And he has five thousand a year!” Mrs. Bennet announced triumphantly.
Lady Lucas’ brows shot up. “And you are certain that he is single?”
“Very certain, Lady Lucas. Mr. Bingley arrives tomorrow, accompanied by two sisters and a brother-in-law. One of the sisters is to be his hostess.”
“Perhaps he will come to the assembly ball in two weeks’ time,” Lady Lucas said, smiling in anticipation.
“Surely he will, for when he first came to see Netherfield, he told Mr. Phillips that he was very fond of dancing!”
“This is good news indeed, Mrs. Bennet. How fortunate it is that your brother by marriage, Mr. Phillips, arranged the lease and is in possession of such information,” Lady Lucas observed.
“Surely he will dance with Jane!” Mrs. Bennet exulted.
“He will, of course,” Lady Lucas said. There was no point in arguing the matter; it was a simple fact that Miss Jane Bennet was the beauty of the neighbourhood and therefore the most likely to secure the interest of a wealthy young gentleman. It was unlikely that anyone would look twice at her own daughter, Charlotte, if Miss Bennet was nearby.
***
Later that day, Mrs. Bennet found her husband in his study. “You must visit Mr. Bingley as soon as he arrives,” she told him.
“I always visit Netherfield’s tenants, year after year,” he told her. “You need not remind me of my social obligations.”
“But this time it is of peculiar interest to me that you do so,” she said. “For the new tenant is both wealthy and single. And my brother Phillips assures me that he likes to dance!”
Mr. Bennet sighed. There was almost no possibility that this young, single, sociable young man would be interested in books or chess. His arrival would be a matter of great importance to the young ladies of the neighbourhood – and their mothers – but he would likely not be of much importance to Mr. Bennet.
Chapter Three
On the twenty-ninth of September, Mr. Darcy’s carriage pulled into Netherfield’s front courtyard. The coachman leaped down and opened the door for his employer. Mr. Darcy climbed out and stretched, surveying the house as he did so. It was a sturdy red brick building, quite modern-looking, with a large number of windows. The front gardens were well-kept and the driveway clean and raked.
A man, doubtless the butler, stepped outside to welcome him, but he stopped short upon seeing Mr. Darcy. His gaze shot first to the very fine carriage and then back to Mr. Darcy. His brows drew together in confusion.
Mr. Darcy managed not to take umbrage at the man’s bewilderment. He understood that butlers were trained to recognise a person’s level in society by certain signs, chief among them that person’s means of transportation and clothing, and there was no doubt that Mr. Darcy’s current attire was very much at odds with his very elegant traveling carriage.
The fact of the matter was that Mr. Darcy had traveled without his valet, Franklin. Sadly, Franklin’s mother had become quite ill; as the only child, Franklin was required to be at her bedside. On the other hand, he felt that he owed it to his employer to travel south with him. Mr. Darcy, seeing Franklin’s conflicted loyalties, had put an end to it by ordering Franklin to attend his mother.
“But, sir –“ Franklin had begun to protest.
Mr. Darcy would hear none of it, nor would he accept any substitute for Franklin’s services; as a result, he had traveled alone, wearing clothing that he was able to get into and out of without assistance. All his tight-fitting “gentlemanly” clothing – the meticulously tailored trousers, shirts, waistcoats and jackets – had been left behind at Pemberley. Mr. Darcy had brought with him only a small trunk containing the sort of clothing he wore when he was tramping about Pemberley’s fields with no need to impress anyone. Mr. Darcy would admit only to himself that he was enjoying the opportunity to wear clothing that was so supremely comfortable.
Ignoring the perturbed butler for the moment, he turned to the coachman. “There should be stabling around the back, Ned. Let me know at once if anything is lacking for the comfort of yourself or the horses.”
Ned touched his cap respectfully and climbed back to his perch on top of the carriage.
Mr. Darcy then turned back to the butler, who was now frowning. “I am Mr. Darcy,” he said. “Mr. Bingley was unable to be here, so I have come in his stead.”
The butler’s face cleared at once. “Ah, so that was Mr. Bingley’s carriage,” he said. Before Mr. Darcy could correct him, he wenton. “I will have the housekeeper show you to your room.” With that, he turned and began to lead Mr. Darcy into the house.
“And your name is?” Mr. Darcy enquired, speaking to the man’s back.
“I am Mr. Graham.” The butler’s stern voice made it clear that Mr. Darcy should address him with the honorific.
Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to explain who he was – master of Pemberley, nephew of the Earl of Matlock! – and then closed it. This, he realised at once, was the perfect opportunity for him to take something of a break from the innumerable expectations that accompanied this nephew-of-the-Earl-of-Matlock identity. It was not whimsy, he assured himself; it was simply a necessary break that would allow him to rest and then perform his duties ever more admirably upon his return to Derbyshire. It was an important distinction, as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy frowned upon whimsy.
Mr. Darcy was introduced to Mrs. Nichols, the housekeeper. Mr. Graham whispered a few words into her ear; she nodded and motioned Mr. Darcy to follow her. She led him upstairs to a small room with rather old furniture and peeling paper; it was clearly a second-best guest room, or possibly even third-best. Mr. Darcy wondered if he should now explain who he really was, but decided against it. You have become spoiled, he told himself. Too accustomed to being made much of, to being fêted and sought out! A few weeks of anonymity will likely be good for my character, he thought wryly.
He unpacked his belongings, laying the books he had brought with him on his bedside table, with Descarte’sMeditations on First Philosophyon top, and then storing his comfortable clothing in drawers. When was the last time I unpacked for myself, he wondered. School, perhaps? Mr. Darcy then madehis way downstairs, in time to hear Mr. Graham speaking with another man. The other man was middle-aged, dressed as might become a business man or an attorney.
Mr. Darcy heard Mr. Graham say, “His attorney, I do not doubt. Or perhaps Mr. Bingley’s man of business. He did not say and I did not feel it necessary to enquire.”
