Page 9 of Mr Darcy’s Quizzing Glass

I shall leave the quizzing glass in town and ford my way, and Bingley’s, without it. It will be a test of my acuity—of how I manage without the glass to quickly determine another’s character, and the opportunity to further build my own.

Darcy lifted the black ribbon over his head and stared down at the quizzing glass. Elegant, conspicuous, and likely dangerous in the wrong hands. No, he would have no need of it at Netherfield Park. It is not my house, and I am familiar with both the qualities and shortcomings of the other members of Bingley’s family party. He had never required the quizzing glass to read the characters and intentions of Miss Bingley and her sister. Or Hurst, who he had discovered in the past few years was less a drunken fool than an indolent, incurious man.

The estate Bingley had leased was one of the largest in that part of Hertfordshire, its nearest neighbour three miles away. There was a good chance he would hardly have need to meet and judge any neighbours, and certainly, Bingley’s sisters knew something about appraising and hiring servants.

I shall go to Netherfield to shoot birds and advise Bingley on the rightness of the place. Certainly, I can do that easily enough. He should determine for himself whether the housekeeper is honest or the blacksmith is competent.

Yes, thought Darcy, securing the quizzing glass in its case and locking it in a desk drawer, he would do without it in Hertfordshire. It was an opportunity to clear his mind, to cease relying on the glass and thereby strengthen his own perception. What could he possibly encounter, and err on, in a place of rustics, on an estate with strengths and faults so clear to the eye?

“Mr Darcy, our family’s dear friend, will arrive tomorrow.” Miss Bingley gazed at the bonnet Jane was holding, her distaste for its simple yet comely decoration of interwoven ribbons and lace obvious in her pointed expression.

In the three meetings Elizabeth Bennet had had with the ladies residing at Netherfield Park, she had been impressed less with their manners than with the clear disdain with which they obviously viewed their new neighbourhood. While Jane was receiving Mr Bingley’s attentions with the greatest pleasure, Elizabeth continued seeing superciliousness in his sisters’ treatment of everybody; she could tolerate them for Jane’s sake, but she could not like them.

She marvelled that the Bingley family was much like the Bennets in producing such disparate characters. Certainly, Mr Bingley was eager to make the acquaintance of everyone in Meryton, and voluble in his warmth—especially towards Jane. His sisters were the opposite; while they wore a veneer of politeness, it was the character of their ‘very dear friend’, the estimable Mr Darcy, which commanded so much of their conversation—and all of their praise. He was, in their testimony, an exemplar of all that a young man should be: wealthy and handsome, admired in society, sought after for his insights and intelligence, well-schooled in the latest fashions, and a brilliant dispenser of wit and wisdom. He was, apparently, a saintly ideal—or, Elizabeth chuckled, an idle swell.

The cut of his jacket, the shine of his boots, the grandeur of his estate, and the depths of his mind... Really, was it proper for an unmarried lady to take such close notice of an unmarried gentleman and discuss it with other unmarried ladies, particularly when shopping in Meryton’s finest milliner?

Miss Bingley caught sight of herself in Bracknell’s ornate mirror, and seemingly pleased by what she saw, proclaimed, “When Mr Darcy is in deep thought and truly wishes to examine the worth of an opinion or the merit of a painting, he relies on the most magnificent quizzing glass.”

Elizabeth hid her laugh behind a cough. Ah, a weakness. He is either a dandy or a man unwilling to wear spectacles.

Lydia huffed. “Sir William Lucas carries one as well, and although he is genial, no one would call him a mind of the first order.”

“Lydia,” Jane said quickly, “you know Sir William uses the glass to help him in reading.”

“There is no reading at a ball,” offered Kitty. “It is one of the reasons Papa claims he dislikes them.”

Elizabeth turned to Miss Bingley as Jane returned the divisive bonnet to the table. “You have said Mr Darcy is a distinguished gentleman whom Mr Bingley calls his greatest friend.”

“You have said it quite often,” Lydia interjected. “He is dreadfully wealthy and dreadfully brilliant and dreadfully excellent at shooting and dancing and riding. But is he all that to compensate for being homely and dreadfully plump?”

Elizabeth winced at Miss Bingley’s horrified expression before quietly admonishing her sister. “Lydia, I am sure Mr Darcy is⁠—”

“—all that a young man should be,” said a clearly affronted Miss Bingley, echoing Jane’s praise of the lady’s brother. “Every gentleman in town wishes to be so blessed as Mr Darcy, and I dare say their aspirations inspire a sense to improve themselves.”

Her own aspirations are clear. I hope this paragon of wonder does not mind the tickling of feathers and the aroma of heavy perfume.

They had heard much of the gentleman, the great Master of Pemberley. His fine hand, the prose in his letters, his seat on his mount, his elegance in a ballroom, the fine tailoring of his jackets, and the beauty of the fabrics and furnishings of his houses. Houses. Elizabeth scoffed, as might anyone counting themselves fortunate to have one house and barely a dozen of her own gowns.

Her own anticipation rose for Mr Darcy’s arrival, for who could live up to such praise and flattery? And to learn the remarkable gentleman would be here in time for the Meryton Assembly? There was a dearth of amusement in the neighbourhood, and the presence of such a great man could only enliven things.

“Perhaps we should look at some new hair ribbons and shoe roses,” she suggested. “If Mr Darcy is so rich and handsome, he merits our finest looks.”

Elizabeth was gratified to earn yet another horrified shudder from Miss Bingley before she and Mrs Hurst hastily left the shop. Espying disappointment on Jane’s face immediately chastened her from amusing herself any further, however, and taking her sister’s arm, she whispered, “I am sorry, dearest. I promise not to tease Mr Bingley’s sisters until after your wedding.”

“Hush, Lizzy. Mr Bingley is merely a friend,” Jane, her cheeks flushed, scolded her. “But I know you will tease me, regardless.”

“Always,” she replied, laughing. “However, I promise that if this amazing creature known as Mr Darcy proves to be all that Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst claim, I shall reserve all of my teasing for him.”

SEVEN

Darcy stalked into Netherfield’s stables, uttering an oath under his breath as he awaited his horse. What a mistake he had made arriving in this damnable town yesterday—the same day as a local assembly and being too damnably polite to refuse attendance. How could he have considered disappointing Miss Bingley when there had been so much anticipation for his presence amongst the townspeople of Meryton?

My presence. Oh yes, my character was thoroughly sketched to be an object of fascination.

Upon leasing one of the finest estates in the county and wishing to impress his neighbours, Bingley—and his sisters—had evidently done it a bit browner than usual, painting Darcy as a man among men, exalted for his wealth, intelligence, perception, and benevolence.

No wonder the gape-mouth rustics stared at me as if I were a giraffe come from Africa!