Page 40 of What if Jane was married?

Book 2 Chapter 5

Bingley had not said a single word on the drive back to Netherfield Park. Darcy could tell he was deeply unhappy at the situation he found himself in. In contrast to Bingley, his sister had still not shut up, despite the fact that none of the three gentlemen were listening to her hysterical rants. Darcy had a moment of epiphany as to why Hurst was perpetually drunk. Caroline Bingley.

“Caroline! For the love of God will you shut up. If you say another word you will have no allowance until the new year. I mean it!”

Her next tirade was left unsaid and the carriage descended into blissful silence. Darcy could feel Caroline Bingley seething on the seat opposite but she could seethe to her heart’s content as long as she was quiet.

When they reached Netherfield Park Bingley left the carriage first, made no attempt to help either of his sisters down and stalked off into the manor. As the rest of the party came through the front door they heard the library door slam in the distance. Darcy looked at Louisa Hurst and motioned to the stairs.

“Come Caroline, let us retire.”

She dragooned her sister up the stairs, her husband trailing along in their wake. Caroline was moaning about something, she was always moaning about something, but their voices faded into the distance as Darcy himself walked to the library. When he entered Bingley had just finished pouring a large brandy. Rather than offer one to Darcy he deliberately stoppered the decanter and sat in one of the large wingback chairs in front of the remains of the fire. Darcy poured a small measure into a glass and took the seat opposite.

It was a long two minutes of silence before Bingley finally spoke.

“I know from speaking to the agent before I signed the lease that I cannot just give it up on a whim. Having signed, I am stuck here for another 363 days, until Michaelmas of the year 12. Do you think that any of my neighbours will have spoken to me by then? Or will I still be receiving the cut direct on the streets of Meryton?”

Darcy knew there was an element of exaggeration but there was also a lot of truth.

“What on earth possessed you to say such a thing? At an Assembly where there were twice as many women as men. Hardly surprising since we have been at war with France for close to 20 years and every town is feeling the demands for soldiers and sailors. Rather than just say no, or ask me to return to my partner, you felt the need to verbally berate a complete stranger. A young woman who you had not even been introduced to, since you had rudely walked away not long after we arrived.”

Bingley knocked back his brandy and stood.

“I think it best if you return to London in the morning. Neither of my sisters, nor indeed Hurst, covered themselves in glory this evening. If they do not improve substantially they too will leave. I know very little about running an estate, thus your presence, but I do know that insulting the whole community generally, and several neighbours specifically, is not the way to proceed. Your presence is no longer required or indeed welcome.”

Without another word Bingley retired for the night. Darcy sat staring at the embers. This was a disaster almost completely of his own making. If Bingley had taken his sister to the Assembly but allowed him to remain then this would not have happened. But he had not, and therefore Darcy agreed to attend rather than risk compromise.

And if he attended a dance then he needed to be polite. He did not have to dance, he did not have to enjoy the evening, neutral was perfectly acceptable. Especially since he had arrived mere hours before the Assembly. But politeness was absolutely fundamental. How could he call himself a gentleman after the way he behaved that night?

And in doing so, he had lost the friendship of Charles Bingley. Darcy did not have sufficient friends to throw one away so cavalierly, a friend of close to a decade since they met at Cambridge.

The breakfast from the inn sat like a lead lump in his stomach. But Darcy carried on up the drive of the Goulding’s small estate. When he knocked at the door he was admitted with barely a word from the footman, it was clear his disgraceful behaviour was already well known. Mr. Goulding neither bade him welcome not offered him a chair.

“What can I do for you this morning Mr. Darcy?”

“I wish to apologise to Miss Goulding, I wish to apologise to you as the head of the family, and then to tell you that I am leaving this very day. There is nothing that I can do to retrieve my honour after my disgraceful display. Bingley is a good man, trying to make his way in the world and I have made his task infinitely harder. All I ask is that you judge him on his own merits rather than my appalling display.”

Goulding would not admit it but he was grudgingly impressed that Darcy had humbled himself so thoroughly. Darcy apologise to his eldest, apologised to the whole family and immediately left. Word spread first that he was gone, but then that he had apologised to the Goulding family before doing so. Fitzwilliam Darcy was in Hertfordshire for less than a day. Nobody thought he would be back.

Three days later Bingley was on his own. Caroline Bingley was incapable of acting appropriately and Bingley’s tolerance, his patience for her antics, was gone. Hurst had a townhouse in London and could chaperone the two ladies. He could also pay for his own food and drink! Bingley was not sure when he would next be in their company.

Charles Bingley was not a stupid man but what he was facing would all be new to him. He drew on his memories from Cambridge and applied himself. The lessons were not in a musty old classroom, but even although he was out in the fields every day, there was no doubt he was learning at the same time. The first week or two were a struggle but he persevered. And there were no distractions. With his sisters long gone there was no one to act as his hostess, instantly halving the number of callers. And after the display of Darcy and his sisters at the Assembly, the gentlemen of the neighbourhood were happy to ignore him and reduce the callers to zero.

Now that did not mean that life at Netherfield Park was a mystery, far from it. Between the Steward and his wife, the tenants and their families, and the servants at the manor itself, there were well in excess of 30 people who could share the news with their neighbours. And all were perfectly happy to recount the goings-on at the estate. Within a week the gossip became stale and then downright boring. There were no scandalous stories, no rude guests, nothing. Charles Bingley was learning how to be the master of the estate, just as he intended. But instead of his friend it was through the teachings of the Steward.

Including all the responsibilities that Bingley would never have thought of, such as dealing with the church.

“As you know Mr. Ferry, I have not been the master of an estate before. It is only since Michaelmas that the responsibility has fallen on me. As such I am sometimes caught unaware of certain obligations that an estate is expected to fulfil. The unspoken or unwritten ones as it were. Thus, my visit to you this day.”

“You have paid the Poor Law, your legal obligation to the Parish. What often happens is that the leading landowners of the district will often donate food in addition to the money.”

He paused seeking the right words.

“As you said, they are following unwritten obligations. There are many reasons people do so, on top of the Christian duty to help their fellow man.”