to cease his attentions.

Seizing his hat from the footman, he strolled to the stables. After learning from the groom that officers were encamped on the other side of Meryton, he determined to ride through the town and gain a better sense of whatever temptations it offered; if he saw a decent book-shop or lending library, all the better. He had scarcely reached the end of Netherfield's drive when he encountered Hurst trotting up on his mount.

"Darcy! Finally, a man who knows how to shoot and fish!"

Darcy bit back a smile. This was as effusive a greeting as he had ever had from Hurst. "Is Bingley's jabber scaring away any chance of success?"

"The birds can hear him two counties away. We have not bagged one all week!"

Hurst was an avid sportsman and enjoyed a good partridge pie; Darcy could understand his frustration. "Where is Bingley? Does he not accompany you?"

Hurst gestured to the road behind him. "He finds the company in Meryton more pleasant than that of his sisters. Imagine that!" He chuckled before turning serious. "Talk some sense into him. Bingley has always had a soft eye for a beautiful, fair-haired lady, but never have I seen him so quickly enthralled." He shrugged. "Perhaps he enjoys the chase of the unattainable, not to mention—as Caroline so often does—the unsuitable."

Darcy spurred his horse and rode off towards Meryton. It took no time at all for him to spot Bingley, standing by a stationer's shop with a small group of young ladies. Their bonnets concealed their hair and most of their faces, but he could see one lady's mirthful expression. Bingley was gazing happily at the taller figure next to her. Blonde locks of hair framed her face—a very handsome face, he could see. He walked his horse closer.

"Bingley?"

His friend looked round. "Darcy! You have arrived!"

The bonnets slowly turned, and five shocked faces stared up at him. The lady who had been laughing paused, her lips falling into a frown; her dark eyes held some cool curiosity as she surveyed him. The blonde beside her now appeared anxious. Another gazed at him solemnly, and two younger women—girls, really—were whispering to each other as their eyes swept his person. Their manners were appalling; what kind of rough country folk so engaged Bingley in conversation?

He was accustomed to some deference in society—in any type of society—yet he could not but perceive some derision in their collective gazes. It was an odd manner of greeting a gentleman clearly above their station in life. Darcy considered whether their behaviour was adversely affected by Flyer, who was, after all, an impressively large horse. He dismounted slowly and, holding the reins, closed the few steps separating him from Bingley.

"I arrived perhaps an hour ago and desired to move about a bit and see the countryside. Hurst said I might find you here."

"Indeed! Netherfield is a fine estate, is it not?" Bingley smiled broadly, as animated as Darcy had ever seen him when not half in his cups. "And Meryton is full of friendly people."

A pair of birds flew overhead cawing at each other as Bingley continued beaming and nodding like the town idiot, and five sets of eyes continued staring as if they had never seen a gentleman in a jacket cut and tailored on Bond Street. A long moment of apparent insensibility passed before, finally, he surrendered. "Would you introduce me to your friends?"

"Of course, excuse me! I have just been telling them all about you, and here you are. Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy, these are my neighbours, the Bennet sisters of Longbourn, the estate bordering Netherfield." Bingley smiled at the lady beside him and began the introductions. "Miss Jane Bennet and Miss Elizabeth?—"

Miss Bennet, the obvious object of Bingley's fascination, smiled serenely. Miss Elizabeth, whose eyes he would call luminous in friendlier circumstances, were well-nigh glowering at him. He would call it rude were it not oddly intriguing. Beautiful, even. He wondered whether she too was concerned about Bingley's interest in her sister. Bingley went on, presenting the three younger girls, but Darcy no longer cared for the particulars. His fatigue fled and his mind sharpened as he turned again to the eldest of the sisters.

Bennet! Miss Bennet! Surely it cannot be the same Miss Bennet who was in Ramsgate—likely there are hundreds of Bennets in England. But she was blonde. Georgiana had said her Miss Bennet was more than merely handsome; this Miss Bennet was a stunning example of classical beauty who would turn any head in town and, if highborn, be the prize of the Season. Of course, Wickham would be drawn to such a face, at least briefly. But if she had no fortune, he would take whatever pleasure he could and move on.

No , Darcy assured himself. It cannot not be her . This Miss Bennet is engaged to another man and beguiling Bingley. What kind of creature is she?