Page 5 of Ashes and Understanding
Her gaze settled on Jane, whose gentle countenance radiated calm as she sipped her tea. Elizabeth envied her sister’s ability to find hope in any situation. Mary, ever serious, was busy jotting notes into her little book—likely some reflection on the moral lesson to be gleaned from the morning’s discussion. Kitty and Lydia, meanwhile, were already squabbling over who might wear which color to their next imagined social event.
And then there was her mother, oblivious to the deeper implications, now fretting over the state of Mr. Bennet’s waistcoat and whether it needed mending.
Elizabeth sighed inwardly. How easily they all returned to normalcy. Yet the image of flames consuming Drury Lane lingered in her mind. Was it truly just negligence? Or was there something greater at play?
She picked up her teacup and sipped, the porcelain warm against her hands. Whatever the truth, the events of the morning were a stark reminder of how swiftly life could shift. With one spark, a building, a business, even a life could be reduced to nothing but ash.
Chapter 1
London, February 1811
The warmth of White’s club was a welcome reprieve from the chill of London’s streets as Fitzwilliam Darcy entered, shedding his overcoat and handing it to a waiting manservant. The familiar din of quiet conversation and the occasional clink of glass created a sense of comfortable routine. Near the hearth, Charles Bingley waved him over, his easy smile evident even from across the room.
“Darcy! Over here!” Bingley called, his smile broad.
Darcy made his way to the table, inclining his head as he took the seat opposite his friend. “You look as if the cold has bested you,” Bingley laughed. “Here, let me order you a drink.”
Nodding his head in gratitude, Darcy removed his gloves and held his hands towards the blazing fire. “Bingley. How are you doing today?”
“I would be much happier if the snow would let up,” Bingley waved his glass towards the nearby window, where several inches of snow had risen to cover the glass from the outside. “I am tired of Caroline shouting at the maids about the mud and snow being tracked across the rugs in the foyer.”
Darcy smirked faintly. “You could always threaten to buy her a house in Cheapside. Something with fewer maids and less snow, perhaps.”
“Do not give her ideas. She already thinks the street name refers to the price of housing and notceapan.”
“Your father should have requested his money back from her finishing school,” Darcy replied with a sigh.
“It definitely did give her all sorts of…ideas.”
“That it did,” Darcy replied with a shudder. “Perhaps I ought to remove Georgiana from her school and set her up with her own establishment.”
“If only I could do so with Caroline. You are lucky, Darcy, that your sister is all that is sweet and good.”
Darcy nodded his agreement. A server brought Darcy’s glass, and the two men drank their claret in peace for a few moments.
“So, Bingley, what has you occupied these days? Some new business scheme?”
Bingley grinned, setting his glass down. “No schemes, I assure you. In fact,” he hesitated, “I am considering purchasing an estate.”
Eyebrows raising, Darcy leaned forward and focused all his attention on his friend. “Where at?”
“Oh, I have not chosen one or anything. No, I am not at that stage yet. I have had my man of business send out a few inquiries, but nothing firm.”
Relieved, Darcy sat back in his chair, the tension easing from his body. “Perhaps you might wish to consider leasing an estate first, rather than purchasing one.”
Bingley tilted his head thoughtfully. “Leasing, you say? I had not considered that.”
“It allows for flexibility,” Darcy explained, putting his empty drink on the table. “You can determine whether the estate suits your needs without committing your entire capital. It is a wiser course, especially if you are unsure of the area.”
“Sound advice, as always,” Bingley admitted. “Though I confess, my sisters would balk at the idea of renting. They would think it beneath the Bingley name.”
Darcy smirked. “Your sisters do seem to prioritize appearances.”
Bingley laughed. “Indeed, though sometimes I wonder what my father would think of how we have all turned out. His fortune was hard-earned, you know. Trade is an unforgiving world, but he thrived in it.”
“He built a legacy,” Darcy’s tone respectful. “And you’ve been wise to preserve it.”
“Well, I try,” Bingley said with a modest shrug. “In fact, I have been thinking of ways to grow it further, put it to better use than just sitting in the bank.”
