Page 7 of Vain and Useless

CHAPTER 6

“Ineglected to ask,” Mrs Hurst said to Miss Bingley on the way to the Gouldings’ dinner, “how your calls were yesterday. Do you still find something admirable in those you met at the assembly?”

Darcy, too, was curious how long the lady would maintain this semblance of approving of the locals and listened with interest while affecting a scrupulously bland expression.

“I do. I was unable to further my acquaintance with Miss Bennet, for she was occupied with another caller,” Miss Bingley answered evenly. Next to Darcy on the opposite bench, Bingley shifted and coughed into his hand. “But I spoke at length with Miss Lucas and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I like them even better than I did. I also had some conversation with Miss Maria Lucas and Miss Mary Bennet. I do not think I shall be great friends with either of them, but they are good girls and pleasant enough company.”

“And Mrs Bennet?” Mrs Hurst asked, eyebrow arched.

“She is not someone whose close acquaintance I will cultivate,” Miss Bingley admitted, “but she is a welcoming hostess, and in her manner, she is no worse than Mrs Sutton, I think.”

Darcy grimaced faintly at the mention of that lady, the daughter of a tradesman who had married the third son of a powerful but somewhat improvident earl. She was rather stupid and often vulgar, although he would concede that there appeared to be no real harm in her. Her company was hardly tolerable, and yet unlike with many ladies of society, one had no concern that she might be enacting schemes in which one could unwillingly become embroiled, for every thought which passed through the echoing cavern of her head was voiced upon the instant.

“Spend a little time with Miss Lucas and the eldest Bennets,” Miss Bingley advised her sister gently. “I am certain you shall find nothing more to object to than the fact that their gowns are not au courant.”

“We shall see,” Mrs Hurst replied dubiously.

Haye-Park was a modest estate with a modest manor house less than half the size of Netherfield. Mr Goulding, his two sons, and his daughter greeted their party at the drawing room door, offering wine, sherry, or orgeat and confirming that they were all acquainted with the Bennets and the Lucases, the other two families present.

“Who is our hostess tonight?” Mrs Hurst asked her sister in low tones when the Gouldings had moved away. Darcy had been wondering the same.

“Miss Goulding,” Miss Bingley informed her. “The lady of the house died in the year nine, if I recall correctly. It has not been terribly long since Mr Goulding came out of mourning, of that I am certain.”

“She is young for such a role.” Miss Goulding appeared to be about the age of Miss Mary Bennet.

“True, but what choice has she, if there is not a convenient aunt in need of a home? At any rate, I dare say she has more experience hosting a country dinner than either of us,” Miss Bingley replied sedately. “Come, Louisa, I see Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth with Miss Lucas. Let us greet them.”

Miss Bingley led her sister away, Bingley smiling after them. “Shall I make you known to Mr Bennet, Darcy?” he asked.

Darcy sighed inwardly but had no intention of breaking his promise to be cordial to Bingley’s new neighbours. “Yes, of course.”

The gentleman was fifty or thereabouts, neither tall nor short, well-favoured, and possessed of an intelligent, penetrating gaze. He had been speaking with Sir William Lucas and Mr Henry Goulding, the youngest of the sons of the house, when they approached. Their conversation about the recent harvest broke off as Bingley bowed to them.

“Good evening, Sir William, Mr Bennet, Mr Goulding. How do you do?”

They answered in the usual manner, and Bingley then introduced Darcy to Mr Bennet. Never comfortable with idle chatter, he found himself speechless when all had dutifully expressed their pleasure in the acquaintance.

“I believe I heard that your estate is in Derbyshire, sir,” Mr Bennet offered up as a conversational gambit.

“Yes, it is.” When the gentlemen’s expressions indicated that they expected more, and Bingley manfully struggled to suppress a smirk, Darcy added awkwardly, “It is roughly between Derby and Bakewell, a few miles west of Matlock Dale.”

“That would put you close to Staffordshire, I think?” Mr Henry Goulding suggested.

“Less than ten miles from the border,” Darcy agreed, “though a goodly distance more to anything of note within that county.”

“I shared university lodgings with a fellow from near Croxton,” the young man explained. “Which I understand is nearer to Shropshire than to Derbyshire. He claims that Staffordshire is the most beautiful of England’s counties, and if he is correct, I must assume its neighbours are nearly as attractive.” He chuckled at his own jest.

“Oh, do not ever tell Darcy that any county is superior to Derbyshire!” Bingley cried.

Darcy smiled. “It is true that I will always argue for my home county, though I grant that Staffordshire is not without its charms. Still, it has not the beauties of the Peak District, which I defy any other county to equal in any measure.”

“Ah, so you find mountains and tors handsome enough to tempt you,” commented Mr Bennet. Bingley choked on his wine and Sir William appeared almost frozen, wide eyes flicking nervously between Darcy and Mr Bennet.

Darcy felt his cheeks heat but somehow answered with tolerable composure, “I assure you that I came here tonight fully prepared to apologise for the speech you reference, but I do not believe it is you to whom my regrets are first and foremost owed.”

Mr Bennet cocked a brow, gazing on Darcy with speculation and a hint of approval. “Well, then, I shall say no more on that subject for the present. Tell me, have you often visited the Peaks?”

They spoke amicably of travel until dinner was announced. Bingley moved swiftly to escort Miss Bennet, offering his other arm to Miss Elizabeth. Darcy gritted his teeth and presented his arm to Miss Bingley, who took it with apparent disinterest, saying nothing except, “Thank you, Mr Darcy.”