Page 39 of Wickham Likes 'Em Young
Georgiana apparently thought that was hilarious, and her fit of giggles did not stop even as she was being handed into their carriage to leave. Elizabeth poked her head into the carriage and said, “Goodbye for now, little sister. I will enjoy knowing you better; please come nice and early tomorrow, if you can.”
Both Darcys demonstrated their enthusiasm for the sentiment.
The next day was sunny, and Elizabeth was ecstatic to take a break from all wedding concerns in order to show Georgiana sights such as Oakham Mount and the folly some long-ago Netherfield owner had erected near the property’s stream and pond. Of course, Darcy walked alongside the ladies, and he seemed to enjoy listening more than speaking. It was not long before Georgiana stopped addressing Elizabeth’s shoes, and by day’s end she had become a chatterbox.
“And then Miss Bingley said the weirdest thing,” she was saying. Elizabeth was listening, but with the distraction of Darcy holding her hand, it was difficult to be very engaged with whatever Miss Bingley said.
But her interest spiked when Georgiana mimicked Miss Bingley’s snobbish voice perfectly, saying, “‘My dear Georgiana,you know how much I adored visiting Pemberley, do you not? I was just wondering, Pemberley has all those tenant farms, and a beautiful lake and forest, but it does not have any mines, does it?’”
Both Darcy and Elizabeth laughed at the apt imitation. “And what did you tell Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, of course, I had to tell her that Pemberley has two mines: the small coal mine for the purpose of estate use, and the lead mine for the purpose of trade.”
“And did Miss Bingley compliment you on your knowledge of Pemberley’s varied concerns?”
“That was the weird thing—she looked quite vexed. And then she asked, ‘But there is no sawmill, correct?’ And I had to tell her that there was a sawmill, too. She seemed as amazed as she was angry. But I have no idea why. Why are mines and sawmills so terrible?”
Darcy allowed Elizabeth to laugh and shrug before he finally entered the conversation. “The Bingleys are scorned by many members of thetonas being new money, only now arising from the stench of trade, and so Miss Bingley longs to ensure that there is no longer any connection between her family and commercial endeavours. However, times are changing rapidly, and long-standing, well-respected families like ours should not hold onto the idea that only wealth through land ownership matters, because that definition is going by the wayside.
“Not only does Pemberley thrive because of the sale of wool and meat and barley and wheat and all the other foods we raise and grow, but also it thrives thanks to the sale of minerals and wood and other commodities. And the same can be said for the other Darcy properties, as well. And certainly it can be said for the investments I have been making, and my father before me. The Darcy family is itself mired in trade, and the same is true of most families that are maintaining or increasing wealth. Thereis no stench and should be no stench—that perhaps was always nonsense, and nowadays it is outdated nonsense.”
“Hear, hear,” Elizabeth said.
But the usually quiet Darcy was not done. He continued, “Our tenants do well in part because I have this more modern mindset, and Lambton and Kympton do well for the same reason, and indeed, this liberal mindset that a few of us landowners in Derbyshire share means that our entire county is doing much better than other nearby counties. However, we have a big problem because the wages are so low in factories. We need to somehow address this problem; the Arkwright and Strutt families are very rich but do not provide safe and pleasant conditions for their workers—nor adequate wages. I will not invest in their mills; instead, I choose to invest in mills with better conditions and pay for workers—namely, Robert Owen’s mills in Scotland.”
Elizabeth stopped walking and gave Darcy a hug. “I cherish your goodness, sir. I am so proud to be connected with you!”
“Oh!” Darcy blushed. “I fear I have been making a speech, or perhaps a sermon. Apologies to you both.”
“Do not apologise to me, brother. I agree with Elizabeth—you are so good, and I have so much to learn from you.”
“I agree with me, too,” said Elizabeth. “No apologies are needed in the current circumstance. If you like, I could store up this apology to use sometime when you are entirely unreasonable and mistaken.”
“Please do. I will likely need an entire reservoir of apologies, so we may as well begin collecting them now.”
“The first time I ever met you, you were apologising silently, just using your eyes, so I do not think a reservoir of spare apologies will be needed.”
“Perhaps just a shallow basin will do?” he asked.
“Oh, you!”
The two became lost in each other’s eyes, and Georgiana giggled as she grabbed their joined hands and began to tow them up a grassy hill, saying, “Oh, you two.”
It was a perfect day for laughter and walking and sunshine.
Which augured well for the next day, the day of the highly anticipated ball at Netherfield Park.
CHAPTER 17
20 November 1811
The day of the ball was decidedly grey. The sky looked ready to burst, to pelt the ground with buckets of rain, but, hour after hour, the sky never gave up even so much as a spritz of water.
So, the ball would go on as scheduled, and the Bennets readied themselves and soon climbed into their carriage. The moment the carriage turned out of Longbourn’s gravel drive, it joined a long line of carriages moving towards Netherfield. It appeared that every family who had been invited was setting off at the same time. Elizabeth was excited to see her betrothed, whom she had only seen for half an hour, on her early-morning walk, which was interrupted the moment her mother had looked out a window and began hollering for her to come straight inside. Her mother was certain a deluge was in the offing.
Now, even though there had been no rain at all that day, Elizabeth’s mother could not seem to restrain herself as the overstuffed Bennet carriage crept along in the three-mile-long queue. “Oh, dear, if it should rain, poor Jane will not have any curls at all!” she said more than once. “Thank goodness,yourhair will stay curly, Lizzy!” Most often repeated were the words, “Oh, if itshouldbegin raining, whatever shall we do?”
“I suppose we should use an umbrella, dear,” Mr Bennet said placatingly. Several times.
