Page 5 of Mr. Darcy's Runaway Bride
“The local society will be limited, I imagine.”
“On the contrary,” Bingley grinned, “the nearest village—Meryton—boasts several genteel families, according to the agent. There may even be some country girls for us to dance with. A change of scenery might do us both good.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “Your pursuit of Miss Rochester has ended abruptly, and already you contemplate new introductions.”
“Not all of us approach matrimony with your degree of caution, Darcy,” Bingley retorted. “Indeed, one might wonder whether you mean to marry at all.”
The question struck closer to the heart of Darcy’s current unrest than Bingley could know. He set down his glass, choosing his reply carefully.
“Marriage, as an institution, holds little appeal,” he said at last. “Too many unhappy alliances are formed for advantage rather than affection.”
“Surely your parents’ marriage was not of that kind?”
Darcy’s expression cooled. “My father held my mother in high esteem. She fulfilled her duties as mistress of Pemberley admirably. Theirs was a rare example of a happy outcome. As for me, my family increase their efforts to see me settled,” he continued, his voice low. “Since Anne’s marriage to Fitzroy’s son, Lady Catherine has turned her full attention to me—and to Lady Eleanor Hayward.”
“Ah, I wondered at your expression upon arrival. Was this evening especially trying?”
“A dinner arranged with transparent purpose,” Darcy confirmed. “My uncle and aunt Matlock have allied themselves with Lady Catherine. They believe Lady Eleanor an appropriate match—her lineage is unimpeachable, her dowry generous, her accomplishments many.”
“Yet you remain unmoved.”
“She lacks… spirit,” Darcy said after a pause. “She would satisfy society as Pemberley’s mistress, but I find no pleasure in her company.”
Bingley regarded him gravely. “You need not marry where your heart does not lead you. Your position affords you that liberty.”
“My position creates the pressure,” Darcy said. “The Darcy name must continue. Pemberley requires an heir.”
“But surely not at the expense of your happiness?”
Darcy glanced down at the amber swirl in his glass. “Perhaps happiness in marriage is a luxury few can afford.”
“You sound like an old man already,” Bingley laughed, though his tone remained earnest. “Listen to me, Darcy. I may lack your fortune and consequence, but I know this much—I shall marry only where I can both love and respect my wife. You deserve no less.”
Darcy inclined his head, quietly grateful for the honesty. “Your counsel is well taken, though not easily acted upon—especially under Lady Catherine’s siege.”
“All the more reason to retreat to Hertfordshire,” Bingley urged. “Put distance between yourself and their schemes. Give yourself time to consider what you truly want.”
“You make a compelling case,” Darcy admitted. “Very well. I shall accompany you to Netherfield. But I warn you—I’ve no intention of dancing with every country miss who crosses my path.”
Bingley’s face lit up. “Excellent! And I would never presume to dictate your partners. Still, I maintain that a lively country assembly may be the very antidote to Town’s pretensions.”
Conversation flowed more easily now, anchored by good humour and brandy. As the hour advanced, the rigid weight Darcy had carried all evening began to loosen. Hertfordshire. It might be the very thing—a reprieve from interference, a place to think clearly, and space to choose his own future.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth
London
13th May 1812
Within the antechamber of St Martin’s in the Field, Elizabeth Bennet stood motionless in her cream silk gown. The garment, trimmed with fine lace, had cost far more than the family could afford, yet Mrs Bennet had insisted upon it. A proper wedding required a new gown, no matter their financial straits.
“Stand straight, Lizzy. One would think you face the gallows rather than the altar,” Mrs Bennet fussed. Her mother’s fingers trembled with excitement as she adjusted orange blossoms affixed to Elizabeth’s hair. “What fortune to secure such a match. The Blackfriars are so well situated in society. You may even be introduced at Court. That will be very thrilling indeed.”
Elizabeth’s fingers clenched behind her back where her mother could not see them. Four weeks had passed since Mr Blackfriars visit to Longbourn, four weeks of preparation, of false smiles, of reassurances to her sisters that all would be well.
Her mother, meanwhile, had rejoiced at the mere thought of seeing a daughter wed well. She had told anyone who asked every detail about the wedding and Elizabeth’s husband-to-be. In many cases, she had shared this information entirely unprompted. Elizabeth felt as if she were a spectator of her ownlife. Distanced, whilst hurried preparation were made around her.
