“Good afternoon, Darcy,” he greeted me. “I have just come from a meeting with your solicitor regarding those land surveys we discussed.”
“And?” I prompted. “Did he have the reports you were hoping for?”
Bingley grinned and withdrew a sheaf of papers from his coat pocket with a flick of the wrist that would have done a magician proud. “He did, indeed. Bloody good luck, I say. He had heard of it the very day you sent word of my interest. A property in Hertfordshire called Netherfield Park. From the descriptions, it sounds ideal. Large manor house, good acreage, excellent hunting... Not too far distant from London, either.”
My momentary, dark mood lifted as I ushered Bingley to a chair and poured two glasses of port. Engaging in dissecting surveys and maps always soothed my restless thoughts. As Bingley spread out the documents, my mind alighted on a name that stirred memories of another name, almost as lost to the mists of my memory as Elizabeth’s.
“Hertfordshire, you said?” I glanced over the top of my glass as I took a slow sip. “I don’t suppose the property bears any connection with Edward Gardiner, the financial advisor?”
Bingley’s eyes snapped to mine. “You know Gardiner? Yes, it says right here, ‘The neighboring estate of Longbourn, property of Thomas Bennet Esq., is entailed away from five daughters in favor of a cousin. However, the family is reputed to have the support of two uncles—a solicitor, Mr. Philips, and a wealthy merchant, Mr. Gardiner of London.’”
“Your report said all that?”
Bingley grinned. “Your solicitor is most thorough. I had asked him to get for me any information he could about the families in the area… particularly with respect to the… ah… social landscape.”
I scoffed. “You are learning, Bingley.”
“I have an apt tutor. So, what is this, then, about someone named Gardiner? Do you know him?”
“No, this is not my Gardiner,” I said with a shake of my head, feeling more refreshed for the momentary distraction.
“‘Your’ Gardiner? How do you know the name?”
“My father once retained the services of a man by that name. He was here the day that…” My voice trailed as I was lost for a moment in boyhood memories. But no matter. My nostalgic turn of mind regarding Lambton was clearly infecting my mood. “Well, let us examine these other reports. How many acres is it?”
We passed a productive half hour reviewing the details of acreage, annual rents, and structural condition. In truth, it was rather unlike me to take such a personal interest or advise so intimately on a business matter that little impacted Pemberley. But Bingley’s friendly camaraderie and perpetual optimism were a tonic to my dour mood. I quite enjoyed living vicariously through his search to set up his own household and launch into the social circles local to whatever estate he settled upon.
A smart rap at the study door brought Huxley, the butler, to announce that George and Lord Winston had just arrived from Matlock, and would Bingley and I be available for a turn round the grounds? I was more reluctant than Bingley, but we set aside the documents and agreed to meet him as soon as we had dressed for a ride. I only hoped that George and Lord Winston did not intend to drag us off to the latest spectacle in town or some other scheme equally unnecessary.
Striding toward the stables where the other three awaited me, I felt the lines around my mouth grow tight. What could be so urgent as to cut short my business with Bingley? But there George stood, flushed with vigor, a wide grin that looked oddly genuine, even... triumphant? I would almost have credited his disposition to a clandestine assignation with Lady Lucilla, save that her brother stood beside him looking equally cheerful.
Two stable hands held four saddled horses at the ready. George’s smile deepened as I approached. “A magnificent day for a ride, brother! I was telling Winston that we must show you those fields to the west. I was thinking they would be prime for barley next season. And Bingley, no time like the present to begin inspecting fields.”
His words, echoing my own thoughts to the steward just the other day, gave me pause. Not typically his area of interest or expertise. Hesitantly, I glanced from him to Winston. But the young lord seemed unusually genial himself, lacking the mocking manner I disliked in many privileged youths of his station. I awkwardly returned their smiles. “Indeed... that would be most... instructive.”
As soon as we set off on a brisk trot that prevented intimate discussion, Winston dropped back beside Bingley on some pretext of adjusting his stirrup leathers. George edged his mount closer, his expression almost comically expectant. I steeled myself for whatever folly he was about to announce. Had he purchased a menagerie lion or convinced a troop of gypsy performers to camp on our lawn?
“Fitzwilliam,” he began, then hesitated. I arched a brow. George, at a loss for words? This must be truly momentous.
“Well? Speak up, what is it?”
He took a breath, his eyes refocusing on the road ahead with unwonted steadiness. “I spoke with Lord Belmont this morning regarding Lady Lucilla and me.”
I shot him a sharp look. Had he broached the subject of his attachment? Surely not without my counsel, knowing what high stakes rode on Belmont’s reaction.
“We were quite alone, and he received me with the utmost cordiality,” George continued. “Naturally, the conversation turned to my admiration for his daughter. And—well, you will scarcely credit it, brother, but not only did he not seem displeased, but he gave what amounted to approval of my addresses to her!” He loosed a disbelieving laugh. “By heaven, what luck!”
I slowed my horse to better study his countenance. Had I misheard? “He... he gave you leave to pay your addresses to Lady Lucilla?” I repeated stupidly.
“Better than that! He hinted—well, more than hinted—that an offer from me would receive favorable consideration. What do you think of that!” His wide grin seemed in danger of cracking his face in two.
My head spun, and I forced my horse back into motion before he could detect any emotion beyond laden astonishment on my features. What could Belmont be playing at? Surely, no man in his right mind would consider George, penniless second son of minor Derbyshire gentry, as a serious suitor for the only daughter of one of the highest noblemen in the land. It made no sense. And yet...
“I confess I am… surprised,” I finally ventured. “Pleasantly so, for your sake, but it seems rather against reason. Are you quite certain you correctly understood his intent?”
“Fitz! Such a damper you are determined to be upon my happiness,” George exclaimed, though his jubilant smile never wavered. “But what does it matter? I am determined to settle it one way or another now I have such encouragement. Tomorrow at dinner, I intend to make it known to Lord and Lady Belmont both—and, of course, dear Lucilla—that I wish her hand in marriage, and I fully expect her father’s blessing!”
I flinched at his brash determination to rush in, visions of a furious Lord Belmont rising before my mind’s eye. And yet… who was I to crush such bright hopes if her father hinted approval? I could only nod and promise to stand by him, all the while hoping fortune continued to favor his reckless dreams.
