Fitzwilliam’s smile was wry. “One can hardly fault a man for knowing his own priorities,” he added. “And with such a library at hand, one can see why Longbourn’s fields might hold less appeal.”
“Ah, you flatter me,” Mr. Bennet replied. “And I will say, it is a relief to meet gentlemen so considerate. One encounters all sorts in the country, you understand.”
“Of course, sir,” Darcy replied, inclining his head. “I suppose you have seen many characters come and go in Hertfordshire over the years?”
“A procession, I assure you,” Mr. Bennet said with a sigh, though his eyes held a hint of mischief. “Though none, I will admit, as inquisitive as yourselves.”
Fitzwilliam laughed, leaning back. “We appreciate your indulgence, sir.”
“Indulgence?” Mr. Bennet’s mouth twitched with a fleeting smirk. “I am an open book, gentlemen, but I fear you will find little of interest here. Longbourn is my home, but I am aware it is thoroughly unremarkable, and I assure you, the Bennet family is just as dull. I rather prefer it that way.”
Darcy’s eyes remained on Mr. Bennet. There was a simplicity to his acceptance of his role as master, a detachment even, that Darcy could hardly reconcile with the responsibilities ofPemberley. Yet there was something compelling in the sharp intelligence lurking behind the man’s self-effacing smile.
Fitzwilliam nodded, offering a good-natured smile. “We soldiers do tend to grow restless when not on duty.”
“Ah, restless soldiers. Now that I can understand.” Mr. Bennet gave them each a serious look. “My advice, gentlemen? Do not become as complacent as I have in my little corner of the world. It is a far better use of a young man’s talents to be restless than idle.”
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and before taking their leave they had each promised Mr. Bennet a game of chess when they next came to visit, but as they exited the study, Fitzwilliam leaned close to Darcy, his voice low and contemplative. “Not exactly a diligent master, is he?”
“No,” Darcy murmured, his thoughts churning as he glanced back down the corridor. “And yet there is more to him than one might immediately glean.”
“Perhaps,” Fitzwilliam agreed, though his voice held a hint of caution. “But that does not mean he is the sort who would do well with the responsibility of a place like Pemberley. He seems more than content to remain here, without a care for anything beyond his library—but we both know he would accept it if for no other reason than to keep his daughters in finery and assure them excellent fortunes.”
As they walked away from the study, Darcy was besieged by doubt. Mr. Bennet was not the sort of master Pemberley needed, that much was clear. Yet there was a keen intelligence behind his sardonic humour that Fitzwilliam chose not to see, a sharpness Darcy could not ignore. The thought troubled him; a man so at ease with complacency, so detached from the role of master, could hardly be expected to preserve Pemberley’s legacy. And yet, if ever he decided to apply himself, he had the natural intelligence to do it well.
Chapter Six
Elizabeth sat in the parlour, a faint smile on her lips as she watched Jane and Mr. Bingley speak softly in the corner. Perhaps Jane would have the happiness she deserved after all. Elizabeth had begun to believe it would not happen. She had never been so pleased to be wrong.
Yet, as was so often the case at Longbourn, the pleasant scene did not last. Her mother soon fluttered across the room and settled herself beside the couple.
“Oh, Mr. Bingley,” she exclaimed, clasping her hands with unconcealed delight. “To think, with Netherfield so near, you and Jane could—” She hesitated, but her tone dripped with implications, her eyes gleaming with visions of a grand future.
Elizabeth caught Jane’s eye and could see the horror, quickly masked, in her sister’s expression. She moved quickly, rising and pulling her mother aside before Mrs. Bennet’s imaginings grew more extravagant.
“Perhaps we should allow Jane and Mr. Bingley to enjoy their conversation, Mamma,” Elizabeth said gently, steering hermother toward the window. She lowered her voice a bit. “There is no need to interrupt the brief time they have together.”
“I was only dreaming a little for her, Lizzy.” Mrs. Bennet sighed, the pinched, shrill part of her voice softening. “Jane deserves everything that is good.” Elizabeth refrained from replying but cast a protective look back toward her sister before settling her mother in another chair next to Kitty and Lydia. Mary was seated in the corner behind them, copying over some music from the circulating library.
Elizabeth was about to return to her own seat when she noticed Miss Darcy was now alone, looking thoughtfully out the window. Kitty and Lydia had been speaking with her, but apparently her novelty had worn off. Miss Darcy seemed to be observing the scene outside with a calm reserve, her hands folded in her lap. Elizabeth felt some irritation with her younger sisters and a pang of sympathy for Miss Darcy; how lonely it must be, she thought, to navigate social gatherings without her brother’s presence. Elizabeth took the seat beside her. Miss Darcy turned and offered a tentative smile.
“You appear deep in thought, Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said with a smile of her own. “I hope these are happy reflections?”
Miss Darcy hesitated, her expression pensive. “I was thinking of something I saw recently in London. It was a charity event I attended with my aunt, Lady Matlock. The ladies were collecting donations to aid those . . . Well, those who have found themselves in terrible circumstances. They have so little, and the winter has come so quickly.” She lowered her gaze, seeming uncertain. “It struck me, quite forcibly, how little I have understood the world outside the confines of my small family circle.”
Elizabeth nodded thoughtfully. “This is a serious matter to be contemplating.”
The girl blushed. “Forgive me, I have no desire to be rude.”
“I did not say you were rude, nor did I even consider such a thing,” Elizabeth assured her. “And I could never fault anyone for such ruminations, or I would have to admit to my own deficiencies. I cannot say I have thought a great deal about the world beyond the vast empire of Meryton.” This was not entirely true, for she helped Aunt Gardiner with charitable work in London when she visited, but this she had not been asked to do until she was eighteen. It had been an enlightening experience, and as a result, she had engaged herself more in charitable works in places nearer to home.
Miss Darcy nodded. “Anders, my brother’s coachman, is the son of a man who returned to England with the British after the war with the colonies. He had been a slave and arrived with nothing. A charity that supports freedmen and women loaned him twenty pounds to make a beginning here. From that little bit of money, he found lodgings, clothing, food—and he began to work in a brewery to repay the debt and to invest as much as he could spare. After five years, the owner wished to retire, and he purchased the brewery himself.” Miss Darcy shook her head. “It is so admirable. From his profits, he was able to purchase the freedom of two of his brothers. They all shared a house in Lambeth before they married and had families. There are so many people in the Anders family now!” She smiled at Elizabeth. “When my brother learned about the charity, he felt it his duty to contribute. He hopes to be of aid to the next Mr. Anders, you see.”
Miss Darcy spoke of twenty pounds as though it was a trifling amount, which told Elizabeth more than anything else how wealthy she must be. But what Mr. Anders had done with what was given to him was impressive. From that initial loan and his own hard work, he now owned a successful business, had saved his brothers, and built a large family. It was praiseworthy—and so was Mr. Darcy’s determination to be of aid. “That is mostgenerous of your brother,” she said earnestly. “And how wise of him to see that a man’s origins need not define his entire life.” How different this was to his behaviour on his previous visit.
“Yes,” Miss Darcy replied, her voice growing more confident. “I have long admired how quietly my brother does such things. He may seem reserved, but he is always soaware. So careful to do what is right, even to his own detriment.”
This was quite a declaration. Of course his sister would speak well of him, but there was something so genuine in her assessment of Mr. Darcy’s character that Elizabeth’s heart thawed ever so slightly. She had not thought him capable of such steady, unspoken compassion for other people, but oddly, she found the idea entirely believable. “I find myself in agreement with your brother, Miss Darcy,” she said gently. “True compassion is often silent. The greatest kindnesses are rarely done for recognition, and I say they are the more valuable for it.”
