“Oh, yes!” Bingley said, undeterred. “The driver spoke to some fellows from Meryton, and he says the grounds are easy enough to survey from the front lawn, at least well enough to form an opinion. Besides, we have lanterns, and we can return to the Meryton inn after we have had our look around. It will be quite safe.”
Darcy crossed his arms, unimpressed. “This from the same man who finds excuse after excuse to stop at every inn along the road? If you had not delayed us so thoroughly with all these… social niceties, we might already be comfortably situated at an inn now, with a fire and a meal.”
“Social niceties? I only stopped to ensure Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had adequate comfort! Fresh hot bricks for their feet and proper protection and all. It would have been ungentlemanly to allow two ladies to travel unaccompanied for so long.”
“‘Unaccompanied’? They had their driver, Bingley,” Darcy retorted. “And Mr. Gardiner’s private carriage, which is far more than most ladies can lay claim to. I should not need to remind you of what ‘accompanied’ entails. And I suppose your eyes were also filled with ‘neighborly interest’ every time you so much as glanced Miss Bennet’s way.”
Bingley gave a huff, waving off the suggestion. “Interest? I should hardly call it that. Miss Bennet is simply a most pleasant companion—and a new neighbor, as we hope. Can you imagine me so ungallant as to neglect a lady in need?”
“A lady in need, she was not. From where I sat, she looked remarkably content with her lot.”
Bingley raised his chin, feigning indignation. “I have no idea what you mean. Besides, need I remind you that our acquaintance with the Bennet ladies is thanks entirely toyou,Darcy? It wasyourinsistence on dining with Gardiner that led to it all.”
Darcy frowned, momentarily silenced. Yes, he had been the one to press for that evening, but ithadbeen a practical matter of business, nothing more. Yet here he was, at Netherfield, in the very same county as the Bennet sisters, for no other reason than Bingley’s nagging persistence.
“Andyoudid not seem altogether displeased with the arrangement. In fact, I think you found something rather… diverting about Miss Elizabeth.”
Darcy looked away, focusing on the dim outline of Netherfield beyond the carriage. “Bingley, you would do well to contain such suppositions.”
Bingley chuckled. “Oh, come now! You cannot deny that she is remarkably clever, charming, terribly pretty, and altogether pleasant to be around. It is a rare combination, even you must admit.”
Darcy’s gaze lingered on the dark windows of the house, though his thoughts were far from Netherfield. “It is… unusual,” he allowed after a moment, his tone careful. “Almost… unsettling.”
Bingley’s eyebrows rose. “Unsettling? How so?”
Darcy hesitated, choosing his words. “Miss Elizabeth Bennet is almost… too perfect a combination of qualities. Her intellect, her wit, her forthrightness… It feels… manufactured.”
Bingley laughed outright at that. “Manufactured! My dear fellow, it sounds as though you’re suggesting someone conjured her to suit your tastes. Admit it—you are smitten.”
Darcy narrowed his eyes, refusing to indulge his friend’s amusement. “Smitten is a strong word, Bingley. One I do not intend to apply here. My experience has taught me that anything seemingly perfect deserves a measure of caution.”
“Deserves caution? My friend, only you would approach the prospect of charm with trepidation!”
Just then, the carriage rolled to a stop, and Darcy grimaced at the outline of Netherfield dimly silhouetted against the evening sky. Might as well have done with it, for Bingley would not rest until he had made footprints in Netherfield’s snow. They stepped down from the carriage, Bingley pacing about with enthusiasm, while Darcy paused a moment longer, the flicker of lamplight casting odd shadows on the estate ahead.
The chill evening air seeped through Darcy’s coat as he watched Bingley swinging the lantern about, casting faint, dancing shadows across the snow-covered gravel of the main drive. Netherfield house loomed in the dark, several of the windows lit as its residents no doubt moved about inside. Darcy cast an exasperated look at his friend.
“Bingley, this is improper. We were not announced, and it is unthinkable to wander about the grounds uninvited. They will think we are housebreakers or some other nonsense.”
Bingley waved off his concern with his usual cheerful confidence. “Come now, Darcy, no one even knows we are here! It is hardly as if we’re peering through windows. I only wanted a glance at the property—a man ought to know what he is leasing, after all.”
Darcy sighed. “A matter you could have taken up by daylight, after notifying the owner. Egad, the landscape is covered in snow. What do you expect to see?”
“But it’s just too splendid to pass up.” Bingley moved the lantern to one side, inspecting the grounds with a pleased nod. “These fields, the woods to the west—there’s game here, I’ll wager.”
“Wonderful,” Darcy replied flatly. “Now, if you have satisfied your curiosity, perhaps we can return to Meryton for the night before we embarrass ourselves further.”
“Oh, very well,” Bingley said, relenting with a grin. “I would not want to risk offending your delicate sense of propriety.”
Just as they turned back toward the carriage, a voice called out. “Evening, gentlemen. May I ask your business?”
Darcy froze, his stomach sinking with mortification, while Bingley, unperturbed, swung back around with his ready grin.
“Ah, good evening!” Bingley hailed the man approaching them. “Charles Bingley, sir. My apologies if our presence here startled you. Forgive me—we had not thought we were near enough to the house to cause any alarm. I came at the recommendation of Mr. Sutton in London—he is the estate’s agent—and I wanted to leave my card with the owner.”
The man stepped closer, close enough that the lantern’s glow revealed his features—a weathered face, a patch over one eye, and a gait that dragged noticeably. Darcy’s gaze caught the hint of an old scar along the man’s jaw, and he felt a flicker of respect. This was no ordinary servant; he had seen combat, that much was certain.
“I am Jackson, head coachman here,” the man said, his tone respectful enough, though his visible eye flickered cautiously between them. He held Bingley’s gaze for a moment, then turned to survey Darcy. “Mr. Sutton, you say?”
