Chapter 1
ThomasBennethadnotslept a wink. He tossed fitfully in his bed, the sheets now a hopeless tangle about his legs. Indigestion, he told himself. The observant reader might perhaps infer that all of his tossing and turning could be attributed to Mrs Bennet’s hysterical re-enacting of every scene at the previous night’s ball at Netherfield. Additionally, one might expect that his changeful mind wavered between amusement and hope at his neighbour’s burgeoning attachment to his eldest daughter. Perhaps, it was also possible that the nagging worry may have aggravated his discomfort that his unwelcome house guest had an eye on his second daughter as a fitting mistress for the Hunsford parsonage.
Likely as any of these possibilities were, Mr Bennet did not consider them as influential to his restless night as the over-abundance of fine victuals in which he had indulged the previous evening. He groaned, rolling out of bed he had only a short while ago occupied.
Peering out the small window, he could see only the first warning streaks of dawn marking the horizon. Mr Bennet always slept near an eastern window if he could help it. It was a habit he had passed on to his second daughter, who shared his youthful love of the early sunrise. He doubted Elizabeth would be up so early, after dancing so long and so often last night.
There was nothing else for it—he was well and truly awake and would find neither rest nor companionship for hours. He considered retreating to his library as was his wont, but he felt unusually restless. He noted that the sky was relatively clear; the typical early winter rains had held off for at least one more day. He resolved to do something he had not done in many years—an early morning ride over the frosty fields.
He dressed quietly and crept down the hall, careful to avoid the squeak on the third stair. The household staff were already awake. Mrs Hill glanced up in mild surprise from where she crouched to light her kitchen fire. “Good morning, sir!” she greeted him.
Since the days of his grandfather, the Hills had been with the Bennets and always treated him with friendliness bordering on diffidence, but still properly tempered with respect. He had come to value the current Mrs Hill even more highly after his marriage, when his wife had proven a flighty, distractible sort. Mrs Hill was perfectly capable not only of managing the household but of managing her mistress. A smooth operator, she was able to make sound, reasoned decisions and then let her mistress feel as though the choice had been her own.
“Well, well, thank you, Mrs Hill. Though, I doubt you will find a willing audience for your delicious fare this morning. They will all be abed a long while yet. You may as well skip the morning repast and go back to bed yourself until teatime!”
Hill, well acquainted with the master’s pithy humour, simply nodded. Her practised hands coaxed the sparks to life. “Did the young Misses have a fine evening then, sir?”
“Aye, I suppose if you count flirting with the officers and displaying their talents on the pianoforte, I would say all the younger girls enjoyed themselves well enough. Jane, I believe, spoke to no-one but Mr Bingley, so I suspect she may have found the company rather monotonous. And Lizzy! Lizzy got to savour a lovely dance with our distinguished Mr Collins, but her toes may be rather bruised this morning. She may not be taking her morning walk today.” He walked off, chuckling to himself.
Mrs Hill made a face as she continued to tend her fire. That foolish Collins would someday be Master at Longbourn, and thereby her employer. She did not look forward to it one bit. As much as she would regret losing any of her young misses to either marriage or banishment due to the entail, she would regret even more seeing one of the lively Bennet girls tied here to that ridiculous man. But there, a servant had her place. Still, if she were ever called upon to shield one of her girls or the estate from the interfering, bumbling presence of a pompous fool, she would do all she could.
MrBennethadlongago given up keeping a dedicated hunter in his stable. The estate could ill afford the upkeep on a horse for which he had little use. He kept a pair for work on the farm, which doubled as their carriage horses, and one saddle horse for road use. He was occasionally ridden by the family and often put into a low cart for any servant sent on an errand. The older gelding had been a sprightly hunter in former days, and his good breeding showed in the lines of his neck and shoulder.
Three years earlier, an unfortunate hock injury had forced one of Mr Bennet’s neighbours to look elsewhere for a sporting mount, and the gelding had been retired to more sedate use. Mr Bennet had thought the bay a fine bargain, since he never rode hard, and in fact, seldom rode at all. Jane had instantly loved the old gentleman, for gentleman, the gelding was—at least when she rode. She had been the only one of his daughters to show any interest in riding, and the horse had been as much hers as his.
He swung up into the saddle and set off for the furthest field at a brisk trot. In the grey light, only a heavy mist could be seen. The cool smell of the fresh grass and crisp autumn air was an instant balm to his soul.Why did I ever give this up?he wondered to himself. He jogged over the cool fields and for once remembered the days of his youth at this house.
There was one particular path of which he had always been fond. Lizzy, he knew, walked that way frequently, but it had been years since he had taken the route himself. Turning toward it, he slowed his horse to a walk after a bit. The poor fellow was not conditioned for long bouts, and he had no desire to aggravate the horse’s old injury.
He had ridden just over a quarter of an hour when distant hoofbeats from the opposite direction caught his attention. The mist had begun to clear in the last few minutes, but he still could not make out the rider. A tall black horse galloped toward him at breakneck speed, the rider pushing him relentlessly.
Mr Bennet could see even from a distance that this was no express messenger on a post nag but a well-to-do gentleman on a finely bred hunter. Either the man was fond of vigorous morning exercise, or there was some emergency in the neighbourhood—or he had some demons to exorcise, and his poor horse bore the brunt of his frustrations.
A moment more, and Mr Bennet could make out the stern features of Mr Darcy, who still had not noticed him. Even in the damp chill, he wore no coat, only a white lawn shirt which clung to him. The horse was lathered with sweat. Evidently, they had been riding hard for a while.
Horse and rider cleared a low hedge, and Darcy, who carried no whip, skilfully used his hands and seat to land on the opposite lead and then urge the horse yet faster. Rounding a bend in the lane, the newcomer gave a start when he detected his observer. He pulled up sharply, breathing hard.
“Mr Bennet!” Darcy was surprised in the extreme. He reined in his restless mount, willing him to settle between his knees. He presented a fair sight, he knew. He was drenched in sweat, his hat gone, his shirt open, and sleeves rolled up despite the biting cold. “Forgive me, sir, I did not expect to encounter anyone so early this morning.”
Bennet raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at his mouth. “So, I see. May I ask, sir, has Netherfield caught flame in the night? Or perhaps has Miss Bingley taken ill from all the dancing last evening? I am afraid you are going the wrong way for the doctor.”
Darcy looked entirely discomfited. He pressed his lips together, and his gaze darted from side to side, grasping for a proper response. Mr Bennet could well imagine the man was not used to such casual humour. He had witnessed the fellow’s lack of ease in social settings and had taken great amusement in watching Darcy awkwardly rebuff the hopeful—and sometimes mercenary—advances of others.
He remembered that Darcy had spent several days locked in the same house with his Lizzy a few weeks ago. With perverse delight, he wondered how the austere Darcy had fared under her playful jabs. Lizzy held him in no awe, he was certain of that, and this stiff fellow would have been prime fodder for her drollery.
The tall man adjusted his seat in the saddle and cleared his throat. “I was just out for some exercise, sir.”
“After so late a night of dancing, sir? You must indeed have an iron constitution! I believe I saw you stand up at least twice last evening. Once was even with my Lizzy—nowthatwould wear out a lesser man for at least a se’nnight!”
Darcy bridled at Mr Bennet’s merciless quips. He answered in clipped tones, his teeth clenched. “I could not sleep, sir. I have often found that a brisk morning ride helps to clear my head.” He did not wish to defend his motives in dancing only twice, rude as some might perceive him, any more than he wanted to discuss his one dance with this gentleman’s daughter. It was, in fact, that one dance which had driven him out this morning to punish his body rather than his mind.
The older gentleman relented somewhat. “I confess, I did not rest well myself. There is nothing like fresh air and a little exercise to revive the soul. It is lovely scenery, is it not?” he asked, tactfully turning the subject.
Darcy finally took a deep breath, catching up on all the air his body demanded. His horse panted hard and fast under him, filling him with guilt for his treatment of the creature. “It is, sir. It is very different from the Derbyshire country, but I have come to enjoy the rolling fields of Hertfordshire a great deal,” he admitted.
Mr Bennet smiled appreciatively. He loved his home and enjoyed the pleasure of hearing so distinguished a man as Mr Darcy of Pemberley expressing his admiration. Mr Bennet was a fine reader of characters when he gave himself the trouble. There was something under this man’s commanding presence which seemed… disquieted.
He could imagine that such a young man, thrust early into the heavy responsibilities which Darcy reportedly had been, would have more than his share of struggles. Mr Bennet’s natural inclination to amuse himself at another’s expense yielded to the vulnerability he sensed in the other man’s manner.
