“Ah. That Petey.”
“When my driver went inside the inn for a pint while he waited for the blacksmith to complete his task, the innkeeper shared that ‘Mr. Darcy paid for Petey’s meals’ for the next month as long as the lad cared for your horse whenever you were in Town. Not only that, he said that you left enough to provide his grandmother with a full meal each day.”
“You would have done no less.”
“Be that as it may, his grandmother is his only family, Darcy. Even with your reduced state of affairs, I was not at all surprised to hear of your generosity. This is not the first time I have learned of you looking out for others who are not your responsibility. Look how well you take care of me. I would never have survived my entrance into society without your help. Things like this are part of your fundamental character.”
Darcy shrugged. “The lad looked to be about eight. He was far too skinny, reminding me of the son of one of my tenants, who has a hollow leg that takes a barrel of food to fill. I merely wanted to give the child a chance.”
Bingley grinned. “Exactly as I was saying, Darcy. As it is, you currently have absolutely no one you are responsible for…well, other than Petey. Now is the time to see what life outside of Pemberley offers.”
A rut in the road made Bingley grab the strap in the carriage. “Even though months have passed, I doubt that gossip from Town has arrived in Meryton. Although Wickham's name is frequently written in the papers, yours is not. It always seems like the ladies can ferret outa man’s situation with little time or effort. If people discuss your changed circumstances, only your good looks will attract attention after they learn you are no longer a wealthy single man. For this, be grateful.”
Darcy glanced at his friend. “Do not misunderstand me, Bingley, but I am not yet settled into this new ‘situation.’ I am as determined today as the day of Wickham’s arrival in London that I will regain what belongs to me. Currently, I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of nowhere. Therefore, gratitude is the last thing I feel.”
What motivated him to get out of bed each morning and pen one letter after another to the man looking for Simon Cole was a fierce need for retribution. Until his loss, Darcy defined himself through his ancestral role and his possessions. He viewed everything in his periphery through the lens of Pemberley and his family's name. Now, his loss challenged his identity. His change in status was a bitter medicine lodged in his throat.
“I can accept that.” Bingley nodded. “Think of this, then. How you appear tonight will reflect onme. Tomorrow, when Caroline arrives, she will look down her nose at my neighbors. If you behave similarly this evening, your behavior will confirm their belief that I believe myself to be superior. That is not the beginning I want.”
Darcy considered his words until they arrived at the assembly rooms. He recognized the sensibleness of Bingley’s claims. Yet, he could only see as far as what he had lost. If he was not the master of Pemberley, then who was he?
He sighed heavily.
What his friend failed to understand was that he was nothing or no one without Pemberley.Hewas the truemaster of the Darcy family’s assets. There would be a Darcy at Pemberley again if it were the last thing he ever did!
He breathed deeply until his blood cooled. He would do as Bingley requested on this night. Then, he would return to Netherfield Park to consider his next step, hoping information from Philadelphia would arrive soon. He was honor bound to aid Bingley for the short term. Once he finished and Bingley could stand on his own, Darcy would hunt Simon Cole like a hound who captured the scent of a fox. He would see justice done. Then, he would direct his full attention to Wickham. Darcy’s ultimate goal, of course, was to get his life back.
Elizabeth stoodbetween Charlotte and Jane, waiting for the music to begin. At least twenty families filled the room. Men gathered into small groups to brag about their harvests and share their concerns over the continued battle with France. The matrons seated themselves along the wall, as did those rarely invited to dance. Their gossip was louder than the musicians tuning their instruments.
Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s oldest and dearest friend, was the eldest daughter of Sir William, the event’s host. Being extraordinarily proud of his knighthood, the three ladies knew he was eager to meet someone who had not yet heard the tale of his brief time at St. James. When newcomers entered the room, the three ladies each guessed how long Sir William would keep them standing at the door as he shared his tale.
Sensible Charlotte was the only one with a timepiece.When the men finally stepped away from Sir William, Jane whispered, “How many minutes passed?”
“Exactly six minutes.” Charlotte tapped the watch’s surface where it was pinned to her shawl. “Since I guessed ten minutes and Lizzy guessed eight, you won with five, Jane.”
Giggling, Elizabeth clasped her sister’s hand, giving it a squeeze.
“Which of the two is Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.
“He is the fair-haired one on the right. The other is his friend, Mr. Darcy, who arrived from the north earlier today.” Charlotte tipped her head slightly. “According to the butcher, who supplied an extra serving of mutton to Netherfield Park, the Derbyshire gentleman is a man of mystery. His coach bears the seal of the Matlock earldom.”
Jane suggested, “Is he the earl? Or perhaps he is a close relative.”
Charlotte mused, “Whether he is family or not, I do not know. What is blatantly obvious is that the gentleman is fearful handsome.”
Elizabeth had already noticed the tall man with thick wavy hair brushing the back of his collar, well-trimmed whiskers, and piercing eyes. He appeared displeased to be in attendance.“His scowl is rather magnificent.”
Charlotte chortled. “His finely crafted clothing is obvious even from here, and his stately bearing suggests unquestionable authority. Perhaps he is exactly what he appears to be, a gentleman who means to elevate Mr. Bingley in Meryton’s society.”
“That should not be a challenge at all,” Elizabeth said since no other man in attendance came close to the newarrivals in countenance. “I wonder at this Mr. Darcy escaping your father so quickly, Charlotte. Would a knight impress a rook or a bishop? He certainly is not a king.”
The three chuckled at the chess reference. Jane refused to play because she always wanted everyone to win and never did. Charlotte was almost as skilled as Elizabeth.
Kitty, Lydia, and Charlotte’s young sister Maria interrupted their natter with uproarious laughter after nearly overturning the drinks table.
Elizabeth excused herself. “Pardon me, ladies. Duty calls.”
Moving towards the younger girls, braying loud enough to draw attention to themselves, Elizabeth quietly reminded them, “Ladies, if you behave like the lowest element of society, people will treat you accordingly. Is this what you want? To be a subject of scorn by our neighbors? To be despised and laughed at?”
