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“Then what did you mean?”
“Alphas like Mr. Darcy…” Jack shook his head. “I have heard talk of them before now. They are excessively prideful, Elliot. Much more so than anyone we encounter here in our little world.”
“Bingley is an alpha also, and he is not prideful at all.”
“No, but my impression is that Mr. Bingley is only just an alpha, perhaps in another world he would not have been one at all, but a beta even like mama, and so more easily dealt with.”
“You can deal with him now.”
“Perhaps.” Another pause and then, “But let us hope that in doing so I am not required to spend any more time with the dreadful Mr. Darcy!”
They both took that as the close of their conversation and an indication to try and get some sleep. But as the hours passed by Elliot did not slumber, instead he spent those hours in deep reflection, playing over the events of the night, considering the gossip he had picked up, the snatches of conversation and the plays of movement across the room.
Dawn eventually broke, the gentle sunlight flooding through the leaded glass, catching off the few polished metals in the room, Elliot watched it happen, his eyes no heavier than they had been, one thought now chief in his mind.
He should be in complete agreement with his mama and with Jack.
Mr. Darcy was odious.
He was dreadful.
And he was excessively prideful.
But oddly, the thing Elliot remembered most about his encounter with Mr. Darcy was not the frosty tone, or the disdainful looks, or even that his older brother was now slightly pitying towards him. No, Elliot wasn’t thinking about any of that at all. Instead, he was remembering the scent. It was the very same one he had been seeking out all night, the very same one he had never experienced before, and it was clear now why that was the case. The enticing, intriguing scent had only just arrived in Meryton because it did not come from a tree, or a plant, or even an ointment or a cream.
It came from Mr. Darcy.
A Friendship of Fellows
Six
There were very few people in his life that Fitzwilliam Darcy liked enough to tolerate, fewer still whose company he actively enjoyed and so sought out. His sister, certainly. Members of his wider family, frequently. A small number of friends, rarely.
Charles Bingley was an odd exception. They had met some years ago when away at school. Darcy had been quite a few years ahead of Bingley and as was the custom of their school, younger boys were assigned to older boys to learn the ropes and aid with menial tasks. It was thought character building to experience the toil of household life, and that the experience would build bonds that might then translate to support and friendship in the wider world. The chore element had never worked on Charles though. He had been hopeless with all tedious tasks. Incapable of darning a sock, a disaster at lighting a fire, impossible to the job of arranging a meal. Really, he had been completely incompetent at almost any activity that did not include a charming smile and a good dance!
Anyone who knew him—Charles included—would agree that Darcy was an impatient sort, and he had been no different in his younger years. He should have condemned Charles for his behaviour, should have insisted that he consider his character and make some much-needed improvements, and yet Darcy had never done so. When Charles failed at a chore, Darcy found himself helping the other man to complete it. When Charles laughed his way through an attempt at a meal, Darcy was there to help him organise it. He had warmed to the younger man in a way that was unfamiliar to him but found himself embracing regardless.
Perhaps it was because Bingley was simply so likeable and he, Darcy, was not. Or so convivial where Darcy knew that he was cordial at best. Their personalities, their temperaments, their very dispositions such a contrast! Regardless, there had formed, and remained since, a very steady friendship in spite of that great opposition of character.
“Are you ever going to give me your thoughts?” Charles said now, reminding Darcy that he had asked a question. “I long for your answer.”
“You long for very little,” Darcy said, and Charles laughed.
“This is certainly true now that I am installed at Netherfield and all its splendour. But come, Darcy,” Charles prompted again. “Tell me what you think of these grounds. I know they do not compare to Pemberley, but they are extensive enough for even you not to tire of them, are they not?”
“Indeed, they are impressive,” Darcy said and there was truth in his tone as he had spent several days now walking the grounds of Netherfield and acquainting himself with them. They had, in fact, been part of the reason Charles was able to tempt him to stop off enroute from London to his own significant estate up north. Darcy had heard the area was of scientific interest and it was proving to be true. He was particularly excited for tomorrow’s walk, agreed on earlier with the very knowledgeable gamekeeper Charles had inherited along with Netherfield, which held the promise of ancient caves and perhaps even some crude drawings.
“And are you enjoying them?” Darcy asked.
He was not sure what answer Charles would give because long walks and science of any kind were not areas of interest they had in common! And yet, here Charles was, in the countryside, and seemingly pleased about that. It was due entirely to his recent inheritance of course, a sum of nearly a hundred thousand pounds left from his father, with firm guidance to then purchase an estate. When Charles had approached Darcy for advice on how to go about such a purchase, Darcy had advised him to think about letting an estate for a little while and seeing how that suited. Charles adored the city, enjoyed the balls and the routs and the races, and Darcy was not quite convinced he would do well in the country. Mere months later and Charles had been tempted by an accidental recommendation to look at Netherfield. He did look at it, and into it, for half an hour, was pleased with the situation and the principal rooms, satisfied with what the owner said in its praise, and took it immediately!
“The area seems to suit me,” Charles said after a moment. “And my sisters are also settling well. I know they are anxious for me to have my own estate rather than establish myself as a tenant, but they seem content.”
Darcy nodded. Miss Bingley of course would stay with Charles until she mated but Mrs. Hurst would likely stay also, and not least because she had mated with a female of fashion rather than fortune and was unlikely to enjoy such a residence otherwise!
The path running through the grounds that they had been following turned at this point, steering them back in the direction of the house. Darcy conceded that it was a fine house indeed, the architecture quite splendid, and as the principal estate for some miles it had a certain standing.
He found himself considering the families within the area and knew that none of their properties would come close, how could they as only small country residences? Darcy did concede that some of the houses in Meryton were quite fine. Sir William Lucas’ house was a prime example, but given he was a high-ranking beta he would be expected to live in a certain style.
