“Quite right, quite right,” Bingley replied earnestly. “Well, I will leave you to it, then. But if your business allows, I do hope to see you at Longbourn when you are through.”
“You mean to visit on your own?” Fitzwilliam asked, surprised. “I thought you said—”
“Of course,” Bingley replied. “I have made my intentions clear, and Jane has accepted that I intend to marry.”
“Anyone or just her?” Fitzwilliam teased.
Bingley did not react. “Her,” he said softly. “And no other. Will you visit after your business is complete? I wish to demonstrate to her that my friends will support us.”
“We shall certainly accompany you on the next call if we cannot do so today,” Fitzwilliam replied smoothly. “Give our best to Miss Bennet.”
“I shall. Good luck in town, gentlemen.” With a final nod, Bingley exited, his light-hearted steps echoing down the hall.
Darcy looked to Fitzwilliam with a sense of relief. “It appears Bingley has given us more time than he realizes.”
“Indeed,” Fitzwilliam replied drily. “And if all goes well, we might just begin to unravel the truth today. Like it or not.”
With their plan in place and no more interruptions, they set out for Meryton.
As they turned onto the main road, Darcy’s mind began to order the steps ahead. First, they needed to verify Mr. Bennet’s christening records—if they existed at all. If the parish register yielded nothing, they would need to consult older residents. And if that failed, there were always land records, family histories, and—
“Darcy,” Fitzwilliam interrupted, sounding deeply put-upon. “You are planning again.”
Darcy frowned. “Of course. How else do you expect to uncover the truth?”
“By talking to people, not drafting a military campaign.”
When they arrived at the modest stone church in town, they were greeted by a man’s cheerful singing. The doors were ajar, revealing a man about Darcy’s age with an unruly mop of blond hair, busily fussing over a stack of hymnals, occasionally leaning back and giving full voice to his song.
Fitzwilliam moved smoothly and silently to the altar, which was positioned behind the man and out of his view. Darcyhoped, rather than expected, Fitzwilliam would find the register there.
He cleared his throat, and the young man looked up, his face breaking into a broad, welcoming smile. “Good day, Mr. Darcy!” he called out, stepping forward and offering a shallow bow. “I am Mr. Hanson.”
Surprised at being recognised, Darcy returned the greeting.
The young man smiled, and nodded eagerly, a few strands of his tousled hair falling in his eyes. He swept the locks back with a practiced hand.
Fitzwilliam shook his head from behind the altar. Darcy sighed inwardly, then glanced around the room before returning his attention to Mr. Hanson. “We had hoped to speak with the vicar. Might he be available?”
“You have found him, sir,” the young vicar continued. “I am Mr. Hanson.”
Fitzwilliam was suddenly by his side, and Darcy introduced him.
“And good day to you too, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Mr. Hanson said cheerily. “I know we have not been formally introduced, gentlemen, but the entire town knows who you are.” He glanced between them. “I hope you are both well. Meryton is delighted to welcome you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hanson,” Darcy said, exchanging an amused glance with Fitzwilliam. “We hoped you might help us with a few inquiries. We are interested in the local families, perhaps especially the Bennets?”
“Oh, the Bennets!” Mr. Hanson beamed at the mention of the name. “I do understand why you would seek out information, but you need not worry for your friend. The Bennets are an excellent family, been in residence at Longbourn for five generations. Miss Bennet is as lovely in character as she is in appearance. Miss Elizabeth is a delightful conversationalist, andMiss Mary is very pious. As for the youngest two—well, they do bring a certain vivacity wherever they go.” He chuckled heartily and shook his head affectionately. “In fact, only last week, Miss Lydia nearly convinced my curate to speak a blessing over her sister Miss Mary’s cat because it ‘lacked divine guidance.’ But they are all of them kind girls.”
“Quite,” Darcy replied, a little stunned under the onslaught of information he had not asked for and attempted to redirect the conversation. “And what of their parents?”
Here the parson paused. “Mr. Bennet is a good master, from what I hear, and Mrs. Bennet, while rather enthusiastic in nature, has a good heart. But this you must know from your previous visit, sir.”
“I believe my cousin wished to know of Mr. Bennet’s family,” Fitzwilliam added.
Mr. Hanson eyed them, suddenly wary. “Why do you not simply ask Mr. Bennet?”
“I convinced him not to,” Fitzwilliam replied, the words rolling off his tongue with a certain sort of embarrassed appeal. “I am used to the ton, where people tend to exaggerate the slightest connection to increase their own standing. I believe in proof.”
