Beginning, Section II

Chapter 1

Posted on Wednesday, 5 March 2008

The doorman held the door as the latest guests to the Meryton Assembly Hall entered. He bowed, then snapped his fingers alerting the others to help with the coats and hats of the five gentlemen. Admiring the fine fabric and modern cut of the items, he quietly told the young lasses to place their belongings in the proprietor’s office. When he turned back towards the five distinguished gentlemen, they had already begun their ascent up to the dance.

“Shall we?” The youngest looking gentleman said to his four friends.

“Lead on, Bingley,” the tallest one answered.

The others nodded in agreement, and they all began the long climb up the two flights of stairs.

“Why is it, do you suppose, that all dances are held up the damn stairs? Why can they not be on the ground floor?” asked the gentlemen directly behind Bingley. Where Bingley was of average height he was fairly tall and had to duck under a beam leading to the staircase.

“Rawlings, must you remark on every little annoyance of life? There will always be stairs that lead to the dancing. That can never change.”

Rawlings looked back to the most distinguished looking of the gentleman behind him. “Blake, this is the nineteenth century." Sighing, he continued upwards. “Cannot one of those new fangled inventors at least create some easier way to advance upstairs?”

Two of the men shared a meaningful smile, but they both remained silent.

“The music is pretty loud, and I must say I have heard better, even in the North Country. Now that is something that can be changed.” Blake brushed the dust off his jacket. “And I have been to cleaner places as well.”

“This is a country dance. It is not Almack’s or one of the private balls held in town,” the tallest gentleman reminded them. Abruptly stopping, he sniffed the air. Lavender. Clearly, someone is wearing lavender scent tonight.

“Darcy, we all know how you feel about a dance, regardless of its location.” Bingley grinned as his friend rolled his eyes.

With an amused twinkle in his eye, Blake suggested to his host, “Let us hope there are at least a few pretty lasses for your eyes tonight. I have grown tired of looking at men’s faces all day long.”

Reaching the top, Bingley waited for his friends. “I have heard the Bennet ladies will be here. There are claims they are the most beautiful girls in all of Hertfordshire, perhaps even England.”

“Well, Bingley, I assume you would know. Has there ever been a pretty girl that has not caught your eye?”

“Or yours, Blake,” he responded. “We both have good eyes, would you not agree?”

Nodding, Blake stood next to Bingley. “That we do.”

When Darcy completed the last step, Bingley chuckled. “Do not look so grumpy. It is just a dance. You are not on trial here.”

“Humph!” Darcy shrugged as Rawlings joined Bingley and Blake. “He can tell you we are always on trial.”

Standing alongside Bingley at the top of the stairs, Rawlings argued, “That is not true. We are not on trial, but I will agree we are all veritable targets.”

Darcy, reaching the top and joining the others, clapped Rawlings shoulder sympathetically as they waited for the fifth and final man.

“That is why I am so fortunate. No one knows me in town,” shouted the last gentleman making his way up the stairs.

Blake laughed. “Kent, no one knows you anywhere.”

He barely chuckled as he completed the group.

Blake clapped his hands together to shake off the dirt and dust that had accumulated on his gloves. “Well, this is not good,” he murmured, removing his gloves to shake them further.

“Well, shall we enter the proverbial den?” Bingley asked.

Darcy sighed as the men all walked through the door.

Those assembled suddenly hushed at the sight of the Netherfield party entering the Meryton hall. All were handsomely dressed and appeared stately in their manner. They stared at nothing in particular while Meryton stared directly at them. All five men, ignoring the whispers of wealth and family position, stood tall with their chins raised. The assembled gentlemen were quite used to such rudeness, having been the focus of many society matrons in town. Of course, the ton was more discreet – even if all the words were the same.

In this case, the most important piece of information was that these gentlemen were all unmarried and all rich. Every matron quickly moved to their unmarried daughters, chastising them to stand up straight, shoulders back and, of course, to display their most pleasing smiles. Each woman counted on her daughters to secure a future that very night, for, of course, this kind of opportunity might never come around again. After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that an unmarried woman in need of a good fortune must exhibit herself to gain the attention of a wealthy man.

Mr. Bingley was worried about making a good impression as the estate of Netherfield Park was his new home, and these were his new neighbors. He smiled and bowed to everyone he saw.

Sir William Lucas approached Mr. Bingley before the next set of dances began, and the Meryton crowd returned to its loud and noisy ways.

“Mr. Bingley! It is good to see you, sir. Welcome to our little assembly.” Sir William glanced around the room, sighed, and added, “I am aware it is not St. James, but the people are friendly, and we none of us stand on ceremony here.”

“Sir William, it is good to see you again. Thank you for inviting us to this delightful assembly. I believe you have already met my guests: Lord Blake, Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Kent.” Bingley waited for the necessary bows to be completed. “We have descended upon Hertfordshire for the express purpose of killing all your birds.”

Blake laughed as Sir William’s eyes grew wide. “Never fear sir, we are here to avoid the prying and spying London eyes.”

“I hope you succeed then, my lord. Nevertheless, you, great sirs, will not be able to avoid the prying and spying eyes of Hertfordshire.” Sir William waved his hand at the people in the room. He then led Bingley across the hall to meet his daughters, Charlotte, his eldest, and Maria, the younger.

“Miss Lucas, may I have the honor of this dance?” Bingley asked, giving her a gentle smile as she nodded.

When he led her to the floor, Lord Blake turned to Mr. Rawlings. “Bingley is the perfect gentleman. He always seems to do the right thing, even when he does not know he is doing it. I am sure he, as a tradesman’s son, did not have protocol daily drummed into his head as we did.”

“Blake,” Rawlings said with a slight bow, “perhaps it is only his love of life and desire to be liked by everyone.”

Kent turned to look directly at Blake. “Or perhaps it is just his manners. Even we sons of tradesmen received training in good manners. Are they not simply a way to make the other people feel comfortable? Bingley always prefers comfort. He avoids unpleasant scenes as much as possible and tries not to offend anyone.”

Blake raised an eyebrow, but remained silent as he politely nodded agreement. Rawlings led his friends to the refreshment table.

After the dance, Bingley requested that Sir William present him to Mrs. Bennet, which he did with alacrity. Along the way, Mr. Darcy, the tallest of the five men, followed Mr. Bingley. Like a shadow, he neither spoke nor sought attention.

"Ah, Mrs. Bennet, I have looked forward to this meeting very much, very much indeed." Bingley favored her with a smile and a bow.

The young lady standing beside Mrs. Bennet returned his glance with a smile ever so slightly, exactly as her mother had just beforehand commanded. Mr. Bingley ignored the mama, and eyed the lady he assumed was one of the lovely Bennet daughters. He had heard so much about them. Mrs. Bennet responded much too sweetly to be considered anything less than purely mercenary.

“Thank you, Sir William, for introducing me to your new friend. Mr. Bingley, we are honored by your attention. Please let me introduce you to my eldest, Jane.”

While Mrs. Bennet completed the introduction, Bingley’s eyes remained fixed upon the young lady with the golden hair, sparkling eyes, and the most flawless face and figure he had ever encountered.

As Mrs. Bennet finished speaking, one of the Hertfordshire gentlemen approached Miss Bennet for the next dance. Before he could say a single word, Mrs. Bennet reproached the young man.

“Sir, excuse us. We are attending to Mr. Bingley at the moment, and will be happy to meet with you another time.” Mrs. Bennet left no one in confusion. Mr. Bingley was her first priority.

“As you see, Mr. Bingley, Jane is much sought after by all the young men as she is an excellent dancer. She is not yet committed to the next dance.”

Bingley bowed, happily understanding Mrs. Bennet's intention, and immediately requested the next set of dances. Miss Bennet agreed with a mere, "yes sir, thank you," and rewarded him with a smile so sweet that it caused him to tremble as he took her hand.

For Bingley’s part, his smile was not to leave his face until later that night when he drifted off to sleep dreaming of an angel named Jane.

Rawlings soon grew bored with merely watching his friend’s success. Surveying the room he asked, “So, which girls do you think are these famous Bennets?”

Kent looked around. “We should be able to pick them out. The room is large enough to allow for dancing, yet too small to allow anyone to pass unnoticed.”

As they examined the ladies, the men chuckled at Bingley's good fortune.

“It seems Bingley has chosen to rent an estate where there is more to be had than birds and fowl,” Rawlings murmured appreciatively as he inclined his head towards a group of sweet young ladies. They were whispering and laughing into their fans, all the while sending coy looks to the gentlemen.

Kent glanced at Miss Jane Bennet. "I guess we would be well advised to not compete for that lady. Bingley is just too good of a shot to create a competition here. I would not like to test his goodness tomorrow by pursuing his latest interest tonight. See how he stares at her with that stupid Bingley grin. All hope is lost to us.”

Like the others, Kent knew their host from their time together at Cambridge. Bingley was the friendliest and happiest of men; and as long as they had known him, all the ladies had seemed to respond to his impish smile.

"Oh, but I might sorely be tempted to test that grin. She is the most handsome woman here. Surely, she must be a Bennet,” Kent said. He offered to get more drinks for his friends.

"Bingley’s lady is very pretty indeed, and appears to be well bred,” Blake glanced towards a different part of the room. “While I do concede that she probably is a Bennet, I believe the lady seated along the far wall is the more handsome of the two. She has that extra something that sets her apart from all others."

“What can she have that the other lady lacks?” Kent asked skeptically.

"Her amusement is clearly marked in her lively eyes. Beauty goes beyond what appears in a mirror, my friend,” Blake said as he searched for his reflection in the wine glass Kent just handed him.

Rawlings spotted the lady. With a knowing smile he added, “And, I might add she is the only unattached young lady in the room not staring and smiling at us – not even at Darcy, the richest one of all.”

He waited until Blake and Kent nodded agreement before he continued.

"Look, all the matrons and their delightful daughters have been babbling on and on about the Netherfield party. See their lips move in unison discussing our wealth, homes, bloodlines, marital status. No matter the assembly, ballroom, soiree, tea, dinner or theater engagement, it is all the same. We are but horseflesh to them, each trying to find that one stallion to ride out their misfortunes of life."

Pausing while he and the others looked around the room, he laughed before continuing.

“Do you not see? In the span of fifteen minutes, the entire assembly has correctly discovered our worth and social standings, I am a son of an Earl and was left a large fortune by my late wife. Blake you are the son of a duke; Darcy, of course, has the ten thousand a year and is the master of a great estate; and Bingley has the five thousand a year and those pleasing manners. Kent, all they guessed for you is that you are the son of a very wealthy tradesman, but have concluded you are not to be sniffed at either. Tattersall’s was never so efficient!”

Picking up the conversation, Kent added, "Yes, but even so, I have to admit there are some very pretty girls here.” Kent glanced at the girl along the wall. “Blake, the one you pointed out is more than tolerable to be sure. But why is she not dancing? I would gladly dance with her myself if I could only get an introduction. I wonder if she is one of the Bennets? While not as pretty as Bingley's partner, her lively appearance, as you say, does compensate for it. At least our host is not staking her out – which leaves a clear field for us."

Ignoring his friends, Rawlings turned to study the crush of people trying to pick out which girls were the Bennet beauties. A rather loud and boisterous laugh drew his attention to two very sweet looking young ladies. They flirted and chased several young men around the room until they all disappeared behind the line of dancers.

Kent raised his brows. "If those are Bennets, then their lack of decorum detracts from their outward beauty. Just how old are they anyway?”

Before they had time to respond, Rawlings diverted everyone’s attention to the interaction between Bingley and Darcy, who now stood close to the young lady sitting near the far wall.

"Ah, Bingley never gives up. Is he actually trying to get Darcy to dance? I am willing to bet that will not happen tonight. I have never met a man so afraid of women's charms. I sometimes think he will never trust anyone. Darcy dance? What a joke! Not even Bingley will get him to dance with a stranger."

“Why did Darcy come to the assembly tonight?” Rawlings asked quietly. “You would think the master of such a large estate would do more than shadow Bingley.”

“I suppose in all of Darcy’s seven and twenty years, he has never had to attend a country dance such as this.” Blake suggested, his gaze remaining steadfastly on the lady with the lively eyes.

Kent frowned. “No, I think he is just cautious about who he speaks to, and who speaks to him. I cannot imagine what it is like to have every young unmarried woman, all the matchmaking mamas, and so many men seeking monetary gains chasing after him.” He paused and sipped his drink before adding, “It must weigh on him all the time.”

Blake scoffed. “Give me a chance to carry such a burden. I promise you I would not be so serious.”

Rawlings shook his head. “I remember Darcy before his father passed away. He was every bit the bachelor, and no doubt, felt more comfortable with the ladies. Of course, his father was Master of Pemberley; now things are different. He needs no one’s consent to do anything, including deciding whom he marries or how he manages his estate or money. That makes him the most prime horseflesh in the land.”

“Yes, the rest of us are still biding our time until we can make our own decisions.” Blake nodded in agreement with Rawlings.

Kent glared at Blake with disbelief. “Not me. I have no father to stand in my way. Neither does Bingley.”

Rawlings coughed politely. “I have been my own master since my marriage. It seems to me Blake, you are the only one with a father who oversees your daily life.”

Blake gazed at the wine swirling in his glass.

“None of us are parents, either,” Rawlings pointed out. “Darcy is guardian to his sister. We do not know what that is like. He must be careful not to cause a scandal that could hurt Miss Darcy. He loves her too much to cause her any pain of that nature.”

Kent shrugged. “Miss Darcy may be the sweetest of girls, but I would not want to be responsible for raising anyone so young right now.”

While keeping one ear trained on the conversation, Blake observed the young lady sitting across the room. Rawlings is correct. Darcy refused to dance. Good god, she obviously overheard his answer. When the young lady did not seem at all disturbed by Darcy’s rejection, Blake became even more interested. My, she is amused. His eyes never left her as she rose from her chair and walked right passed Darcy for the very purpose of laughing at the event.

Rawlings leaned in to Blake and whispered, "Cheeky, cheeky girl."

“Oh, Darcy is watching her.” Blake wondered whether anyone, let alone a woman, had ever laughed at Darcy before. Hmm, I wonder if she has a dowry, and if her family is of a noble line. And when Bingley waved him over, he thought, I would not turn down an introduction. I will dance with her – well, just to ascertain her social status.

“I would rather be dancing than drinking this swill the locals call wine,” Kent complained as he, Blake and Rawlings made haste to join Bingley.

“There are certainly enough tolerable ladies for tonight's entertainment. Tomorrow the shooting begins, but tonight the foxes are all in one room,” Rawlings said chuckling as they walked toward Bingley.

Kent and Blake remained silent. They were practicing what they would say.

Mr. Bingley introduced his friends to Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Charlotte Lucas, and the two Long sisters, Miss Eunice and Miss Diana.

Lord Blake bowed to Miss Elizabeth, the young lady with the lively eyes and quickly asked, "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

"Yes, I thank you," she replied with a curtsey.

Ah Lavender. She wears lavender perfume, Blake thought as he led her to the dance floor.

Pairing continued as Mr. Bingley took the floor with Miss Long, Rawlings with Miss Bennet, and Mr. Kent with Miss Diana Long. Mr. Darcy remained aloof in the background and did not join the group.

As the band struck the first chord and the couples took the floor, the matrons of Meryton whispered and gossiped amongst themselves. The men of Netherfield and the women of Meryton knew the hunt was on.

Chapter 2

Posted on Saturday, 8 March 2008

Mrs. Bennet was in a heightened state of excitement the morning following the Meryton assembly. The morning sun was shining brightly, but she had been up even before sunrise thinking about the previous night's dance.

Five wealthy gentlemen! Mrs. Bennet thought as she was sitting at her desk designing ways to match the men with her like number of daughters. When her housekeeper knocked, Mrs. Bennet gave the word, and Hill entered the room carrying several journals.

“Hill, what are we ever going to do?”

“Do, Mrs. Bennet? I have the housekeeping accounts. Shall we start with them, or would you prefer to begin with today’s menu?”

“What? Oh. Today’s menu. Let us start with that.”

After Mrs. Bennet had selected the meals, she spoke again, saying, “It is entirely my fault, having only daughters. Why could not at least one of them been born male? Especially Lizzy. She is so like her father, she should have been his son. Not that she would save me, mind you.”

“Miss Elizabeth loves you, ma’am,” Mrs. Hill assured her mistress as she reached for the journals she had set down on Mrs. Bennet’s desk. “Shall we start on the household accounts now?”

“We must keep Mr. Bennet in good health. We must. I pray every night that he is here with us in the morning. Oh, my nerves, Hill, my nerves.”

“There now, Mrs. Bennet.” Hill handed her the smelling salts provided by the apothecary for just these instances.

After a moment, Mrs. Bennet recovered enough to say, “Now if Jane could just secure one of these men! I think she has at least one gentleman interested. Shame he is the poorest —only five thousand a year, you know. Five thousand a year and an estate so close, and he is the poorest! It would set me and my other daughters up for life if my Jane became the Mistress of Netherfield Park.”

“Yes, ma’am. Only five thousand a year.” Hill did not fear rolling her eyes as she said this. Mrs. Bennet rarely noticed any servant except when they had something she wanted.

Barely taking a breath, Mrs. Bennet continued thusly –

“We must keep her in good health, too. How my nerves act when either she or Mr. Bennet sneeze, cough, or show any sign of illness. You know, I was never nervous before I married. I was quite gay and happy all the time. I had not a care in the world.”

“Yes, I remember. You were quite the spirited one,” Hill said, glancing at Miss Lydia’s cameo on Mrs. Bennet’s desk. “Would you like to go over the household accounts now?”

“Oh, must we do that now? If Mr. Bennet died today, I would not have to worry about housekeeping accounts. Why, I would not be allowed to live in my own home. That hideous little man with the entail will take over all of our things: the furniture, my china, Mr. Bennet’s books, and even you and all of our servants! He would have to take care of the household accounts himself.”

“Now Mrs. Bennet, surely you know that I shall not leave you. Shall we meet this afternoon to finish the household accounts?”

So saying, Hill returned the housekeeping account books to Mrs. Bennet’s desk.

“Household accounts? Why must I worry about household accounts right now? I am worried about household accounts in the future. With no place to go and only the clothes in our closets, life would become a disaster indeed.” Shaking her head and thinking only of the house, Mrs. Bennet conveniently ignored the fact that her daughters each had a seven thousand pound dowry.

After a moment’s silence, Mrs. Bennet continued.

“The world belongs to the men as you are well aware, I am sure. Women cannot work, not that I would want to, mind you.

“No, ma’am. Work is not meant for you.”

“Why must the laws be so cruel? Men do not understand the rules of society! They go anywhere they want, do any kind of work, live anywhere they can afford and even dally with the ladies without being scorned. It is not fair.”

“No ma’am. Life does not seem fair to most people.”

Hill started to leave, but politely waited by the door until Mrs. Bennet dismissed her.

“Thank goodness that once married, a husband cannot easily cast off his bride,” Mrs. Bennet said as she smirked into the mirror. She well knew truer words had never been spoken.

Sighing, Hill prepared herself for the words to follow when she noticed Mrs. Bennet’s changed expression.

“But I hate that Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long will be scheming to set their girls up with the gentlemen. I hate that Jane may marry the poorest one of the five and one of their girls may secure a better future. Ever since Mrs. Long’s prettyish nieces came to live with them, she has caused me all these pains in my side. And why did Sir William not move his family to London when he was knighted?”

Before Hill could respond, Mrs. Bennet sensed the urgency of the situation.

“I must go down quickly and convince Mr. Bennet to visit Mr. Bingley. He must go if our Jane is to secure our future. Why, who could possibly resist dear beautiful Jane as a wife? She is an angel! All the men say so.”

“Yes, Miss Bennet is beautiful, as are you, Mrs. Bennet.”

Mrs. Bennet rose from her desk and quickly looked herself over. Even at three and forty, she knew she was still attractive enough to remarry, if it ever came to that. Unlike some women whom she could name, she had taken pains to retain her girlish figure—and this even after having given birth to five daughters!

Satisfied, she squared her shoulders and left for breakfast, knowing a battle lay ahead. Mrs. Bennet joined the rest of her family who were already seated and enjoying their breakfast.

“Mr. Bennet,” she began as she sat at her usual end of the table. “You should have seen the way our Jane was admired last night.”

“Why, was it so different than any other night?”

“Yes. Yes, sir, quite decidedly so. Jane danced with four of the Netherfield Park gentlemen, and with Mr. Bingley and Mr. Rawlings twice. I dare say she was the favorite amongst them.” After thinking back on the assembly, she added, “but I would give not a moment's notice to that Mr. Darcy. He not only did not dance with any of our girls; he slighted poor Lizzy.”

”Slighted my Lizzy?”

Mr. Bennet eyed his favorite daughter.

“Yes, Papa, but I did not care for him either. Moreover, Lord Blake requested my hand at the first possibility, and I must admit he was a gentleman of the highest order.”

“Highest order, Lizzy? Do not tell me you are letting your mother's girlish ways affect you.”

He winked as he said this.

Elizabeth smiled at her father, whom she knew was prone to teasing her mother in just such a way. She looked over to see that her mother had stopped eating. Mrs. Bennet's eyes were squinted and her lips pursed while she thought about the supposed compliment.

Mrs. Bennet ignored his comment, as was usual when she did not understand. After three and twenty years of marriage, she knew the best way to handle Mr. Thomas Bennet was to put him in discomfort.

“My dear, when will you be paying a call on Mr. Bingley? You know Sir William, Mr. Long, and even Mr. Goulding have already visited him.”

“I am sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I have no plans to wait on Mr. Bingley. It is my understanding he is here for sport, and I prefer he stick to the kind he can shoot. I will not be attending him.” Smirking at his wife, he returned to reading his newspaper.

“How could you not attend? Do you want to stand in the way of Jane’s happiness? And what about Lizzy? Even you can see she is interested in Lord Blake. How can you not see to their future happiness?”

Mr. Bennet stopped reading as he scolded his wife, “My mind is made up. You will not be able to work on me in such a way.”

“If you do not go, than Charlotte Lucas may capture the heart of one of the men. He may be a better choice for one of our girls.” Mrs. Bennet looked at her Lydia. “Did you know Mr. Kent has five hundred a year more than Mr. Bingley? His family comes from trade, but he does very well for himself. I would not like Charlotte or Maria to keep one of our girls from getting him.”

“But Charlotte is so plain and Maria is so young, is that not right, Mrs. Bennet?”

Her husband’s comment reminded her that he was an experienced player in this game of theirs. She again ignored his comment, and he returned to reading his paper.

“And Mr. Rawlings is a good catch, too. He is quiet, and I could not make him out, but I understand he is the second son of the Earl of Wolverley. Second sons have to make their own way, and it is clear he has done well for himself. Of course, Mrs. Long did say he made his money from a most convenient marriage. His wife died in childbirth and left him with all of her money. Quite rich is what Mrs. Long said. He is almost as rich as that Mr. Darcy. No one knows for certain about Lord Blake, but he must be rich, as he is the eldest son of a Duke.”

Mr. Bennet finally put down his paper. “Not all peers are rich, my dear.”

“If he is friends with the others, then he must be rich. They would not associate with him if he were poor. Rich men like to keep amongst themselves, you know.” She paused, narrowed her eyes and insisted, “Mr. Bennet, you simply must go and visit Mr. Bingley! The hedgerows await us when you die if you do not. You must not vex me so.”

Mr. Bennet glared at his wife. “I know what you are trying to do. I shall retire to my study.” So saying, he stood from the table and left the room without any further conversation and without finishing his breakfast.

Lydia laughed. “I care not for any of those men. None of them wear red coats, and so I shall not care what they do or who they choose,” she said.

Lying in wait for the right time, Kitty cried out ––

“You care not because none of them danced with you. What are redcoats when a man of Mr. Rawlings’ status prefers me to you?” She remembered her only dance with Mr. Rawlings. He appeared quite interested in her. Indeed, he had asked so many questions as to be almost vexing. Even though most of his questions tended toward her family in general and Longbourn in particular, she felt no guilt in needling her younger sister.

Mary looked up from her book. “Dancing is such a waste of time. It would be better if we could sit and speak on important issues in our life. Fordyce . . .”

“Pray, Mary, no more Fordyce!” Lydia exclaimed, hissing at the last word. “What do you do, pretend Fordyce is here lecturing us? Is he your pretend lover? Why do you not try to get someone real? You want to dance and have someone take a fancy to you as much as we do, but you will not admit it.”

Mary remained silent. She could not imagine anyone looking at her with double bookend girls as beautiful as her sisters.

Without having to speak to one another, Elizabeth and Jane excused themselves and walked out to the garden. Both wanted to share their ideas of the assembly without their mother or sisters' opinions. As they walked out, they heard their mother lecturing Lydia and Kitty about how to use their feminine wiles to ensnare a husband.

“They seemed happy with the assembly last night and have much to say to one another,” Jane said as she opened the door leading to the garden.

“And they will be talking for hours about fashion and flirting and everything except the proper comportment of a lady.”

“Oh, Lizzy, do be serious”

Elizabeth eyes sparkled. “But, Jane, I am.”

As they entered the garden, they focused their conversation on those very same gentlemen. "Mr. Bingley is just what a young man ought to be," Jane said. "He is sensible, good-humored, and lively; and I never saw such happy manners! So much ease, with such perfect good-breeding!"

Elizabeth found the cutting shears and handed her sister the flower basket. "He is also handsome which a young man ought likewise to be, if he possibly can. His character is thereby complete."

"I was very much flattered by his asking me to dance a second time. I did not expect such a compliment."

“What about Mr. Rawlings? He asked to dance a second time as well,” Elizabeth asked mischievously, knowing her sister preferred Mr. Bingley simply by the way she blushed when she said his name.

Jane placed the flower her sister offered in the basket. “Mr. Rawlings was all that was polite, it is true, but he did not entertain me quite as well as Mr. Bingley.”

“Well, Mr. Bingley certainly is very agreeable, and I give you leave to like him. You have liked many a stupider person."

"Dear Lizzy!"

"Oh! You are a great deal too apt, you know, to like people in general. You never see a fault in anybody. The entire world is good and agreeable in your eyes. I never heard you speak ill of a human being in my life."

“I would wish not to be hasty in censuring any one; but I always speak what I think.” Jane paused and then as she revealed a tiny smile, suggested, “But, you have not told me what you think of the gentlemen that favored you.”

“As much as I would like to be as happy as you, I cannot yet say that I am. I danced with Mr. Bingley once, but he kept looking at you the whole time. My heart was broken, you see, when the only questions he asked were about you!”

“Oh, Lizzy! Now tell me truthfully, what you thought of the other gentlemen.” Staring at her sister crossly, Jane teasingly pointed her finger at her sister. It had taken her years to realize only the direct approach would work to pull private information from her reluctant sister.

“Well, Mr. Kent and Mr. Rawlings were excellent dancing partners; Lord Blake did show me much attention, although I know not why.” Elizabeth avoided looking at her sister and pulled a dead leaf from a flower instead. After a moment of reflection, she shook her garden shears at her sister.

Jane gasped as she shook her head in amusement.

Elizabeth lowered the shears. “However, Mr. Darcy; who is he to call me merely tolerable? He is tall and handsome to be sure, but he is the most arrogant man I have ever met. Lord Blake has more status than he does, and yet that gentleman was kind in his words and actions. I doubt if Mr. Darcy even spoke to anyone outside his party the entire evening. Insufferable man!”

Jane gracefully relieved her sister of the shears. “Yes, he was wrong to say what he said. It was not gentleman-like at all. Perhaps he was not in a mood for dancing. Perhaps he is just shy around new people. Perhaps something was troubling him or his mind was full of, well, hunting.”

“Do not make excuses for his poor manners.”

“Enough about Mr. Darcy; tell me about Lord Blake. Should I give you leave to like him?” Jane asked teasingly.

“I have never seen such a man.”

Jane watched as her sister, lost in a private but pleasant thought, sat down on the bench. She waited patiently for Elizabeth to continue.

“Alas, he is the son of a Duke. I am not of his circle. I am sure he will not go beyond a few conversations and a few dances here and there.” Elizabeth looked down to the flower she held in her lap.

“You do not know that.”

“You know too well we have nothing but our charms to recommend us, and that would not do for Lord Blake. I do find him to be charming and attentive, but,” Elizabeth shrugged, “what future is there with him? Did you know he questioned me regarding my blood lines during our dance?”

“I am sure he was just trying to learn all about the lady that caught his eye. Our dowries are not that small.” Jane patted Elizabeth’s hand resting in her lap. “We may not have any connections, but we do have some funds to complement our charms.”

“True, our dowry has grown with Uncle Gardiner’s help. It is quite sizeable for Hertfordshire, but for the son of a Duke, I think not.”

“You know that is not too small for anyone when affection is also present.”

“But in this case all he was interested in was my dowry and my blood lines. Lord Blake is the heir and cannot ignore our lack of the right connections. Seven thousand pounds are surely significant for a country squire, or even a baron’s son, but for a member of the peerage? I am sorry to say it is just a pittance. But as I said, Lord Blake questioned me thoroughly on my connections.”

“Do not presuppose what the reason behind his questions is – you may be wrong, and it may cost you a great deal.” Jane shook the shears at her sister in a mimicking fashion.

Elizabeth smiled widely while pretending alarm by shielding her face with her open hands. “Why can I not see the world as you do? I am willing to place a wager that Lord Blake is trying his best to see if I am worthy of his attentions.

“Lizzy! Betting is not proper activity for a lady.”

“Yes, this is true but gaming and gambling are sweeping the nation,” Elizabeth replied, defensively. “Nevertheless, you know it is a pity, once he discovers I have little money and no titled relatives, he will be gone and I will never see him again. I did find him to be a most congenial partner. He is well read and told me much of his travels.” Sniffing the rose she had been holding , she looked away from her sister and thought to herself, And I could not stop looking into those eyes or listening to him talk. If only. . . .

At that moment, Hill caught their attention. She explained a letter for their father had arrived from their Uncle Gardiner by express mail.

Little did they know the importance of the letter to all the Bennets.

Chapter 3

Posted on Tuesday, 11 March 2008

Netherfield Park
Day following Assembly Hall Dance

Bang.

“Damn Bingley, what was that? I never heard a firearm make that sound.” Rawlings asked.

Everyone looked at Bingley as they waited for an answer.

The five men had agreed to a day of sport before their business became too involved. The weather was crisp, and the sky was clear. It was an excellent autumn day, perfect for plucking birds from the sky. Even the servants who stood by to load the guns and collect the prey were curious about the sound it made. They listened discretely to what the gentlemen said.

“It is a family secret.” Bingley turned to smile at Darcy, the only other person who knew about the firearm.

Darcy watched as his friends glanced at each other. During their university days, there had been a tendency to form separate alliances among the five of them. Sometimes he was with the majority and occasionally he stood alone to champion a radical stance.

“Bingley, you must share with us. Nice and jolly people like you always share. Do not hold out on us now.” Blake begged as he fixed his eyes on the firearm.

“I agree,” Kent said. “You bagged the lead bird with that shot. It left your firearm before I finished loading mine. I do not want to have to drink you under the table tonight to discover the secret. You know I can do it.”

“I suppose Bingley will be willing to share the secret if one of you shoots the most birds today.” Darcy flashed his friends a slight smile.

Darcy realized Bingley had been the only one to ally with him on many occasions, and, in fact, actually joined with him most of the time; as did Kent. But when they discussed matters of politics or parliamentary reform, the grouping was always the same: gentry versus the tradesmen’s sons. Glancing at his friends, he wondered if it was even possible to form a successful alliance that centered on business with men from different social circles; and he worried about how steadfast it would be if problems arose.

Pointing to the bird dog carrying Bingley’s kill, he said, “Of course, that means you will have to shoot more than he does, and he already has a bird in the hand. Otherwise, you will not have long to wait, because it has much to do with my business proposition.”

“You know the secret, Darcy? Now I must know.” Blake paused, waiting for his friend, but Darcy did not respond. “Not going to tell? Rawlings, you will have to shoot the bloody birds. You are the best shot amongst the three of us.” Blake handed him his flintlock. “Use my firearm; it is newer and better than yours.”

Rawlings took the gun, and the three men scurried off to kill as many birds as they could.

Darcy studied the retreating group: two gentry and one tradesman. I hope this is a harbinger of thing to come. Men of differing backgrounds coming together to succeed. Turning his attention to the sport at hand, he grinned at Bingley “How many birds do you think you will need to shoot in order to keep them at bay?”

“Eight or nine. It is getting late, and there may not be enough daylight left for Rawlings to bag that many.”

Darcy looked out over the trees for any birds in flight. “Will you have enough time yourself?”

“The gun scares them. More birds fly by after I fire the shot. I can quickly reload, but with the firearms they have, they cannot. I should easily kill eight birds.”

“Trumpeting your skill, Bingley, or your firearm? Well, go to it. I will attempt to kill a few myself. I, unlike the others, know it is hopeless unless you perchance happened to bring another one of your marvelous firearms with you?” Darcy said as he enviously eyed the gun.

“You are on your own with your own firearm. Who do you think. . . .”

Bang.

Bang.

“That is one more bird for me! For shame, Darcy. Do not aim for the lead bird. I will beat you every time. As slow as you are, you should aim for one in the back.”

“Do not give me ideas.”

Darcy gave Bingley one of his trademark smiles and walked off to join the other three. When he caught up with them, he discovered they too had missed killing any birds in this last flock.

“You are now down two birds.” Darcy chuckled as he watched his friends wince.

For the next hour, there were many shots fired. They waited to score the killings when they all gathered to return to the house.

Bingley grinned as he counted the birds held by the men and the servants.

“I see you have five birds, Rawlings. Good job! And Darcy has three. I will be kind and not mention either Blake or Kent’s total. The family secret is still safe; I shot eight.”

“I was using Rawlings’ firearm. It is a wonder I did not shoot anyone.” Blake grimaced.

“Bingley, it looks like you are the winner today. And last night for that matter.” Kent handed his lone bird to the servant.

Borrowing Bingley’s gun, Rawlings aimed it at the sky. “Yes, you seemed to have found your aim pretty well last night. I believe you danced with all the pretty girls. Which do you believe was the most beautiful?”

“Oh! The eldest Miss Bennet, beyond a doubt; there cannot be two opinions on that point.” Bingley said, smiling sincerely as he recalled the evening before. “Let us all go in for drinks before dinner.” Bingley waved the servants to proceed to the house.

Before the men could proceed further, Bingley’s progress was blocked. He stared at Blake with a confused look and did not relax until his friend smiled.

“Not so fast. I saw you trying to get Darcy to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” Bingley stood patiently, waiting. Blake smiled wide enough for his dimples to appear. “Would you agree she is just as handsome as your Miss Bennet?”

“It is not just my opinion.” Bingley grinned. “Sir William, Mr. Goulding and Mr. Robinson were certainly exuberant about my Miss Bennet’s charms. Of course, all it takes is one look at her to know they were the most astute gentlemen at the assembly.”

Bingley grabbed his firearm from Rawlings, “I noticed you danced with her.” He then added in a harsher tone, “Twice.”

Concealing a smile, Rawlings replied, “I was warning the lady to watch out for gentlemen killing birds needlessly, just to win a bet.”

“Speaking of warnings, do you not think Miss Bennet smiles too much? I grant you she is a most handsome lady, but she smiles all the time,” Darcy said in all seriousness.

“This would be a dreary world if people only smiled when you did, Darcy. I think Miss Bennet is an angel, and all angels smile,” Bingley said.

“Does that mean devils do not?” Darcy winked at Rawlings

“You mistake my meaning. You go around giving offense wherever you go. I suspect you do not like the world at large. There is much to like.”

Darcy remained unaffected by Bingley’s criticism. “And you go around making friends with everyone. There is grave danger in that,”

“Now Darcy, there is a happy medium. Look at Blake.” Rawlings allowed the corners of his mouth to curve upwards. “He seems to have found it. Nevertheless, I would put him in the same boat with Bingley after last night. Smiling all night long, he was,”

“I was just being polite. Moreover, I was being helpful to Bingley. Is it not our duty to help him win his place in Hertfordshire? Is that not what friends do?” Blake with raised brows held out his hand to Bingley, hoping to inspect his gun. Bingley placed the gun farther away from Blake.

“One should spend his time keeping his friends from making serious mistakes,” Darcy said.

“Mistakes? To what mistakes do you refer?” Rawlings stood erect as he faced Darcy. There was not an inch difference in their height as they stood eye to eye. It was as close to looking at a reflection as possible; both men were tall with slender muscled bodies cascading down from their broad shoulders, and each had dark eyes and hair. If it were not for Darcy’s curly hair, they could easily be confused as brothers.

“Why, toying with young women. You realize all of us were the birds last night, and every young lady was the bullet fired from their mercenary mama’s rifle. They all hoped they would be successful.”

“How did you get to be like this, Darcy? I never saw more pleasant people in all my life,” Bingley said lightly. From the corner of his eye he watched Blake eyeing his prized possession.

“Yes, so you said last night.”

“When? Oh, I remember, when you refused to dance with Miss Elizabeth.” Bingley lowered his eyes when he noticed Darcy’s face redden.
“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it"
“Why is that?” Rawlings asked. “You have never explained your unfriendliness at a dance.

“I do not dance unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. There was no woman in the room for whom it would not have been a punishment for me to stand up with.” Darcy shrugged. “I knew no one there.”

“There were several uncommonly pretty girls there,” Bingley said quickly.

“You were dancing with the only handsome girl in the room.” His friend shot him a cold stare.

“Darcy, you know that is not a good reason. You could have danced with her too. Remember I danced with her; twice, as Bingley said.” Rawlings displayed a puzzled look as he moved between Darcy and Bingley.

“I believe Miss Elizabeth is another handsome girl.” Blake immediately came to the defense of the young lady he had danced and flirted with all night.

“She has hardly a good feature in her face, more than one failure in her form, and her manners were not those of the fashionable world,” Darcy pronounced to no one in particular.

“Where you see a face without a feature, I see the most beautiful expression in a pair of penetrating dark eyes, all lively and carefree.” Blake stared out in the distance with a slight smile appearing on his otherwise serious face. “Where you see an imperfect figure, I see one that is light and pleasing; and her manners may not be fashionable, but instead they are full of easy playfulness.”

“Yes, Darcy we all agree. You are just afraid of women,” Rawlings said, chuckling.

“Afraid? I am not afraid; I am just not in the habit of toying with any lady. The room was full of mothers and their daughters, exhibiting themselves for our attention. Did you ever see so many smiles? Undoubtedly, there is meanness in the arts, which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable.”

“Having a dance at a ball is not toying, Darcy. You have danced at Almack’s many times,” Rawlings said calmly as he continued to challenge Darcy.

“I believe there was too much friendliness last night. A lady's imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment. That is why a gentleman must remain indifferent.”

“Do not be so foolish. What is the point of a dance if not for smiling, dancing and laughing? I suppose you would rather discuss books.” Rawlings threw up his hands and walked away.

Darcy looked at the others. “All I saw was a collection of people in whom there was little beauty and no fashion.”

Rawlings turned back to glare at his friend. “I was wrong. You are not a fool. You, sir, are a snob.” As he uttered the words, the other three stood still with their mouths agape and raised brows. They waited to for Darcy’s reaction, but Rawlings spoke quickly, “Do not look so shocked. In the past, I have been just as equally snobbish. You know it is true.”

“How am I snobbish?” Darcy glared at Rawlings. “Is it because I do not fall easily for a pretty face? All this smiling and laughing is toying, in my opinion. Are you saying you are willing to have a young country lass trap you? I doubt that is so, yet you let them think you are available.”

The two men again stood close and eye-to-eye. It was a full minute before Rawlings stepped back, relaxed his taut muscles and answered with a much gentler tone. “You and I both know there are some mothers and daughters that would do just that. However, it was not all mothers and daughters last night. There were gentlemen there as well. You did not speak to any of them either.”

“What, those clod hoppers? The insipidity, and yet the noise; the nothingness, and yet the self-importance of all these men! I had not the smallest interest in any of them. All they want from me is money or an association they can use later. I do not lend my name freely.”

Kent stared at Darcy with cold, darkened eyes. “Sometimes it is you that needs something from those types of men.”

Darcy glared at his friends, all standing shoulder to shoulder watching his every reaction. He sensed a feeling of foreboding flow though body. Grunting, he stormed towards the house; his friends quickly following, Darcy did not slow his step until almost inside.

Bingley was the first to catch up to him. “Everybody has been most kind and attentive to me; there was no formality, no stiffness; I soon felt acquainted with all in the room. They were accommodating people, and the number of pretty girls was unusual for a country dance.”

“As I stated, there was little beauty and no fashion in the room,” Darcy stopped to glare at Bingley.

“Surely you are not speaking of the Bennets?” Bingley asked softly.

“I grant you that Miss Bennet is well-bred,” Darcy said calmly before he narrowed his eyes and added harshly, “but her mother is intolerable, and the younger sisters not worth speaking to.”

“Including Miss Elizabeth? I dare say she is a beauty,” Blake said.

“She a beauty! I should as soon call her mother a wit.”

Upon returning to the house, only Blake and Rawlings headed for the library, where the men usually met for drinks. Bingley’s drawing room was comfortable, but formal. The library presented a space where the men could share drinks and lively conversation in a relaxed setting. It reminded them of their times together at Cambridge, except of course, in this house there were significantly fewer books on the shelves.

Blake poured them both a brandy. “You seemed to enjoy the assembly last night.”

The two men settled down in overstuffed chairs near the fire and sipped at their drinks. With the autumn chill at night and the men demonstrating their preference for the library, Bingley’s servants maintained the fire there at all times.

“Yes I did. As Bingley said, there were some uncommonly pretty girls there. I am pleased to have come, if for no other reason than to meet the ladies.”

“You would not connect yourself here, would you? That would be quite a humiliation for your family,” Blake said. He appeared somewhat surprised by Rawlings’ admission. His right brow was raised and he tilted his head as he gazed at his friend.

Rawlings nodded, smiled, and with a twinkle in his eyes answered, “Ahhh. Humiliation. If you feel any of these young ladies are so beneath you, then you should be more like Darcy. He truly believes these people are beneath him, and he acts appropriately.”

“You consider Darcy’s behavior as appropriate?”

“As he said, he does not toy with the ladies; and there is not a single family that believes Mr. Darcy would lower himself to their level. They are correct, and because of that, they will not pursue him.” Rawlings paused to take another sip, looking directly at Blake. “You, on the other hand, have set yourself up to be pursued.”

“Pursued? By whom? Surely these people understand my position and will not allow it,” Blake scoffed as he leaned back in his chair.

“You know very well to which mother and daughter I refer.”

“But a dance, Rawlings, it was just a dance. You said that to Darcy, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, I did; but that conversation was between him and me,” Rawlings said forcibly as he stood to refill their glasses. “Darcy was correct, as well.”

“Do you suggest then that I separate myself from everyone except our party here?”

“No. Just do not show too much attention — especially to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She may well be expecting more from you than what you are willing to give.”

“You think she is not worthy?”

“I did not say that. I think she is a very worthy gentlewoman; as is her eldest sister. Their behavior would not be frowned upon if your quality of people were to meet them. They conduct themselves most properly.”

“Again I ask, would you consider connecting yourself to any of them?” Blake leaned forward.

Rawlings sat quietly for a moment before he finally looked at his friend. “I would have no qualms if I chose to do so. I see life very differently since Margaret passed. I am now free to pursue my own happiness and I plan to do just that.” Rawlings settled back into his chair, gulping the remaining liquid.

“Are you challenging Bingley for his fair maiden? You did dance with her twice,” Blake said mischievously.

“I am not that sort of friend.”

Well, other than the eldest Bennets, there were no other acceptable ladies present. So if not Miss Bennet, then perhaps Miss Elizabeth?”

“As I said, I am not that sort of friend.” Rawlings glared at Blake until he looked away. “I prefer a different type of lady.”

Blake cleared his throat. “I mean, the Long girls were just nonsensical. Two minutes in a conversation and I would be asleep.” He sat back in his chair trying to recall the other ladies that attended the assembly. “I suppose the Lucas daughters are tolerable, but Miss Lucas is rather plain and has few other charms.”

“You mean money and connections?”

“Money! Her father does attend St. James.”

Both men shared a laugh.

Blake swirled his brandy slowly. “Miss Lucas might be acceptable to Kent or Bingley.”

“Bingley has already chosen to pursue one lady.”

“Yes, Miss Bennet is his choice.”

Rawlings nodded. “She is the choice of most men.”

“I think Kent would do well to consider Miss Lucas. He needs a steady, practical partner. He can be a little hotheaded, and they are both well matched in rank.”

“He is not hotheaded, just ambitious. That is why Charlotte Lucas would not suit him. He has someone else in mind.”

“Oh, who?” Blake leaned towards his friend, showing renewed interest.

“I shall not say, for I might be wrong.”

“Fine,” Blake said abruptly, then leaning back in his chair, found a spot for his head. “That leaves the younger Bennets?”

“Did we dispose of Miss Elizabeth?” Rawlings winked as he refilled his own glass again.

“No. I assume she is still in the mix. She is delightful, if you like an amusing, lively sort of girl.”

“Lively? I believe Miss Lydia and Miss Catherine are the liveliest.”

“Yes. Quite true. However, Miss Elizabeth is lively within the bounds of propriety,” Blake said.

“And quite pretty. Regardless of what Darcy says, she is a beauty.”

Blake sighed. “That she is.”

Chapter 4

Posted on Friday, 14 March 2008

Bingley’s stable, while an average size for a country estate, barely provided sufficient stalls for the guests. Although they arrived by carriage they also brought their riding horses. Quickly, the stable hands learned Blake and Darcy favored riding more than the others.

Of the five stable hands, two were young boys and only one was needed to assist the marquess, the usual rider that early in the morning. Normally, the two boys alternated the early morning chores. However, this morning the other boy, having woken early and desiring companionship, went to the stable to help his friend.

And so it was, when Darcy entered the stable before the sun had risen, he found one of the stable boys busy assisting Blake and the other readying himself for service.

Spying the addition of another rider, Blake delayed mounting his horse. “Have you come for a morning ride?”

“That I have.” Darcy nodded to the young man standing nearby. “I believe we are the only ones that ride in the early morning.” He watched the boy hurriedly leave to fetch his horse.

“I believe you mean we are the only ones to wake up in the early morning.”

Darcy chuckled as he thought of his friend’s observation. He knew it would be difficult to discuss business before the afternoon. He is correct; they only come for breakfast when morning is nearly over.

Sitting atop his horse, Blake interrupted his silent reflection, “Shall we race? Or would you prefer to trot like a woman?”

Sighing, Darcy mounted his horse. The marquess was the most competitive friend of his acquaintance. “It is still dark. Are you not respectful of your horse? You do not know the area well enough to avoid some hidden rut.”

“As you say, old woman. We shall trot. But at first light, we shall race.” Winking, Blake led the way as the two nudged their horses forward.

The two stable boys watched the men move quietly into the darkness. They believed that of all the gentlemen staying at Netherfield, these two were the most refined. The boys commented on how imposingly they stood, how carefully chosen were their words, and how they both spoke with respect to each other. They also noted these two particular men rarely spoke to anyone outside of their circle of friends. There may have been great similarities in character between them, but no one would ever confuse them for brothers. Where Darcy was very tall with dark features, Blake was slightly shorter with fair hair and blue eyed. Both men were muscular but Darcy was broad shouldered and Blake was slimmer. Neither man carried an ounce of fat. The boys scoffed when they thought of their master. The marquess may have similar physical characteristics, but they agreed, it was Lord Blake that knew how to properly sit upon a horse. That was another common trait between the two men riding out into the darkness.

The two friends slowly trotted down a well worn path. Having ridden every morning, a confident Blake led the way. Darcy assumed it was to end at a meadow where a gallop could follow. He was right.

The moment the sun rose, Blake shook his reins, pushed his heels in the horse, and with a mischievous smile shouted, “Now!”

Darcy, well prepared for a sudden gallop, quickly urged his horse forward. They came to a stop ten minutes later at the end of a wide open meadow with him more than a horse’s length ahead. He turned back to Blake. “I enjoyed the race. I hope the dust from my horse did not distract you.”

“One day, I will find a horse that can beat yours. What is his name again?”

“Bouchain.”

“Do you always name your horses after military battles?” Blake rolled his eyes.

“No. For my fillies I choose Shakespearean names.”

Blake patted his horse. “Well, I name my horses after favorite places I have known.”

Darcy looked first at Blake’s horse and then at the marquess, questioning him with his eyes.

“Chesterfield,” He admitted with a wistful air.

Remembering the rumors flying around London last year, Darcy shook his head. He rarely listened to malicious talk but this gossip centered on his friend having a dalliance with a Lady Beatrice while visiting friends in Chesterfield. He wondered if this was a partial reason for the name. While he usually discounted rumors, he believed some of this one could be true. He looked at the marquess with opened eyes.

Blake shrugged.

Darcy showed the beginning of a grin. “So do you call this filly, Chester?” He laughed as Blake turned his head away.

They reluctantly turned their horses to go back to Netherfield. Darcy, detecting a faint scent, raised his head in the air and inhaled deeply. Lavender. I smell lavender. He turned around and seeing no one merely assumed he had imagined it. What he did not imagine was the sight of his friend poised to race again.

Darcy smirked and before Blake could move, yelled, “Now.”

Neither man nor horse slowed nor stopped until they reached the stables.

“Will you be joining me tomorrow? You must give me another chance to best you.” Blake handed his horse over to the stable hand.

“You had two chances this morning.” Dismounting, Darcy provided instructions to the stable hand, and then swiftly moved to catch up with his friend. “Well, I am truly sorry. I have business that I must tend to early.” Watching his expression sag, he suggested, “Perhaps in the afternoon or the next day?”

“I am always up for riding, even twice a day suits me well,” Blake said with a glint in his eye and the hint of a smile upon his mouth.

The two friends returned to the house to enjoy a hearty breakfast. They spoke of horses, saddles, and past fox hunts. The other men joined them one by one. Rawlings was the first to arrive, Kent was second and Bingley, as usual, entered last.

The staff readied the library for the afternoon business talks while the men finished breakfast. Earlier, Bingley had instructed the staff to arrange comfortable chairs around the fireplace in such a way to allow for open conversation. Familiar with his friends’ habits, he also requested two beverage tables. He wanted one table, complete with coffee, tea, fruits, and sweet treats, placed along the far wall, and a sideboard containing various types of liquor located across the room. Finally, he demanded the beverages be kept ready at all times—the coffee and tea hot and the liquor carafes full.

The purpose for being at Netherfield Park was not sport or leisure; it was business. The men were most interested in what Darcy and Bingley had to say and most curious to hear what Darcy expected of them. Once the men finished their meal, they headed for the library. The fire was crackling but not enough to cause them to sweat or nod off after their fulfilling breakfast.

Darcy entered the library only a few moments after Blake, Rawlings, and Kent had found seats for themselves. Bingley followed close behind. Curiously, the latter gentleman placed the firearm he used to defeat them the day before on the table.

Reaching the table first, Rawlings picked up the gun. “That is an amazingly impressive firearm, Bingley.” He inspected the trigger, muzzle, and firing mechanism. He held the gun in the firing position to check its site.

“Yes, it certainly did the honors yesterday. Why does it work so well?” Blake closely watched Rawlings inspecting the firearm.

“Darcy, I cannot take it any more.” Bingley rolled his eyes as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “Blake is driving me daft. It is all he talked about last night.”

Darcy had expected the others to be interested in this rifle. He remembered when he first saw it six months ago.

When Bingley burst in, unintentionally aiming his rifle directly at his chest, he immediately raised his hands in the air, dropping the letter he was holding.

His butler was quick but unsuccessful in his attempt to grab the weapon. It was obvious that Geoffries feared Bingley had gone demented.

A red-faced Bingley put the rifle down, stood patiently until he waved his man away. Shaking his head, Geoffries bowed and left the room.

“What is this? Is one hundred thousand pounds not enough for you anymore, Bingley? Must you rob me of my wealth too?”

“No, I was just excited about the rifle. You are aware my family is involved in making the Baker Rifle?”

“Yes, I do recall using your rifle when we went hunting last year. I am grateful I am not the hunted one here today!”

“This is the modified version. You will not believe how accurate it is.”

Taking the rifle from Bingley, he knew at that instant he held the stepping stone in his hands. While Bingley expounded on the rifle improvements, he visualized the creation of an exciting new business alliance.

Darcy knew whom to ask to join this new alliance; young men like him. Times were changing. Old men, merely content with the way things were, would resist any form of change. In order to conduct business differently, he needed only those men willing to do what their fathers would not. And as he looked at his friends sitting before him, he believed these were the men that might overcome social conventions and form a partnership. He was confident the tradesmen’s sons would be willing. They were not the men that worried him.

Having gained their attention, Darcy ignored Bingley’s plea and began the discussion that would affect all aspects of their lives. “This is a most exciting time to be alive. Well, gentlemen, I believe the time is ripe for expanding our properties and holdings. We must act quickly if we are to capitalize on the ways of the future.”

“But Darcy, you have no need to pursue further wealth. Are you not well situated now?” Blake leaned forward in his chair.

“What is good now may not be adequate later. I cannot rest on my laurels.” Darcy stood by the fireplace with one arm resting on the mantle and the other relaxed at his side. He watched his friends settle back in their seats.

“Rest is unknown to you, for you are forever working,” Kent said jokingly.

Darcy smiled. “Chaucer said it best:

“Nowhere so busy a man as he there n’as
And yet he seemed busier than he was

“Quite frankly, I am bored. My steward handles most of the day-to-day operations at Pemberley. My solicitor handles matters of legal interest. I have people that take care of my shipping and mining interests.”

The men shared glances as Darcy elected to sit in his chair. It was the one farthest away from the fire.

“Come now, Darcy, you are most assuredly busier than you are letting on. You are never without your papers and hardly leave your study or library,” Kent said.

Rawlings and Blake stared at Kent with raised eyebrows.

“They call on me only when the need is greatest. While the responsibilities are great, I seek new challenges and even risky ventures that our elders cannot see or understand. Perhaps it is true that I am busy, but I am bored just the same and seek to pursue new interests.”

“Might I be so bored? You have interests in all the best investments. What else is there?” Rawlings said. Turning towards Blake, he offered him the firearm.

Barely listening to the conversation, Blake immediately began an inspection of the gun.

“Yes, what is it you propose us to do and how does Bingley’s firearm fit in?” Kent asked.

In an imitation of Darcy, Bingley stood by the fireplace and placed his arm on the mantle. He stirred the fire with a poker with his free hand.

Blake looked up from the gun. “Yes, Bingley, and how does it work?”

Kent covered his ears with his hands. “For God’s sake, tell him quickly. I cannot listen to any more of Blake’s questions about the blasted thing.”

Rawlings glared at Blake. “Is this how you won senior wrangler’s honors at Cambridge? Did you question the professors to death? Did they run mad from the room?” Rawlings rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He did not expect an answer.

Ignoring his friends, Blake kept his eyes focused on Bingley and waited for an explanation of the firearm in his hands.

Darcy nodded to Bingley to continue.

He smoothed his jacket, cleared his throat, and pointed to the rifle. “My firearm has been modified by my second cousin. You see, my great aunt was Laurel Baker, grandmother of Ezekiel Baker.”

Understanding finally dawned on the men. There was not a single person in all of England that was not familiar with the Baker rifle or of the 95th Rifle Regiment. Formed in 1800, the 95th was the first Corps of Riflemen. While all the rest of the British army and the populace in general used the flintlock, they used this new rifle.

Bingley continued, “We have recently modified the Baker Rifle. It is much more accurate than the previous one.”

“You demonstrated that yesterday. You say modified; how so?” Blake asked.

“Look closely. Not only has the Baker rifle been modified inside its muzzle for better accuracy, the firing mechanism is different.” Shaking his head, Bingley rolled his eyes when Blake pointed the rifle at his head to look inside the muzzle. “See here.” He grabbed the rifle away from him.

Blake stared back at him with his mouth agape.

Bingley pointed to the cap. “This is a percussion cap. It is almost certain to explode when struck and is almost immune to dampness. In a rainfall, though, one must still be cautious to avoid getting water in the barrel or into the ignition system while loading the weapon.”

“Any other advantage to the rifle?” Blake asked.

“Yes, this type of cap is less likely to misfire than flintlock muskets.”

Blake remained expressionless as he said with solemnity, “No wonder you could get off your shots faster. You see that explains why none of my shots hit their targets. I was aiming at the same birds as you, Bingley. And since your shot reached the bird first, you claimed the prize.”

Pointing to Darcy, Bingley laughed. “Yes, he tried to use that same reasoning yesterday.” He grinned at his friend’s crimson red face as Rawlings and Kent hooted and teased them.

Settling back in his chair, Rawlings asked with a seriousness, “I can see how these modifications have helped you kill birds, but how does this affect us?”

Blake nodded. “Yes, go on Bingley, tell us more. Will we get to own one?”

Rawlings presented Blake with the meanest look he could muster. “What is it with you and that bloody gun? I am interested, but you are obsessed.”

Blake looked down at his hands. “It is really not that important. Every year my father holds a shooting party for all his friends. I have purchased the best firearms, and still I cannot hit a cow standing still at three feet. My father is never kind about my lack of success.” He gazed at the rifle in Bingley’s hand. “That rifle may just make me competitive at the next shoot. I do not want to listen to anymore jests about my shooting abilities by my family and friends!”

Bingley shrugged. “Well, keep it then.”

Blake’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Nodding his head, he handed him the rifle, shouting, “But do not aim it at your head!”

While he cautiously fondled the gun, Blake ignored his friends’ uncontrolled snickering.

Bingley cleared his throat. “My uncle has been unsuccessful in his attempts to negotiate in London for arming the entire British army.”

“Oh, so we are to benefit from the sale of the gun if the negotiations go through?” Rawlings asked.

“With my family connections and some of your London contacts, we could sell the rifles and profit very well.”

Darcy rose from his chair. “In fact, gentlemen, I believe the sale of the firearms is merely the first rung of our ladder. Moreover, it will generate needed capital with which other ventures could be pursued.”

Blake, patting his new gun, relaxed in his chair. “Darcy, since you are the catalyst to bringing this group together, tell us how we fit in and what you see as our roles?”

“Gentlemen, I have spent the last year studying the transformation of society towards mechanical advances and how this machinery will revolutionize our lives. It is so wide ranging and costly that few gentlemen could be successful individually. I believe a business alliance is, therefore, necessary.”

“But, why us?” Rawlings asked.

“When Bingley brought me the rifle, I knew instantly the other men I wanted for the alliance. I invited you because each one of you provides something that will be critical to the overall group.”

The men grew more interested as they studied each other curiously.

“As you have just heard, Bingley is offering up his family talent. They will allow us to participate in the profits of those activities.”

“Why would they do that?” an astonished Rawlings asked.

“We have connections that Bingley lacks.” Darcy nodded to Blake. “You, for instance, have an uncle that is central to military purchases.”

Blake interrupted, “I assume you speak of Lord Harrowby?”

Darcy nodded. “You could easily present our ideas directly to him. You know how it works. Just discuss matters over brandy and cigars at your next family gathering. No one else has a connection with greater influence than you do or such easy access to powerful politicians. This is especially helpful to Bingley’s family.”

Blake tightly crossed his arms across his chest. “But is that all I am, a connection?”

“Of course not; you are more than that. You bring other talents to the group. But let us wait until we are fresh tomorrow to discuss the finer details.”

The men gathered around Blake who allowed each man a moment to inspect the rifle. They spent their time discussing the distinctiveness of the firearm until Whitson announced luncheon was ready.

Luncheon was served daily at Netherfield Park. Typical refreshments could have been brought into the library but Bingley preferred his friends be treated to a meal served in the dining room. All meals were served there since Netherfield Park did not contain a separate breakfast room.

During the meal, the men gaily spoke about many things, none of which was the confidential topic from the library. There were too many servants serving the meal so the talk turned to a discussion of certain members of Meryton society.

“Sir William has no limits to his condescension. Why, he borders on the ridiculous,” Blake said.

Rawlings shook his head. “I should expect there are men in this world that are worse.”

“His intentions are well founded. I cannot find fault with the man,” Bingley said.

Blake laughed. “He is a gossip, too, and certainly not unlike a few of the mothers here. I suspect there is a contest each year to crown the new queen of gossip.”

Kent immediately suggested, “Mrs. Phillips will win hands down.”

Blake, alarmed when he heard Kent’s comment, turned to Darcy. “Does that pose a problem with Mr. Phillips acting as our solicitor?”

Earlier that morning at the breakfast table in a small house in Meryton, Mr. Phillips thought how happy it was to be involved with those he dubbed the “Netherfield Five.”

Mr. Phillips flashed his wife a wicked smile. “How are you this morning, Dearest? What are your plans today?” He only asked out of politeness, because he knew she would be busy visiting her friends and receiving her sister, Mrs. Bennet.

“I will be waiting on a few friends that could not attend the assembly last evening. I know they would like to hear all the latest news. In fact, Mrs. Robinson specifically asked that I attend her this morning for only her husband would be able to go. She longs to hear of the fashions of the night.”

“Yes, pass my good word onto her and her family.”

All of Hertfordshire agreed, Mrs. Phillips was without any competition the town’s biggest gossip. Having no children of her own, she found her solace in gossip. Much of Meryton sought her out. As the town gossip, it at least gave her a place in society as a welcome addition to anyone’s tea, dinner or party.

“I do hope you have a good day,” Mr. Phillips said as she hurried to ready herself for the visits. He knew his wife well. He usually shared information with her but this time his lips were sealed. The Netherfield Five were very rich and powerful men. If so much as a single word leaked about their activities, they could destroy him. Of course, the obscene amount of money they paid him was another incentive for maintaining silence. Again, he smiled but this time with softened eyes.

As the servants removed the luncheon dishes, Bingley asked, “Anyone for a game of billiards?”

Uninterested in further talks of business that day, they agreed instantly and left for the billiard room. They mixed talk with wine and a few games of Twenty Points. Usually, two individuals or partners played billiards but that did not suit Bingley. He devised this particular game so all five could play at the same time.

The rules were simple. The shooter received a point for each ball that fell into the pocket and the man that sunk the last ball in each rack was rewarded with three extra points. They continued to play until someone reached twenty points.

As they played, the men returned to their discussions of the local society. Conversations always started with the lovely ladies. As everyone expected, Bingley expressed his fondness for Miss Bennet. The others did not dwell on any one particular lady but gave their overall assessments. The eldest Miss Bennets were the most admired and the youngest were the least. They found the Long and Lucas girls to be of little consequence.

Darcy remained quiet. He listened carefully to the conversation and who said what.

When they tired of discussing the ladies, they moved on to the other residents returning to whom they had talked about at lunch.

“Sir William Lucas was overly friendly almost to the point of being a boor,” Blake said as he took – and missed – the shot.

“He is merely being a friendly sort of chap.” Rawlings’ ball fell into the hole. “That is fourteen points for me.”

“I understand he made his fortune in trade.” Blake, wrinkling his nose, shuddered in an exaggerated motion.

“As did my family.” Kent’s ball just missed as he sent Blake a cautioning look. “Blast.”

Blake twirled his cue stick. “Kent, it was just a statement of fact.”

“I think Sir William is trying his best to make everyone feel comfortable. He was the mayor and he takes it upon himself to do just that.” Bingley watched the last ball fall into the hole. “Twenty points, I win.” Bingley held his hand out to collect his winnings.

“You devised this game to your advantage, Bingley,” Blake said.

Darcy handed the winner the guinea. “Not true; Kent won the game before.”

Rawlings, after dropping his guinea in Bingley’s hand, turned to Darcy. “You came in second, my diplomatic friend, both times.”

“And still I have to pay the winners just like you do.”

Blake huffed. “Now, I prefer the game where it is one man to one man. I do better with fewer fellows watching me shoot.”

“Even then you must actually get the ball into the hole to win.” Rawlings put his cue stick away. “Perhaps Bingley’s family can invent some wonderful cue stick for you. If you cannot get the ball in the pocket, then you could shoot it off the table.”

“But how would that help? We all know Blake’s ability with a firearm!” Kent chuckled. “Although, I suspect his family would make a fortune if such a stick were possible.”

Looking at Blake, Rawlings asked, “Speaking of families is anyone concerned about how their families would feel about this alliance?”

“It may be better to keep this among ourselves until we become established,” Blake said. “I for one do not wish my father to know about it. He does not think to kindly on business.”

Nor the people involved in trade I suspect, Kent thought.

The men finished their drinks as each man thought about their own families’ reactions until Blake suggested the men spend the rest of the afternoon shooting birds. They agreed hesitantly until he offered to share his new rifle.

While the others concentrated on the number of birds they could shoot, Blake’s thoughts kept returning to the morning. His smiled at the memory of a young lady with that delightful lavender scent disappearing into a very enticing hidden meadow path.

Chapter 5

Posted on Tuesday, 18 March 2008

Bingley stood at the library window, observing the clouds that hung heavy over the countryside. The Netherfield men, meeting an hour earlier than originally planned, were convening in the library for another day of serious talks. He concluded, as he stared out into the grayness, the plan to remain indoors all day was a good one; the clouds threatened an horrendous soaking to any brave enough to venture out.

Glancing around the room, he was not surprised when Lord Blake sat in the largest chair, nearest the fire and next to an obviously anxious Darcy, or that Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Kent chose to sit nearer the window. Concerned they would be watching the weather more than listening to him, Bingley wondered how to best gain and then keep their attention. Noticing Darcy's uneasiness, he realized the importance of coming to an agreement before Mr. Phillips' visit in two days time.

He quietly moved to stand near the fireplace. When he coughed, his friends looked up at him with stony expressions. I feel like a teacher with a room full of bad boys. They are just biding their time until they can go outside to play. He smiled to himself. I am relieved the weather is horrid today.

Explaining his family connections was the best way, he believed, to start the business talks this day. Darcy is counting on me to win them over. After taking several breaths, he began his story. "Now, some of my family is from Scotland, and I am sure you will recognize my maternal ancestry once I reveal her name." He paused, stood taller, and proudly announced, "My Grandmother is a Watt."

No response.

Bingley looked at his friends'faces, shook his head and thought, yes, just like school's confusion reigns. He cleared his throat.

Darcy nodded for him to continue.

"Perhaps not. Very well, I will explain it to you. Many believe James Watt is the inventor of the steam engine. The story goes that Watt observed how the power of steam caused the lid to rise on a boiling pot of water. From that particular conclusion, he thought of many practical uses for steam."

"I thought some other gent was the inventor." Rawlings smugly glanced at the others.

"You are correct. I will not bore you with the details, but I will condense my story by saying that Watt invented the steam engine with a separate condenser." Bingley took a breath then, laughed at his own play on words.

All but one of his friends laughed. Bingley noticed that instead of listening, Kent was studying the reaction of the men not involved in trade. Even before arriving at Netherfield, they had spoken of Blake and Rawlings reactions to the world of business.

Rawlings settled back in his chair with his eyes concentrated on Bingley. "Who uses Watt's steam engines?"

"His steam engines are found in more than five hundred factories and mines throughout England, including Darcy's mines." Bingley inclined his head towards his friend. "While my uncle was not the inventor of the steam engine, he is credited with inventing the parts necessary for the steam locomotive."

Blake moved his chair slightly closer towards Bingley. "Three years ago I saw a steam locomotive in London. The name of the blasted thing was Catch-Me-Who-Can. What a silly name! I never forgot it. If I remember correctly, there was not much enthusiasm for it. I did not ride on it."

"Was that the gigantic monstrosity that went around a circle at Torrington Square off Gower Street?" Rawlings scoffed.

"Yes, it went in a circle." Blake drew an imaginary circle in the air and rolled his head in unison. "And on the ... what did they call those things that kept breaking? Oh, yes, rails." He shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and placed his hands behind his head.

"That was an early model built by Richard Trevithick. There are better ones now. Remember the name George Stevenson? He is having great success with his improvements," Bingley said.

"I rode on it and found it fascinating. I am not afraid of it." Kent glanced slyly at Blake and then turned to Darcy. "Did you not take a turn on it too? Did you not pay your shilling to take a ride the same day?"

"Yes, it is true, I did ride it. I could see the possibilities even then. One day, I wager, even you, Blake, will willingly ride one of his locomotives!"

"I think I shall stick with my horses or my carriage." Blake turned his head to roll his eyes discretely.

Rawlings nodded. "Yes, a little oats and some sugar, and we are good to go fifty miles in a single day."

A surprised Bingley shook his head. "Fifty miles in day? Steam locomotives will one day go that far in a single hour, and without a change of horses. Even the early model steam locomotive you mentioned traveled at fifteen miles per hour."

"Well it did not travel fifty miles an hour that day. Why my horse can gallop faster than that locomotive." Blake stood to get a cup of coffee.

Kent watched him move across the room. "Yes, but he would be dead in no time if he had to run at that speed nonstop for any period of time."

With a mischievous smile, Darcy glanced at Blake. "Unless, of course, the horse is named Bouchain."

The marquess grimaced.

Bingley followed the direction of Kent's dark and cold stares. Blake is a bit unmoved in his opinion. Now Rawlings, on the other hand, seems to show a surprising interest in all of this. I suspect of the two, Rawlings will be the stronger supporter when adversity hits as it always does with new ventures.

He cleared his throat. "That was just the first experimental model. Perhaps the speed of the locomotive will not happen quickly at first, but one day it will happen. And I am sure that day will come before our children are grown."

"Do you really believe that people are going to get in something that requires a fire to make it go? I daresay most visitors thought it was dangerous, and, just like me, would not ride on it." Blake exaggerated a shudder as he handed Darcy a cup of coffee.

"When it is raining, I want you to think of the comfort of a locomotive carriage speeding along. Locomotives will not travel on muddy, bumpy roads as we do nowadays," Bingley said confidently.

"Are there any other uses for this steam engine?" Rawlings asked.

"Today, there are many inventors trying to modify the engine to power a ship to speedily move across the oceans. There are already steamboats traveling down rivers. Great profit will be the outcome for those that invest now."

Bingley smiled with delight, for when it came to machines, he was more knowledgeable than were his friends. "There is a new world coming." He gazed at the three well-established members of the old world. "I believe that one day there will be machines to do the most tedious work and replace the most unskilled laborer."

An astonished Rawlings stared at Bingley. "Surely machines will not replace servants?" With one brow raised and his mouth slightly curved upwards, he asked, "How will machines launder the clothes, cook the meals, or clean the house? You are not saying your steam engine will accomplish all that?"

To temper Bingley's enthusiasm, Darcy interrupted. "Perhaps not. Nevertheless, there are major changes coming from the use of machines."

Bingley, almost finished with what he had to say, sat down in his chair. He was unaware that he had stood the entire time. "Now you know where my family money comes from - machinery. To attend a family gathering, you had best know your pistons from your cylinders and your flyball governor from your rotary engine. My family tree is loaded with inventors." He released a long breath and slumped back in his chair.

"Who are these people? Do we know of them?" Rawlings asked.

"The world at large knows some of them, such as Watt, but only our circle of friends and family knows the rest." Bingley smiled as he thought about the many occasions he attended meetings with his uncle. These men were secretive in some ways, and only an invitation from one of the fourteen members would secure anyone else a seat in the room. He and Kent had both attended meetings since their uncles were founding members.

"There is a circle among inventors?" an astounded Blake asked with both eyes raised high. Placing his hands on his knees, he leaned forward.

"Many people talk about the circles in London society, but few realize that there is a ranking of the people that are engineers, architects, and even inventors. I am sure you have heard of the Royal Society. That is just one such group for men of knowledge. My family is from the very first circle among this group."

Bingley directed ” "Now, he is from the first circle of shipbuilders and mercantilists. They, too, have their own class distinctions. In fact, neither my family nor Kent's can do without the other and usually only the very best from one group will work or associate themselves with the very best from the other."

"Surely you are not saying tradesmen are on an equal level with gentry?" Blake asked with his mouth agape.

Kent stood defiantly with the muscles on both sides of his neck tightly extended, his hands balled into fists. He spoke forcibly. "The gentry are structured around class distinctions of, well, farmers. How is that so different?" He narrowed his eyes into two tiny slits. "Of course, the gentry own all the land and natural resources, but still their income mostly comes from farming and mining.

With a calm expression and a relaxed countenance, Rawlings turned his eyes toward Blake. "I believe Kent is correct." He paused when Blake snorted. "Our ancestors made their money by owning the land. Is it not business that keeps them rich? What good is raising sheep, mining, or growing crops if not for putting them up for sale? Is that not trade of sorts? Or is it just accepted trade because the gentry do it?"

Leaning back in his chair with both arms crossed tightly against his chest, the marquess glared at Rawlings. "I understand what you say but my father is a duke. Your father is an earl. What would they think?" Abruptly turning towards Darcy, he asked, "Am I supposed to lower myself to selling goods to all sorts of people?"

Rising, Darcy quickly patted Kent's shoulder. He turned to Blake. "No one is expecting you to do any such thing. I have asked Bingley to manage the new inventions, and," he said as he clasped his hand on Kent's shoulder, adding, "I am asking him to handle the import and export business. Both their families have much expertise in these areas." He paused, released a short sigh, before adding, "Your role will be no more than is the normal role of the gentry: influencing and investing."

There was a knock at the door. Everyone turned as Whitson entered and approached the host. "Mr. Bingley, sir, an urgent message has arrived for you."

"Thank you, Whitson. Excuse me, gentlemen." He bowed as he swiftly left the room.

Desiring to forgo business matters until Bingley's return, the men spoke of the news from town. Finishing with the London newspaper, Rawlings handed The Courier to Blake. "It seems London is currently captivated with the shocking dance sweeping the ballrooms on the continent."

"The Waltz," answered Rawlings when asked the name of the dance.

Blake studied the article looking for familiar names. "Scandalous!"

"I have danced it." Kent smirked. "It is all the rage in my circles."

Blake narrowed his eyes and stared at him. "Of that I have no doubt. It is not done in polite society." He paused, and then chuckling, clarified, "Well, unless you consider the Carlton House set polite. I heard a rumor that Prinny himself danced it two years ago. He must not been sober at the time for even he has not repeated it."

"Do not be such a clapper-clawed puritan. Even I would like to learn it." Rawlings turned to the only quiet man in the room. "How do you feel about it?"

As everyone turned their eyes on Darcy, his expression remained blank. "I have danced it as well. Kent, Bingley, and I learned it some time ago."

Blake, settling back in his chair, stared at the fire. A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth.

Darcy continued, "I have no strong objection to it. Of course, I believe it is not appropriate unless you know your partner very well and have some type of arrangement."

With a sparkle in his eyes, Kent smiled broadly at Blake and Rawlings. "Not true. Darcy was dancing with a woman with whom he does not have any arrangement."

"She was merely instructing us on the steps. I needed to hold her in such a fashion in order to learn the dance." Darcy peeked at his friends. "Good gosh. She was nearly fifty years old! And one of my father's cousins. She was visiting Pemberley from Vienna. She is the instructor Kent eludes too! She demanded we learn the confounded dance.

Rawlings turned to Kent. "Tell us! Is it as tantalizing as they say?"

"You will think of nothing except what it would be like to dance with someone young and pretty." With closed eyes, Kent presented a look of great satisfaction.

"Can you imagine dancing the Waltz here? What a scandal it would be," Blake said.

"Is there no one at all in this area that you would like to hold in that way?" Rawlings asked.

Blake shook his head. "You misunderstand me. Holding a lady of the ton is one thing. But to hold one of these country misses would cause her mother to run to town that very moment and purchase her daughter's bridal gown."

"Any mother in particular?" Rawlings smiled mischievously as he watched the slightly embarrassed man shrug. "Ah, so if given the chance you would not dance the Waltz with any of the Hertfordshire ladies?" He chuckled when his friend blushed.

"Certainly not. No." Blake brushed something unseen from his jacket until he suddenly looked up. With narrowed eyes, he glared at Rawlings. "Would you?"

"I might like to take a twirl with one little lass. She would know how to respond to such a dance; I can imagine she would not be shocked. With her, the dance might be quite enjoyable."

"You would have to dye your coat red first, Rawlings," Kent said. "Either Miss Lydia or Miss Catherine Bennet would react as you say."

"Yes, they are the most obvious ones." Rawlings sighed loudly. "It is true Miss Lydia prefers the officers of the Militia."

Darcy glanced at Blake with a questioning look. Blake slowly nodded. Darcy's eyes grew wide.

Rawlings, ignoring his friends'reaction to his confession, explained, "It may be redcoats are the only ones willing to respond to her flirting games. We would not. None of us. Well, not in public anyway."

Kent whispered to Blake, "The redcoats definitely do not seem to mind what kind of behavior she displays." He snickered before continuing, "Her passion cannot be controlled. She will either convince one of them to offer or perhaps be compromised to gain a husband."

Chuckling, Blake nodded in agreement.

"Darcy, you are quiet. Do you not have an opinion?" Rawlings asked.

"I prefer to listen. It is most enlightening. I have learned much."

"And what have you learned?"

Darcy flashed his distinctive smirk to Rawlings. "I have learned that the Waltz causes some men to become as silly as incorrigible young girls."

Blake turned to Rawlings. "And are you such a man?"

Rawlings nodded vigorously. "Most assuredly so. Most assuredly so."

"Oh my. So, you would dance with Miss Lydia?" Blake asked.

"I would rather dance with Miss Lydia than with anyone resembling my late wife, Margaret."

"But she is so, so. . ."

"Coarse? Flirty? Immature? Silly? I think she is beautiful and fun and passionate." Rawlings smiled so widely his eyes crinkled.

Fidgeting in his chair, Blake stared at him with widely opened eyes. "Surely you would not consider connecting yourself to her? She does not show proper decorum at all."

"Why not connect myself?"

"She is not of your station," Blake said bluntly.

"What station is that?"

The others continued to sit quietly and let the argument continue. Blake sat across from Rawlings. While he leaned forward, Rawlings relaxed into the chair. He spoke with an intensity that grew more so as Rawlings'smirk developed into a wide smile.

"Well, you belong to a much higher level of society than you find here. You have a responsibility to your family."

"And?"

"It is just not acceptable."

"Perhaps you can tell me why, you white-livered dewberry!" Rawlings laughed heartedly and then his countenance turned more serious. "I am a widow. Why can I not marry for love, passion and sex the next time? Is there anything wrong with finding a good strong healthy young woman with whom to enjoy the pleasures of the night?"

Darcy and Kent glanced at each other but remained quiet.

Blake paused to formulate his words politely. He rose, paced back and forth, and then stopped suddenly. "You can purchase that any night or day. You do not have to connect yourself."

Rawlings glared at Blake. "You cannot purchase a gentleman's daughter in such a way. Even you know that. Of course, one could wait for her to make a marriage for convenience and then be free to dally around. Perhaps she would produce an heir first but you are aware that it is done all the time."

"You are too cynical. It is not always like that."

"It was for me." Rawlings slumped in his chair.

"Well, I am sure you can find an acceptable wife among the ton, " Darcy said as he offered to pour his friend some coffee. When Rawlings shook his head and pointed to the sideboard, he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless moved to the sideboard and filled a glass with wine.

Kent indicated his desire for a glass as well. "Darcy, is there something amiss with the Bennets? I do not understand why you feel Rawlings should not pursue Miss Lydia if that is his desire."

Blake blurted out, "Because her mother has a brother in trade, who lives in Cheapside."

"How do you know this?" an astonished Kent asked.

"I asked Miss Elizabeth at the assembly."

"You asked about her relatives at a dance?"

He shrugged. "During the dance to be precise. How else was I to discover her bloodlines?" He rubbed the arm of the chair slowly.

"She has none, even I know that," Rawlings said. "I found out as much with my dance with Miss Catherine." He smiled at Blake. "Otherwise you would be pursuing Miss Elizabeth in your normal manner."

"And what exactly is my normal pursuit?"

"Typically, it is with flowers and other little gifts." When Blake remained silent, Rawlings continued. "Well, if I choose to pursue Miss Lydia, I will do so without regard to the ton, my family or my friends. But I may have to wait a few years!" For now, Miss Lydia is too young.

That she is." Darcy nodded.

Rawlings turned to Darcy. "You have not said with whom you would dance the Waltz. I assume there is no one here that is tolerable enough to tempt you?"

Darcy cringed. He glared at the door with narrowed eyes and a dark, threatening look and then as if on cue, Bingley entered the room. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Well, let us return to business." He pointed to some books and articles on the side table that dealt with all the changes. "This should alleviate some of the concerns you all have. There are many exciting inventions, and these materials will help you to understand how they will one day change everything."

Bingley raised his hand. "Oh, Darcy, I beg your pardon, we will need to delay this discussion. Whitson has just informed me that luncheon is being served."

Rawlings and Blake picked up a couple of the books to look through later.

"Kent, did you not want to see any of the materials Darcy provided?" Blake asked.

"No, I have read them all. We tradespeople read this every day."

In the afternoon, the men seated themselves nearer to the fire as the sky grew darker and the air in the library felt much chillier. The chairs remained in the semi-circle around the fire. Blake and Bingley thumbed through the materials Darcy had left upon the small tables between the chairs. Rawlings and Kent merely sat quietly surveying the room.

"What Bingley said is true, this is too much like school," Kent whispered to Rawlings as he looked around.

"Well, perhaps not the brandy," Rawlings said, eyeing the carafes located throughout the room.

At luncheon, Darcy quietly suggested to Bingley to provide some extra fortification to get through this final serious discussion. Bingley was quick to respond but included wine, coffee and tea as options.

Everyone had chosen the beverage that fit their mood; a glass of wine. When Darcy entered, he glanced at all his friends: Blake appeared to be the most anxious, Rawlings the most curious, and Kent the least interested. Bingley relaxed in his chair smiling that his part was completed. Darcy wondered about the men's reactions when he revealed a particular risky plan.

Blake, having put down the book he was scanning, did not speak until Darcy stopped fidgeting with some papers in his hand. "Tell me what I am to do in this alliance. You mentioned my connections but alluded to there being more. Just what do you have in mind?"

Darcy smiled before replying to his friend. "As I stated, you are more than that. You bring other talents to the group. You were the best in university at understanding financial institutions. As such, there are many areas for applying your talent."

"Do you have an example in mind?" Blake placed his wine down and leaned forward.

Insurance is the first one that comes to mind. Underwriting mechanical performance in fact. That is one form of insurance not yet provided by anyone.

"Do you plan to just announce purchase your mechanical insurance here and everyone will give us money?" Blake asked sarcastically and then in the same tone added, "I doubt anyone has ever even considered machinery as a permanent part of life." He rolled his eyes and slightly shook his head. He stared at Darcy with one of his you are daft stares usually reserved for Rawlings'sometimes amusing Shakespearean insults.

"Of course not." Darcy held his breath for a moment while he formulated a reply. "We can disguise the type of insurance we are selling by becoming underwriters for all types of insurance. It may be a long time coming, but we will be setting up the foundation and would get a jump on all our competitors."

Laughing, Bingley interrupted, "I am surprised. You hate disguise of any sort."

Darcy watched the men share a conspiratorial smile. He was fully aware that the others chose Bingley to challenge him whenever he entertained any type of disguise. He assumed it was because they believed he never took offense with anything his young friend said. He took a deep breath. "This is business and, yes, concealment is an important factor in the beginning. At least until it is too late for anyone to do better than we can. Now, I would not lie to anyone that asked but," he paused and then said with conviction, "I would respond appropriately to safeguard our investments."

Blake waited until he was finished. "And the money, where does that come from for this insurance? I am not in the position to underwrite all these types of insurance."

The men in the room froze.

After a short moment, Rawlings began to fidget. Finally, he said, "Yes, do explain. We are all interested in how to finance this insurance."

With his shoulders back, Darcy raised his body as tall as possible, lifted his chin and explained, "I made many friends among investors when I invested in shipping insurance. I know many of them wish to expand their activities. I can bring the insurance underwriters to the table, but we would still maintain the biggest shares."

Cautiously smiling, the men relaxed. Bingley offered to pour more wine for his friends. The men spoke briefly about the shipping industry and Darcy disclosed several of the investors' names including a Lord Attwood. Blake smiled in recognition of another uncle's name.

Bingley continued to hand out the wine while Darcy passed around some materials about the shipping industry, including articles about the profitability of underwriting insurance. Rawlings displayed the most interest in the materials, but his countenance remained tense as Darcy continued to expound on the benefits of being the first to offer such services.

Having learned that money was not an issue, Blake settled back in the chair, sipped his wine, ignored the conversation, and stared off in the distance. He did not even look at the others until startled by Kent's pronouncement.

"But Darcy, why would you want to go against the crown?" a shocked Kent asked. "I will not be a party to treason."

Continued in Next Section