“No, and I never shall. Oh, I do my best to keep things running smoothly, but I have no passion for it.”
“I am sorry for your circumstances, Mr. Bennet.”
“You love the farm life, do you?”
“Oh, I do, indeed,” Mr. Darcy replied. “The smell of spring, the sound of new-born lambs calling for their mother, the satisfaction of a harvest brought in safely! I would not trade my place for all the world.”
“Take care, Mr. Darcy, for that all sounds quite emotional to me,” Mr. Bennet rejoined, dryly.
“I suppose it is,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “But it seems safe enough, to feel emotional for one’s occupation.”
“Safe? What an interesting choice of words, Mr. Darcy. Do you eschew emotion because it is not safe?”
Mr. Darcy stared at Mr. Bennet for a long minute. “I had not considered that, but it is certainly true that emotion is not safe.”
“Indeed?”
Mr. Darcy longed to observe that emotion had got Mr. Bennet a rather unsuitable wife, but he did not do so. Instead, heremarked that emotion put people into the most unbecoming and difficult situations.
“I cannot argue against that, but having emotion is part of being human,” Mr. Bennet said.
“Animals have emotions as well,” Mr. Darcy retorted.
“And animals can think,” Mr. Bennet replied.
“Not very well,” Mr. Darcy said, with a shrug.
“We do not know that,” Mr. Bennet said. “They cannot speak to us, so we make assumptions; but we do not truly know. It is possible that the barn cats discuss philosophy while catching mice.”
“If we are going to be absurd…” Mr. Darcy said, now irritated.
“And why not? Life is absurd, is it not?”
“Is it?”
“Of course it is. We are born, we suffer, we die. What is it all for?”
“The glory of God?” Mr. Darcy’s response was more of a question than an answer.
“God? Truly? And you call yourself a rational man!”
Mr. Darcy sighed, but said stoutly. “Descartes’ work proves the existence of God.”
Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow, but simply said, “Shall I see you tomorrow?”
“You shall. Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet.”
“I think you should just call me Bennet.”
“And I am Darcy.”
The two men shook hands like old friends, and Mr. Darcy departed.
Chapter Eight
Mr. Darcy had begun to enjoy his stay in Meryton. This was a most unexpected turn of events. He considered this odd phenomenon and eventually concluded that being away from his (endless) responsibilities at Pemberley, and not sought out in any way for his wealth and position, was the closest thing to a holiday that he had experienced since he had left school and taken up his position as heir to Pemberley.
Then, of course, upon the death of his father, he had become the master of the estate, and had known not a moment of true relaxation ever since. There was always something to be done, something to be decided, someone to see, someone to advise. And his responsibility for Georgiana lay upon him like a great weight, though it had lessened considerably since he had hired Mrs. Annesley. His sister had written to him faithfully since he had departed, and she seemed in excellent spirits.
