Elizabeth pushed a stray curl from her face, it having escaped the thick plait that lay beside her on the down pillow. As she drifted off to sleep, she could not help but feel that the coming days would prove very interesting.
The next day, the Bennet ladies walked into Meryton. Mrs. Bennet accompanied her daughters, eager to partake of the gossip surrounding the new master of Netherfield. They first called upon Mrs. Phillips, the Bennet matriarch’s sister. Mrs. Phillips was married to the local solicitor, who also happened to handle legal matters for Netherfield. Or rather, he had.
“Mr. Phillips informs me that Mr. Bingley’s solicitor will manage things going forward. It is a shame to lose business, but it cannot be helped.” Mrs. Phillips sipped her tea and shook her head.
“Never mind about that. Tell us of Mr. Bingley!” Lydia bounced in her chair, her teacup rattling against the saucer. “When will he arrive? Will he add to the staff? What of parties and balls?”
“Hush, Lydia, and let your aunt speak.” Mrs. Bennet swatted at her daughter—a rare occurrence given Lydia’s standing as her mother’s favorite.
Lydia complied but pouted quietly in her chair. Everyone turned their attention to Mrs. Phillips, who cleared her throat and told all she knew.
“Mr. Bingley is, according to Mr. Phillips, an amiable man with a pleasing countenance. He could not recall true details—men are hopeless at such things—but described him as being reasonably tall and fit, with reddish hair and an engaging smile. The gentleman is eager to take possession of his estate and will do so before Michaelmas.” She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, smiling at her sister. “Have you convinced Mr. Bennet to call yet?”
“He has promised he will, though I suspect he will tease me needlessly about it.” Mrs. Bennet sniffed disdainfully. “Why he must play games with me is beyond my understanding.”
Elizabeth smiled into her teacup. Mama enjoyed her husband’s teasing…most of the time. Her parents were an odd pair, but they loved each other. The Bennets had raised their children to expect the same in their future spouses. Imperfect as they were, they provided their children with an ideal example of marital felicity. Why, Mrs. Bennet had once helped Jane turn away a suitor she could not abide. The man had written Jane some very bad poetry, but even his sad use of verse would not have cooled Jane’s affections if they had existed.
Still, the girls had next to no dowry. Her parents had not saved prudently, and now Mrs. Bennet’s concerns for the future were demonstrated with every show of nerves.
Let us hope that the new master of Netherfield chooses one of us,she thought to herself. It would certainly make things easier.
Chapter Two
“You did what?” Fitzwilliam Darcy gaped at his young friend, Charles Bingley.
“I purchased an estate. Did you not say I should pursue land ownership?” Bingley grinned happily. “It is a lovely place, just half a day’s ride from London. It will please my sisters—of that I am certain.”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bingley, I advised you toleasean estate. You have no experience in managing an estate. Leasing would provide you with the opportunity to learn—”
“And I shall still have the opportunity to learn. What difference does it make? Netherfield Park is mine now. Darcy, I have always leapt into my future feet first—this is no different. It will be wonderful. Caroline is already planning to redo several rooms. I intend to take possession at the end of the month. Please say you will join me there until after the festive season. You promised you would help me learn.”
Bingley’s pleading eyes looked rather like one of Darcy’s favorite dogs. He sighed heavily. “I suppose I can stay for some months.” He had nothing better to do. Georgiana was with Lordand Lady Matlock. Her spirits after the summer were very low, and nothing Darcy had done (or, ‘could do’) had resulted in any improvement.
His dear sister had been taken in by a libertine while she summered by the sea. The blackguard, long connected to the Darcy family, convinced the young heiress to elope. Darcy arrived just in time to prevent his childhood friend from running off with his then fifteen-year-old sister, prompting George Wickham to flee the leased house. Before Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, could track him down, they had learned that Wickham had been killed in a duel.
The news had pushed Georgiana further into despondency. Lady Matlock had finally stepped in, instructing Darcy to absent himself until his sister recovered her spirits.
Darcy exhaled slowly, staring at the fire as if it might reveal how he was meant to manage another crisis. Bingley purchasing an estate—without consultation, without due diligence—was madness. Despite everything, the man looked so hopeful, so proud of himself, that Darcy found reprimand difficult.
Bingley had the heart of a golden retriever and the business instincts of one as well.
“Tell me of the area,” he said.
Leaning back in his chair, Bingley regaled him with tales of the neighborhood. “The closest village is called Meryton. It is quaint, and the people are friendly. Netherfield is the principal estate in the area. The manor itself seems sound, and the tenant farms generate some three thousand a year in income. Mr. Morris—that is the land manager—says the estate has always been profitable.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. Tenant farmsclaimedto generate income in exactly that fashion—smoothly, confidently, as though the land would tend itself. But reality was altogether less obliging. Roofs leaked. Fences rotted. Tenants fell into arrears.Fields required drainage, roads resurfacing, orchards pruning, woodlands thinning, cottages repairing. And all of it cost money.
“Did you review the old account books to ascertain the accuracy of that statement?” Darcy raised an eyebrow.
Bingley began to shift uneasily. “He seemed forthright and honest.”
Darcy shook his head. “I hope for your sake that it is so.”
But even as he spoke, Darcy’s mind raced ahead to the inevitable reality. Bingley had not reviewed the accounts. He had almost certainly overpaid—Darcy did not yet dare ask what the price of the estate had been. Netherfield Park’s ‘three thousand a year’ would shrink rapidly once repairs were required.
If Bingley had indeed paid upward of fifty or sixty thousand pounds—and Darcy suspected he had—then the young man would have less than half his fortune left. From that portion, he must now support the estate’s expenses, staff wages, tenant defaults, property improvements, his sisters’ expensive tastes, and any unforeseen emergencies.
Even a well-run estate might return fourteen hundred to eighteen hundred pounds a year after costs. For a gentleman accustomed to interest income of around four or five thousand pounds annually, such a reduction was drastic. Bingley would need to be thrifty for the first time in his life—and Darcy knew his friend possessed no such skill.
