I nodded absently, more preoccupied with the vision of dark curls and laughing eyes that persisted in invading my concentration. With effort, I redirected my attention to where it belonged. “You mentioned yesterday that you were making progress in your search for a suitable estate?”
“I did, indeed!” Bingley leaned eagerly forward, reminding me oddly of that old spaniel we used to have as it begged for praise. “In fact, I took your advice to heart and made it a priority to investigate more thoroughly.” His chest puffed up. “And I am happy to say I have just this morning signed a three-year lease on Netherfield Park, near Meryton in Hertfordshire.”
I bolted upright so suddenly Wellington shot me an aggrieved look. “You did what?” Incredulity sharpened my tone. “Forgive me, Bingley, but last we spoke of it, you had only glimpsed a few papers detailing the place. You have not even seen it! Surely prudence urges more careful inquiry and numbers analysis before entering any binding commitment?”
Bingley’s smile faltered slightly even as he waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, as to particulars of acreage and annual rents and so forth, naturally, I employed a man for just that purpose.” At my pointed stare, he amended, “Well,yourman, actually—thank you again for the introduction to Mr. Morris, capital fellow! His reports were what decided me.”
I pressed my thumb and forefinger to the corners of my eyes, tension gathering. “I see. And these reports were verified as accurate?”
“Certainly! I have every faith in Morris’ skills.”
“Bingley, he cannot possibly have had sufficient time to gather all the information you require.”
“Oh… Well, besides...” Pink tinged Bingley’s open features. “I was fortunate to encounter a young lady familiar for many years with the property and environment who painted such a delightful picture of society and countryside that I could not demur.”
I dropped my hand, eyes narrowing. “A young lady, you say?” Suspicion quickened my pulse. “Which young lady would that be?”
“Why, Miss Bennet, of course!” Bingley leaned back, a dreamy smile playing over his lips. “We have enjoyed several conversational rambles after our initial meeting. She described not just the charms of Netherfield itself, but the whole neighborhood.” His look turned introspective. “In truth, I think I would find any locale pleasing that boasted her as an inhabitant.”
I studied him silently. So much for my intentions to warn against sentiment’s folly. That particular horse had undoubtedly quit the stable once Miss Jane Bennet entered Bingley’s sights that day at the inn. One could only hope that the buildings did not boast leaking roofs and rotting timbers.
With an inner shrug of resignation, I merely said, “Well, if the property suits your purposes, I wish you very happy there. Although—” I held up one finger. “Take care not to neglect due diligence purely out of, shall we say, social motivations? One cannot live on the beauty of scenery and neighborhood alone.”
Bingley’s expression cleared. “Too right you are! Not to worry. Once settled, I assure you the estate’s business affairs shall receive utmost meticulous care.” His eyes drifted once more to the middle distance. “Provided, that is, I can prevail upon the fair creature who has utterly stolen my attention to allow me to wait upon her in detail.”
I smiled despite myself. “So that is the way of it? Well, if Miss Bennet is an accurate representation of local young ladies, I dare say you shall do very well for yourself in Hertfordshire society.”
We shared a rueful laugh before Bingley’s musing look returned. “I confess, though, Darcy, to some concern on one account regarding my angel’s connections.” At my raised brows, he leaned nearer. “It shames me to admit noticing such mercenary details. But I have formed a rather less favorable impression of some members of her family.”
“Oh? I was under the belief that her relations are generally well-regarded, given your glowing reports.”
“Indeed, indeed!” He hastened to assert. “The uncle who escorted them here, Mr. Gardiner, seems most amiable by all accounts. And her sister… well, I suppose she is not a natural sister, but they have been raised together, nonetheless—Miss Elizabeth is gentleness personified. But...” He lowered his voice, shamefaced. “From certain reluctant confidences, I gather the younger Bennet sisters leave much to be desired as far as decorum and discretion.”
My brow furrowed. “That is unfortunate. I presume the father neglects proper governance?”
Bingley shifted in patent discomfort. “I really could not say. Miss Bennet mentions very few details. Except...” His mouth turned down. “Perhaps it is only my impressions—a narrow looking glass, of course, but it almost sounds as if he cares more for his library than managing a gaggle of headstrong girls. And her mother sounds… excitable.”
My heart sank pondering such an upbringing for Elizabeth. Where had Father sent her? And why under such circumstances, with so little inquiry made into the situation? It was miracle enough that she blossomed unspoiled, surrounded by apparent poor influences and questionable guardianship.
But what did that suggest about Elizabeth’s sudden appearance? Surely, the family had not sent her for illicit means as a way of elevating their own circumstances. Suddenly, my earlier qualms about Elizabeth renewing old ties seemed founded on more than past loss. She merited closer scrutiny… particularly given her persistent fascination with my distractible brother.
As if reading my thoughts, Bingley offered consolingly, “But truly, Darcy, whatever their faults, Mr. Bennet must deserve some credit! His two eldest daughters surely stand as testaments to hidden merit. Can many fathers claim such superior blessings?”
I nodded silently. No father could ask for greater accolades than the conduct and virtues of honorable offspring. Yet uncertainty lingered. Were Elizabeth’s substance and principles nourished by Bennet’s influence? Or was her true nature more a reflection of former seeds planted in worthy soil transplanted long years before?
I watched Wellington doze before the cold hearth, chin propped on my fist. My mind churned with details still lacking that prevented charting any definitive course regarding Elizabeth. With her foster relations largely unknown quantities and George’s future hanging precariously in the balance, nothing could be safely assumed or predicted.
I required wise counsel to unravel uncertainties from multiple quarters. My uncle must be consulted, of course, and discretionary letters must be dispatched to this Mr. Gardiner without delay. Between us, some reasonable path might be discerned that allowed me to uphold family duty while still establishing the true measure of Elizabeth’s situation.
I set aside my empty glass with gathering resolution. For now, keeping her close yet separated remained paramount. But I would not leave her abandoned to uncertain tides without an anchor. And the only such anchor at hand… was myself.
Elizabeth
Ihummedsoftlytomyself, secateurs in hand, as I moved down the row of heavily scented roses lining Mrs. Westing’s garden. Their luxurious fragrance perfumed the morning air, mingling with the cherry tart I had baked just that dawn. Blight had affected some outer stems that must be swiftly cut away to preserve the main blooms.
Intent on my task, I failed to mark the approaching rider until a horse’s eager whicker preceded the creak of the picket gate. I glanced up, shears arrested halfway through a diseased cane, to behold George Darcy swinging down from a tall bay, grin flashing brighter than summer itself. My heart performed an instantaneous stutter-step, the years between us blinking out of existence faster than I could draw breath to hail him.
“George!” Secateurs and basket tumbled forgotten as I flew down the gravel path, skirts hiked past decorous limits in a most unladylike fashion. I cared not a whit, nearly flinging myself at him in unrestrained delight.
