Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 6

Posted on Sunday, 23 March 2008

"Treason?" Rawlings and Blake glanced at each other. Bingley grimaced.

The light rain could be heard hitting the window. The crackling sounds normally filling the room were missing as the fire had died down.

Wondering if the others were also holding their breath, Rawlings closely examined the faces of his friends. Satisfied they too were just as shocked, he turned back to look intently at Darcy. The muscles in his neck slowly relaxed as his friend's expression changed from seriousness to amusement.

Smiling, Darcy answered calmly. "No. I doubt if the government would consider what this proposition to be treason. It is merely trading with a prohibited country. We are not at war with them. We are not trading the Baker rifle. Moreover, we would not commence actual trading until the laws change. I suspect that will happen soon. We should set up the deal now, and not wait for the politicians."

Standing quickly, Rawlings moved to the sideboard. "Do any of you gents want brandy? Damn, I may pour myself two!" The men nodded. Bingley joined him as they filled the glasses.

Kent hands tightly clasped the arms of his chair. "Why this deal? Surely there is some other way? I cannot risk my future on a chance you might be right. I am not a member of the protected class. There are no peers in my family."

Darcy continued, "When the shipping embargo is lifted, John Jacob Astor's fur trading business will be the only one left standing in all of North America."

Rawlings took a large gulp of his drink. "Will dealing with this American cause us problems?"

Darcy nodded. "There are some problems and some risks, yes. For the time being, all of our actions would have to be concealed, and contracts would need to be written in such a way as to absolve us of any connection with Astor."

Coughing in unison, Rawlings, Blake and Kent nodded to Bingley. Without turning to face Darcy, he stopped pouring the brandy only long enough to utter his oft-repeated teasing phrase. "I am shocked that you still profess that disguise of every sort is your abhorrence."

Darcy maintained a blank expression with the tiniest evidence of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Rawlings took another large gulp. "Exactly how are we to accomplish this?"

Reacting to his friend's solemn demeanor, Darcy endeavored to present a calm appearance. "It will be necessary to operate through Astor's London connection,"

"And which one of us is to meet with this Mr. Cuffage and make the necessary arrangements?" Rawlings said as he glanced around the room and noted the other men, growing restless with this conversation, had turned their heads away. When he pointed his finger towards himself with his brows raised, Darcy raised his opened hands upwards a little and with a small shrug shook his head yes. Rawlings scoffed loudly.

Sipping his brandy, Darcy relaxed in his chair while the men considered this plan.

When no one else spoke, Rawlings continued, "But who is this man in London – what is his background, and can he be trusted? And finally, why would he do this?" Mr. Rawlings looked at Kent, who shrugged and shook his head.

"He is a tradesman established in the import and export business in London," Darcy said. "While not in our circles, he has a reputation as an honorable and trustworthy man. He will take risks to better himself and his family. I am assured he is the best of men."

Looking up from his brandy Rawlings asked, "Does this man have a name and why is he not here?"

"I did not invite him because I wanted us to first decide if we should pursue this risky venture.

"Well, what is his name? Perhaps one of us does know of him."

"Mr. John Cuffage."

"Cuffage? In import and export?" Rawlings furrowed his brow and rubbed his forehead. "Kent, do you know of this man? You have family in that business, surely you have met him."

Kent shook his head. "Perhaps my family has had dealings with him. I am not personally acquainted with anyone by that name."

"Mr. Rogers has assured me of his worthiness," Darcy answered.

"Ahhh." The men settled back in their chairs murmuring amongst themselves between sips of brandy. Rawlings, like the others, knew Darcy's steward had been the most sought after of all the men of his profession. So much so, when Mr. Rogers accepted working for such a young master, a surprised London speculated it was merely to secure a lifetime position.

Darcy, satisfied with their reactions, added, "Mr. Cuffage is very discreet in his business dealings. I can assure you that each one of you has come into contact with him." When they all objected, he looked straight at them with his right brow raised and asked, "Have you not been to the New World Cigar and Wine shop on Bond Street?" When they all affirmed they had, he announced, "He is the owner."

"Oh, I still do not think I know him," Kent replied.

Rawlings, on the other hand, recalled an intriguing conversation the last time he had entered the shop for his favorite cigars. A short, thin shopkeeper bowed to a well-dressed gentleman, well known in financial circles.

"Good day, sir. May I be of service?"

"You have some very good wines," the gentleman had said as he surveyed the wall stocked with many bottles.

"Yes sir. We have the best wine from the very best wine making countries."

"I suppose you secure your very best wine away from public view?"

"Yes. It is kept in the back room, and I guard it with my life, sir," the little shopkeeper had said as he leaned in and whispered to the gentleman, "As I guard yours as well."

The well-dressed gentleman tipped his hat. The shopkeeper had disappeared behind a door in the back. He returned in quick order with a discretely wrapped package and handed it to the gentleman who bowed and left the shop. The shopkeeper had annotated a journal from a shelf of many journals. At that moment, he had realized he had another customer.

"Ah, Mr. Rawlings, how may I serve you today? I have set aside your favorite cigars. Did you wish for some wine as well?"

Returning his attention to the conversation at hand, Rawlings refilled his glass. Keeping one ear tuned to Darcy expounding on the risks, he looked over a few articles dealing with the fur business. With a concerned look, he pointed to an article that was not so positive. "Nevertheless, is fur trade a profitable business here? What exactly do you see happening with all these furs?"

"I own major interests in two different shipping lines. I plan to ship Ascot's furs to Russia, the Continent, and even China one day. There, I assure you, we shall find a great demand for them. We will obtain items of trade from each of these areas and move on to the next trading place. The pattern will repeat until we have circumvented the entire world without having the expense or the risk of frequently returning to the home base. And with our investments and ownership in the future steamship, we will realize unimaginable profits."

Visualizing the scope of what was just stated, each man nodded his encouragement for Darcy to continue.

He held up a handful of orders from those locations. "The Americas are the only major suppliers left for these furs. We must start there. The sale of Bingley's modified Baker rifles to our military will provide the needed capital to begin our quest. We will sell my textiles for their furs, their furs for the next traded items in the next location, and so forth. This is why a partnership arrangement with Astor is important. He is proceeding with his efforts to open a fort on the west coast of that land. Economically, we would need to use that port as a part of the route in order to reach China.

"Is this not too grand of an idea?" Blake asked.

"All great alliances start with a grand idea. Otherwise, there would be no need for an alliance. Individuals could proceed without assistance on lesser endeavors.

"How will your ships make their way to the Americas? I understand British cargo ships are in danger if they appear anywhere near America, let alone dock there," Rawlings studied Darcy's expression to determine if there was any issue that concerned his friend.

"The New England states do not agree with the embargo and have the secret blessing of the United States government. It is my understanding that the USS Constitution has even escorted ships to and from New England ports. England's politicians are aware of this situation." Darcy glanced at Blake. "Here is another example of how you can help the partnership."

Knowing his uncle, Lord Harrowby, could help with the politics if needed, Blake nodded to Darcy.

"Let us take a break. I know this is a lot to consider," Darcy said.

Bingley and Kent quickly left the room for a game of billiards. Rawlings was not surprised. Neither man had ever enjoyed studying, nor did they sit very long for serious discussions. As he watched them leave, Darcy signaled his plan to use this particular pairing off for a most necessary conversation. His friend glanced to the door leading to the billiard room; he nodded, rose from his chair and closed the door as Darcy moved to the sideboard.

Skipping the wine, Darcy poured Blake another brandy. "I understand you are concerned about connecting with Kent and Bingley, their being sons of tradesmen. Let me assure you, I did not consider their involvement lightly."

Darcy poured two more brandies as Rawlings pulled their chairs a little closer to Blake. They shared a knowing look while they waited for Blake to reply.

"Yes, I know you too well to think otherwise. You are correct. But tradesmen, Darcy? They are from trade; I am the eldest son of a duke. How can I connect myself in such a way?"

"Do not be such a fool." Rawlings leaned in closer to Blake and then softened his voice saying, "We know the desperate situation you father is in. When he dies, there may not be much left to inherit. You need this opportunity regardless of the connection. The talk around town about your father is already appalling."

"Still, do you two not understand?" Blake glanced back and forth between the two men. He released a sigh and then explained, "It is trade. If my family and friends discover who is included in the alliance, I will be cast out, I tell you. Cast out. Blackballed at my club. There will be no people willing to connect themselves to me."

Darcy nodded. "I understand your concerns. If there was anyway we could do business without them being partners, I would. I do not like this any more than you do. But, just the same, there is no way for us to progress without these sorts of people. They are the ones that are busy inventing the machines. They are setting up alliances with foreign competitors. We must find ways to stay in front. Otherwise one day they will rule us. We can never let that happen."

"He is correct," Rawlings said. "The old way is soon to be taking a beating. Think man, what do most of the gentry do? Gamble, drink, engage in debaucheries and seductions, go to the clubs, and generally socialize. Gentleman at leisure is as true a description as there ever was."

Blake lowered his head and rubbed the back of his hand. He took several breaths before he glanced up to Darcy and then to Rawlings. "I do not know what to do. I am finding my father's leisurely ways worrisome. This alliance would certainly boost my holdings, and it may just be enough to save his estate. But at what cost?" Blake slumped into his chair.

Shrugging their shoulders in unison, Darcy and Rawlings patiently waited for Blake to speak. When several moments had passed without further conversation, Rawlings broke the silence and said flippantly, "It seems the tradesmen have gone off to leisurely play a game of billiards while the gentry have remained to work."

Swiftly turning his eyes away from Rawlings, Blake glared at Darcy. "I am surprised you are willing to lower yourself to partnering with tradesmen."

"Times change, and I no longer have a father to challenge my actions."

Blake sighed. "Yes, that is true; you are your own man."

"Your answer may come after a good night's sleep," Leaning back in his chair, Darcy watched as his anxious friend considered the suggestion.

Blake, too, sat back in his chair. Swirling the brandy in his glass, he stared intently at his drink. "Yes, I will at least sleep on it before I decide."

Rawlings smirked at Darcy. "Are you not concerned about my willingness to lower myself to their level?"

"You do not seem as anxious as I expected. Why is that?"

Rawlings noticed out of the corner of his eye that Blake appeared interested as well. "Oh, let us just say second chances do not come around often, and life experiences teach you what is really important." He took a sip of his brandy. "Sometimes what a father may expect of his son is really not for the best, nor what will make one happy. Fathers sometimes have their own agenda."

Blake nodded. "Yes, I agree with you on that account."

Noting his friends' solemn expressions, Rawlings suggested, "Before we get back to forming this alliance, shall we go join the new gentry and show them how leisure is done?"

"May I have a word with you?" Kent's valet stopped Logan in the hall before he could slip into Rawlings' dressing chamber.

Logan bowed his head slightly. "How may I be of service?"

"Do you know what time the gentlemen will be finished? I would like to draw a bath for Mr. Kent but I am at a loss as to what time to expect him."

"Unfortunately, I appear to be under the same disadvantage; I was not left with any instructions for tonight."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Logan. I thought if any one knew it would be you. I will wait patiently again."

Logan nodded. "Good day to you."

"Good day to you as well."

Logan thought about the exchange as he entered Mr. Rawlings' sitting room to begin his evening rituals. The deference the other valet showed surprised him. He must have heard Rawlings call me Mister.

After he finished his tasks, Logan seated himself in one of Rawlings' sitting room chairs. He had laid out the master's clothes, the evening paper, all of his mail, his favorite brandy decanter and a cigar. Satisfied with his work, Logan picked up a book and filled his own glass with brandy.

Entering the room, Rawlings spied his man sitting at his table. "Drinking my brandy, you craven, guts-griping malt-worm!

"That I am. What are you going to do about it, you gorbellied, hell-hated whey-face."

Laughing, Rawlings took his seat. "Ahhh. That was an exceptionally good insult, Mr. Logan. Shakespeare would be proud of his words combined in that way. I concede to you tonight." He loosened his cravat. "I need to write that one down."

Logan began to jump up until his master motioned for him to remain seated. "Mr. Logan, I have much to share." "First though, I was wondering." Rawlings waited for his man to pour his drink. "We have been here long enough for you to have met your counterparts, although I do not think you could ever be compared to them." He relaxed comfortably by the fire, facing his valet.

"Yes, and they are as expected." Logan laughed as he thought about the picture they would make if any one of the gentlemen or their valets walked in the room. Logan handed Rawlings his brandy as he took another sip of his own.

"Do not hold back on your opinion. Just how are they meeting your expectations?"

"You know Bingley will babble on and on and his man will just nod to him. Bingley can talk enough for the two of them. If Bingley finds himself in love again, his man will have to endure many smiles and sighs. He is your typical new valet: all ears and no mouth."

"Yes, yes, take pity on the poor man and engage him in some meaningful conversation. He might even be interested in current events."

"He is young and inexperienced, and I doubt he is interested in anything other than gossip. It is not my cup of tea to chat with the servants, Rawlings. Nevertheless, he may be a good source of information."

"Fine. What about Blake and Darcy's men? I suspect they have older, more experienced valets." Rawlings lit his cigar, leaning back in his chair and waiting for Logan's answer.

"Yes. We will get no information out of those two. Both gentlemen will speak to their valets of nothing more important than the weather, the day's schedule, and the proper attire for the day. Lord Blake might speak a little of women, business or family, but it would be a rare occasion, and all one-sided, and the information would never be shared."

"And Darcy?" Rawlings held his glass for a refill.

"It is as definite as the sun rising in the east that the words uttered by Mr. Darcy would be polite, but not a syllable more than was necessary."

"I suppose Kent is different from the others?"

Logan placed his glass on the table. He almost never had more than one drink with his master - almost. "Mr. Kent spends his time trying to emulate Mr. Darcy. Unlike most newly rich, he does not put on airs to his servants. However, I am sure he accentuates his higher station to his valet."

"And the valet?"

"He is pleased to be employed."

Rawlings finished his cigar and drank the last of his brandy. "Logan, please draw me a bath."

Logan stood and returned to his duties as a valet. "Right away, Mr. Rawlings."

As Logan prepared the bath, his thoughts dwelt on how he, a son of a valet from a long line of valets, had come to lead a life so different from any other valet he knew. He recalled his first meeting with Rawlings, then only a strapping young lad of eighteen, one who had recently lost his mother.

"Logan, tell me about your mother. Where is she from?" he had asked.

Logan had taken pity on him, then, for both had lost their mothers. That, and Rawlings reminded him of his younger brother. And that was how it had all started. They had been confidants after that. No matter how hard he had tried to be a well-trained valet, Mr. Rawlings seemed to prefer a loyal friend.

Placing the bath accessories alongside the tub, he mused over all the various conversations they had had over the last nine years. As Mr. Logan, they spoke of scandals, town gossip, women, gaming, current events, and business. He spent much of his free time reading books, especially Shakespeare, and all the London newspapers Rawlings recommended. Thus, he was able to discuss issues in a meaningful way.

Rawlings had never sought a yea and nay man, which suited Logan just fine. Recently, it was that much better, for it appeared his master now wanted a drinking partner to curb his habit of indulging to excess. Logan was not exactly one to turn down a good brandy in the evening, and he did so admire Rawlings' taste in fine wines.

"Logan, you are lost in thought. Anything I need to know?"

Logan returned to the present. At this moment, they were not drinking partners. Rawlings was the master busy contemplating his bath and Logan was the valet engaged in drawing it.

"No. I was recalling the time I came to work with you, Mr. Rawlings. Fond memories to be sure."

"Yes, I was an obnoxious little bastard. Do you not agree?"

"You were a young man with oats to sow, sir." His reply was a perfect answer from a well-trained valet.

His master explained the whole of the day's business while he took his bath. He left nothing out. The valet remained silent throughout.

Entering his sitting room, a now dressed Rawlings asked as they returned to their chairs, "Mr. Logan, have you come to any conclusions?"

Logan smiled on cue. "I am sure you will probably be asked to handle the fur trade. Kent is not up to it."

"Yes, I quite agree with you. Darcy hinted as much today. I would like to sail to the new world and spend a little time getting to know the business and this man John Jacob Astor."

"How long would that take?" Logan asked.

"The crossing will take at least two months. I plan to stay another month or two and then return home. All totaled, it should take no more than five or six months. If we leave in December, we could be back some time early spring. I have no desire to be in England during the Christmas season."

It was just as well Logan had not previously revealed what had been his own plans for the holiday period. He did indeed prefer this trip across the Atlantic to see for himself this curious new land.

Rawlings continued. "Perhaps if I can get us passage on the Lively the transatlantic journey would only take seven and thirty days. Did I tell you that Kent's family built that ship? A cousin, I believe. His name is Watt as well; an Edward Watt. I do not know if it is the same family as Bingley's Watt. I assume so. It is astonishing what Kent's family is involved in."

"Is he related to the Kent that was the architect of Holkham Hall for the Earl of Leicester?"

Rawlings nodded. "Yes, his great uncle or second cousin, I think." He paused, as he pondered a sudden thought. "I suppose there must have been some connection between the Kent and Darcy families. It was actually Derbyshire alabaster that they used for the earl's building, and the Darcy family owns all the alabaster there."

Logan lowered his head, but still looked at Rawlings. "Then, for our comfort's sake, let us hope that the Lively is headed that way."

"We must get over there," Rawlings said excitedly. Bingley also suggested I investigate Robert Fulton. He has actually built a commercial steam vessel using a Watt engine. If we make it to New York, we need to take a ride on Fulton's North River Steamboat to Albany. Bingley is anxious to learn all he can. Make a note of that."

Logan nodded as he scribbled in a journal. "Bingley and Kent seem to be well connected."

Rawlings scoffed. "Do you realize that of the five of us, Kent and Bingley are connected to some of the most progressive families? Although I suspect Kent is the more connected gentleman of the two. Shipping, textiles, import, export, gems, carriages, and what else I know not. He is from a most ambitious family."

"Yes, it seems so." Logan stood to stir the fire.

"I will never be able to repay Darcy for including me in this venture. I suppose he thought he was just returning a favor from our time after graduation from Cambridge."

Nodding, Logan turned back to look at his master with raised brows. "Yes, I recall that time. Where would Mr. Darcy be if not for you?"

"Forty thousand pounds richer, I imagine."

"But, he may not have survived the ordeal. He is not as strong as you."

"Oh, he would have landed on his feet. Of that, I am sure. He has the markings of a true gentleman."

The two men remained silent for a moment.

Finished with the fire, Logan returned to his chair. "Fur trade? Is that the only reason you want to go to America?"

"No, you are quite right again. I would like to look for my own opportunities there." Sitting upright, he tapped his fingers on the table. "I wonder at the lack of concern most Englishmen have when it comes to America as a competitor. I believe they will push us unlike any other country. I do have a concern about our own abilities."

"How so?"

"We were unable to defeat them in battle and that was not a good indication of our strength. Although, I fear, it may be tested again soon."

"Let us hope it does not happen while we are there seeking to do business with them."

Rawlings stood to stretch out his back. "They are but our uncouth, uneducated offspring but still we must be wary of them,"

"Do the opportunities include women or just business?" Logan asked, smiling.

"Both, of course. I seek business opportunities everywhere. In the Americas, I am sure to be sought after, even if they pretend not to care that I am a son of an earl. Now the women, on the other hand, will be openly enthralled by my noble bloodlines."

"I also understand they are not as rigid when it comes to social interaction," Logan said with twinkling eyes. "You will not have to marry if you did a lot more than just kiss a girl."

Rawlings shook his head. "I do not know how they function without a class structure. I assume it all has to do with money."

Logan wondered the same, but with a different purpose in mind. "I shall look for appropriate reading material for such a journey. Do you have any preferences or recommendations?"

"No, just gather what you can. We will be taking a short trip back to London for father's birthday dinner. I will provide you with enough funds to purchase every book about the new world, the fur trade and steamboats."

"Very good, sir."

"Oh, one more thing. Bingley received an urgent message this afternoon. Find out if it effects this alliance."

"I already know the contents, sir. It is not of dire import. It does not impact you at all; at least, I do not think it will." Logan told Rawlings what he had learned.

"I agree, certainly not a problem for me. Well, goodnight, Logan."

Logan made sure to bow to his master before he left the room.

Chapter 7

Posted on Sunday, 30 March 2008

After spending several days on the many facets of business, Lord Blake rose early to take his horse for a gallop in an attempt to clear his head. Slowing to a trot, he reflected on Rawlings' position. His friend appeared willing to join with Darcy and collaborate with Kent and Bingley. Nevertheless, Blake realized he was merely a second son, and did not have certain obligations that an heir to a dukedom had to consider. Rawlings, clearly a man of his own, did not need to worry about money. As he rode further into the wooded path, Blake continued to ponder the situation, especially the temptation for future wealth. Darcy needed his decision before Mr. Phillips arrived later that afternoon.

His mind was thus occupied when Miss Elizabeth Bennet, walking along the very path inhabited by him and his horse, diverted his attention. His memory had not failed him.

Quickly dismounting, Blake greeted her warmly. "Miss Bennet!"

"Lord Blake," Elizabeth replied with no sign of ill-will, curtsying and lifting her eyes to meet his bright smile.

"I do not mean to interrupt your walk. Pray continue," Blake said in all politeness, although he hoped that she would invite him along.

"It is not unwelcome, my lord."

Having turned to resume her walk, Elizabeth looked back and smiled at Blake. With such encouragement before him, he immediately tied his horse to a tree branch and quickly ran to catch up with her.

As soon as he reached her, Lord Blake offered his arm and asked nervously, "What brings you out here so early in the day?"

With graceful calmness, Elizabeth took his offered arm. "The day seems most promising when the sun begins its ascent. I like to start my day with the sunrise, while it is fresh and new."

When she returned his smile, he breathed easier. He attempted to keep his eyes on the path before them as they continued walking, but he found himself repeatedly stealing glances at her hand atop his arm. Although the marquess was tempted to caress the small delicate hand within such easy reach, he merely placed his free hand behind his back and squeezed it repeatedly.

Looking up to the sky, he cleared his voice. "I, too, love the sunrise. Weather permitting I ride every morning. It helps to clear my head of all the unnecessary tedious details that find their way there."

Elizabeth raised her right eyebrow. "There are tedious details in Netherfield Park?" Smiling, she watched him squirm, and then chuckled at his obvious discomfort.

"Yes. Quite decidedly so," he admitted after a moment of reflection. "Tedious details abound when the room is empty of the fairer sex." His smile softened at the sight of her uncommonly arresting eyes.

"You would not say that if you found your way to Longbourn and its many female residents." Shuddering, the young lady blinked as she diverted her eyes, releasing a short sigh.

"You tiresome? I shall say not. You are quite easily excited and amused, I think. I can see it in your eyes." His own smile deepened as he watched her lower her eyes but her mischievous smile remained.

Emboldened, he breathed in deeply. "Do you often walk this way, or do you have other paths to recommend to a kindred spirit?" He glanced around the forest until his eyes returned to hers.

"I know a few. I am curious though, are you interested in paths for foot or saddle?"

With a bemused expression, he scoffed. "Saddle, of course. I ride and do not typically walk. Do you not ride, Miss Bennet?"

"Not if I can help it. I do know how, but I would rather walk. I feel apart from nature when I sit high upon a horse." She waved her free hand towards the trees. "I prefer to stop and admire all the forest's entertainments and its many decorations."

Blake took a step closer. "You have confirmed my theory. Not even the quiet forest is tedious to you. And I daresay you decorate the forest very well." His eyes flickered with interest as he surveyed the entirety of her.

Blushing profusely, she looked away from him.

After some moments of silence, he stopped, reached down, picked a wildflower and held it out to her. His palms began to sweat as she, glancing at him with half hidden eyes, twirled it under her nose. He again offered his arm as they continued along the path. As before, he held his hand behind his back and repeatedly made a tight fist. As she took his arm, he cleared his throat, drawing her eyes to him, "I see what you mean. I could not have given this to you from the height of a horse. It is my guess that you prefer a wildflowers to those tended in a garden."

Elizabeth looked up to him with certainty. "I like both, my lord, for each has their place. Do you not agree?"

"True. There is nothing as sweet as the perfume or loveliness of a garden flower. Yet there can be no greater surprise than to find the unexpected blossom along the unkempt forest floor."

"Which is your favorite?

"Ah, the unexpected surprise has to be the greater joy. The garden flower is displayed for all to enjoy," Blake said then peeked at the flower in her hand and added, "while the wildflower is reserved for only those fortunate and wise enough to venture into its path."

Sneaking a quick look to observe her reaction, Blake cleared his throat when she looked away. "There is one advantage to a garden flower." When she glimpsed at him with a questioning look, he sniffed the air. "Lavender makes the sweetest perfume."

Inhaling slowly he briefly closed his eyes. Even though she was smiling, he noticed the crimson color of her face and neck before she dropped her head from his view.

They continued their walk, but he steered clear of any more awkward chitchat. They effortlessly discussed books, travel and the many attractions of London. After an hour, they parted to fill their stomachs as full as they had just filled their heads.

Arriving for breakfast, Blake noticed everyone sat at the table in their usual places. Kent sat on Bingley's right while Darcy sat on his left. His seat was next to Darcy and directly across from Rawlings. The other end remained empty as it did not permit ease of conversation. He was quick to determine that their talk was centered on upcoming social events in the area. Sir William had invited the entire household to a party at Lucas Lodge.

Teasingly, in the mean way men do, they chided each other about several of the Bennet sisters.

Filling his plate from the buffet, his thoughts drifted back to his encounter with Miss Elizabeth. I was such an addle-pate. Schoolboys with their little puppy love are less silly than I was this morning. What drivel did I say to her? I must watch my actions more closely and not be so forward. Flowers. . .whatever got into me? Damn, Rawlings was right. I do woo with flowers!

He sat down just as the others spoke of the meeting later that day. Jumping into the conversation he said, "Darcy, I look forward to it. Regardless of what I have said, I am intrigued, and it would not be a hardship to stay here for a while longer." He had not taken a single bite, nor had Darcy responded before Rawlings interrupted”

"What can we expect another long session? I do have to leave in a few days."

"Are you not leaving tomorrow?" Bingley asked.

The others were equally surprised and looked at Rawlings.

"I know I had planned to leave, but I am too interested to depart just now. "Besides. . ." Rawlings glanced at Blake and Bingley with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Besides, there is still Sir William's party to attend. Who would want to miss a chance to visit with certain ladies of this county?"

Preferring to smile at his own thoughts, Blake did not bother to reward Rawlings with any comment.

Bingley nodded hospitably. "Very good, you are welcome to stay as long as you like."

Rawlings finished a bite of his morning pastry. "I will be leaving after Sir William's soiree. I cannot delay the trip to London beyond that day. Rest assured though, I will return if for no other reason than to indulge myself in more of these wonderful sweet treats."

Darcy wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Oh, do not forget you have a mission to perform on your return to town, so keep that in mind. Time is of dire import."

Rawlings nodded his concurrence.

As the men finished with their breakfast, Darcy informed them there was no more need for business until Mr. Phillips arrived. Quickly, the men finished their coffee and left for the billiards room. Their voices were slightly raised, their stride was purposeful, and their words were mixed with laughter. Once inside, Kent approached Darcy. "So, when do we meet with the solicitor?"

"This afternoon at two."

The men spent the morning playing Twenty Points. Blake's game had improved to the detriment of the other men. He admitted to practicing several evenings while the others retired to their rooms. He won all but one of the games. Kent won the other. Laughing, Rawlings suggested Bingley devise a different game, one that Blake could not so easily master. Bingley, the usual winner, merely shrugged.

Arriving in the library for some refreshments, they immediately noticed how different the room looked. Before the servants had arranged the chairs in a circle near the fireplace, now they had placed them at a very large table. Hurrying to fill their plates, Rawlings was not the only one pleased there was a tray full of the sweat treats alongside the fruits. For a full hour, the men spoke of many things, none of which was business related, as they enjoyed the meal. The servants had finished removing the luncheon trays when there was a knock on the door.

Entering, Whitson announced, "Mr. Phillips."

He stepped into the room, bowing as deeply as possible without losing control of the many papers in his hands. Maintaining control, he held himself erect with his shoulders back and head held high.

Bingley rose to greet him. "Welcome, Mr. Phillips. Would you care to take a seat here by the table? You could spread your papers out and be more comfortable that way."

Laying his papers on the table, Mr. Phillips watched Bingley stand alongside Mr. Darcy. "Good day, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy." They had met when Darcy accompanied Bingley to obtain the lease on Netherfield Park.

Bowing politely, Darcy quickly introduced the other three gentlemen. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Phillips."

In order to hide the alliance from London, at least for a while, everyone had previously agreed on using a local solicitor rather than a better-qualified man from town. Mr. Phillips was the best solicitor in this area.

"It is an honor to be of service." He bowed to each of the men.

Sitting down, everyone waited for Darcy to begin and when he did, he began the discussion in his most serious tone. "Secrecy is the key. I will explain our plans to you in sufficient detail to draw up the legal documents. We, none of us, want any news of this alliance to find its way to London, or even around Hertfordshire."

The men nodded their agreement.

Rawlings enjoyed watching the scene in front of him. It resembled a lion and a lamb. The lion was in charge, and the lamb was happy just to not be eaten. He caught himself chuckling aloud. Darcy, he noted, was sitting in the largest chair with his friends lined up in a semi-circle of sorts. There was a table between them, and a lone chair for Mr. Phillips on the other side. More like a lion's cave than a den. Poor man! I do not believe I could think clearly with such a united, powerful front staring directly at me. Well now, let us see what makes this man!

After organizing his papers into several piles, Mr. Phillips sat rigidly in his chair and spoke with confidence. "You can be assured of my silence, good sirs. I will take all precautions to ensure none of my acquaintances will be aware of this. Not one of my acquaintances, sirs, not even those that are my closest confidants will be privileged to this information."

"Thank you for your assurances. Now, we need a document drawn up that explicitly states all the finite detail of this alliance." Mr. Darcy paused until Mr. Phillips had his writing instruments ready.

Finally, with pen in hand and paper at the ready, Mr. Phillips gave the sign to continue.

Looking around the room, Darcy smiled when he noticed Blake's slight nod. "We have come to agreement as to what to include.

The meeting continued for several hours with a more relaxed solicitor furiously taking notes as each man described his role and what they wanted included in the written agreement. He shrugged or nodded at each of their demands. His expression remained calm until he heard the words prohibition and embargo. With opened eyes, he halted all writing. Placing his pen down, he crossed his arms tightly against his chest and leaned back in his chair.

Smiling, Darcy leaned forward and spoke calmly. "Do not worry, Mr. Phillips. We are only looking toward the future. We doubt sincerely that anything would be in place before America lifts the embargo. By that time, we would not be going against England. We seek a jump on the competition is all!" He leaned back with his hands clasped together casually in his lap before his darkened eyes bore into Mr. Phillips. "That is why this information is to be the most secret. We would not want any misunderstanding by our government to jeopardize the mission."

"I see. I see." Picking up his pen, a startled Mr. Phillips nodded. "Secrecy is the key in circumstances such as these."

"Will you be able to attend to these matters?" Rawlings asked.

"Yes, I do not see any immediate obstacles on my part."

"When will we be able to have the documents ready?" Darcy watched Mr. Phillips put away his writing pens and collect his papers together.

"In order to ensure the secrecy you desire, I will have to be circumspect in my actions. And I will need to research some areas. Although, as I have said, I do not see any major obstacles, I do want to be careful." He rummaged through his papers. "I imagine this will take at least a fortnight."

Bowing his head, Darcy said, "We will be available here at Netherfield Park if any need should arise.

As Mr. Phillips stood to leave, all the men rose in unison.

Bingley directed his attention to the sideboard table's array of pleasurable treats. "Mr. Phillips, will you stay for some refreshment? Perhaps, a glass of wine?"

Phillips shared a single glass of wine and a toast to the future. He shared a few amusing stories about the local residents and a few interesting tidbits about his nieces' childhood antics. Returning to the table to pick up his papers, he indicated he was anxious to get started. As the two men left the room, Bingley praised him for his good work and patience.

"Do you trust him, Darcy?" Rawlings asked. The others, too, waited for the answer.

"It is obvious that he was taken aback by the fur trade aspect of the plan, but he came around. He did ensure us his wife would be ignorant of the alliance. In the end, I believe he is a little fearful of us, and that should keep him in check. He knows we are a powerful group."

Everyone appeared satisfied. The men broke for the remainder of the day. Blake and Darcy remained in the library to spend the early evening reading. Rawlings returned to his bedchamber, where he was anxious to share his thoughts with Logan.

Kent and Bingley went immediately into the billiard room. Even though the room connected to the library, the closed door between them allowed for some privacy. There they often spoke freely about the others while they continued an ongoing private competition. They were tied. The two men had spent a quarter of an hour playing before Kent called his friend on his lack of focus.

"Bingley. Bingley! It is your shot."

"Sorry, I was not attending." He leaned on his cue stick. "I was remembering how poor Mr. Phillips looked when Darcy told him about the fur trade. I never knew anyone could open their eyes that wide."

"Yes, that was quite a fright for him. A dishonest person would not have reacted so."

Bingley finished his shot. "Are you pleased with the arrangements?"

"All is well, except I dare say I am not happy with Blake. He is like so many others of his kind." His eyes narrowed into an intimidating glare directed at the cue ball on the table.

Bingley paused to watch his friend take his shot. "I am sure he means well. You and I are both aware of what the nobility is taught from their early childhood." He studied the shot choices Kent left. "Do you feel Darcy is more accepting then?"

"Yes, but he is not titled himself, although he does have an earl for an uncle. He is a little more accommodating. Of course, I have something he wants. I doubt I will ever have something Blake wants."

"You have many assets that he does not have. As you have said the world is changing. Blake may come around. It is hard to overcome a lifetime of prejudice."

"Bah! He will never change. If it were not for Darcy, Lord Blake, as it is with all nobles, would never agree to connect to me," he said, turning to glare at Bingley. "Or to you for that matter."

Catching sight of Bingley's furrowed brow, Kent imitated Blake. "Surely you are not saying trades people are on an equal level with gentry." He knocked the ball in the pocket with great intensity.

"Do not judge too quickly. I think underneath it all, he is deserving of our friendship. How do you find Rawlings?"

"Now, he is one gentleman with whom I can do business. He does not seem affected by status, although he does have his moments too. Curiously though, I have seen how he speaks to his man, Logan, and am surprised by their relationship."

Bingley nodded, took his shot, and grinning from ear to ear announced, "Game, Kent. I am now one ahead again."

"Till tomorrow, my friend. Till tomorrow."

As Kent left Bingley, thoughts swirled about in his head. I am surprised at how much a man will share when busy competing for something relatively meaningless.

Thus, when Darcy entered the billiard room, he found his friend leaning on a cue stick, staring out into the distance. "Twenty Points, Bingley?"

Snapping upright, he returned his attention to the billiards room. "At your service. I admit I am surprised you prefer to play Twenty Points over the usual game of billiards."

"Well, I know I cannot beat you at that game."

Grinning, Bingley proceeded to set the table. "I do not think you can beat me at this one either!"

Darcy picked out his cue stick, then stopped and examined it closely. "Well, can your family invent a better cue stick as Rawlings suggested?"

"Come on, my clever friend, it is just a stick!"

Fidgeting with his stick, he waited for Bingley to rack up the balls. "I believe the discussions went well today."

Nodding, he offered Darcy the first shot.

He took the shot that began the game, sighing loudly when it missed. "I am also more confident about Mr. Phillips. You were better at judging him than I was."

Although startled by his friend's uncommon confession, Bingley quickly put his opinion in plain words, "I do not fear Mr. Phillips. He seems a good sort of person. And he likes being involved as much as he likes the money, I dare say. The rest went very smoothly considering everyone attending."

"I agree it went well." Darcy patted his friend on the shoulder. "You did very well. Everyone is quite impressed by your family background."

Bingley made his shot. He leaned on his cue stick as Darcy surveyed to table. "Thank you. How are your two doing?"

Abruptly stopping, Darcy considered the reactions of Blake and Rawlings before speaking. "Rawlings is not a problem. He is willing to handle the fur trade. Blake is a little shaky, but we discussed that possibility before.

"Yes, you were correct about Blake. Even so, I am hopeful he will become more confident in the alliance."

"Giving Blake the rifle did help bring him around. Nice touch."

After nodding to the compliment, Bingley narrowed his eyes and said, "I had the most difficult time convincing my man not to take offense at the tradesmen stabs Blake made."

Darcy furrowed his brow. "Is there a problem? Kent is critical to the alliance, as is Blake. Each one has the connections needed to pursue some of the endeavors. Otherwise, you and I could just go it alone with most of the other areas."

Bingley shook his head. "He wants to connect himself to a higher society; he will eventually learn to hide his contempt for peers."

"Let us hope so. Tomorrow we attend Sir William Lucas' party, is that not correct?" Darcy pushed his cue stick forward. "Blast!"

Bingley released a long sigh, relaxed his shoulders and stance. "Yes, and tomorrow I will gladly leave behind these heavy discussions." Shaking his head, he added, "I do not understand how you enjoy such serious talk."

"Then it is better I am the one that worries about the many details, and not you." Darcy flashed his own trademark smile at Bingley's usual grin.

"Yes, the details are all yours. Another point for me," Bingley said as his ball fell into the pocket. "My total is now nine points."

Darcy concentrated on the shot left for him. After a moment of careful study, he hit the cue ball, chuckling when three balls fell into their pockets. "Three more points for me taking my total to ten, I do like this game of yours."

"Good shot. As I said earlier, I am very glad to be of service."

Bingley leaned down to look for the best shot. Grinning, his shot placed two balls in the pocket leaving a terrible shot for his friend. The two men continued to study the table, take their turns, and keep account of their points. Play continued until Bingley showed a frowning friend how the real master at billiards played the game. "Twenty points. Game!"

Darcy put away their cue sticks and poured drinks. "To the victor." He then slowly lowered his head in deference to Bingley's win. Afterwards, he looked up, and with unrestrained interest in his eyes, asked, "I hope all is well with your family."

"Yes, all is well." Bingley answered coolly.

"And your relatives up north? All goes well with them?"

"Yes, they are quite fine. Thank you for inquiring."

"I suspect there are many concerns the Netherfield tenants may have at this time of year."

"I suspect you are correct." Bingley smiled slightly with a twinkle in his eyes.

Darcy shifted his weight back and forth and cleared his throat several times. He hesitated, looked intently at Bingley and finally said, "I believe all is well in London too. I have not read anything of interest in the papers all the while we have been here."

"Darcy, stop being coy!" Bingley grinned widely at his friend's reddened face. "If you want to know about the message, ask. I would not hold anything back from you."

"All right. Was it anything that might affect the alliance?"

"Indirectly."

"Oh, is it anything I need to know?" Standing taller, Darcy's neck muscles tensed as he clutched the glass.

Bingley watched the range of emotions appearing on Darcy's face. "I suppose I should warn you."

"A problem?"

"Not for me, but it is surely a problem for you."

Darcy leaned forward, grabbing the side of the table with his eyes boring into his friend. "For God's sake, speak up man. What was in the message?"

Bingley grinned directly at Darcy. "Caroline will be joining us, as will the Hursts."

Releasing a long sigh and rolling his eyes, Darcy relaxed. "Ahhh. Yes, a problem for me." He quickly glanced at the door that led to the library. "It might be a problem for several of the others as well."

"Yes. As I said, it is not a problem for me."

"When will they arrive?"

"Sometime next month. Around the twelfth of November."

"We have a little more than a fortnight. But why was it so urgent?"

"It was not urgent on my part. It was urgent on Caroline's. She heard about our little foray into this area."

"All of us?"

"No. Just me and you." Bingley clarified, laughing, as he finished his drink. "I think I will retire now. Goodnight, and oh, yes, pleasant thoughts."

"Pleasant thoughts, indeed not!" Darcy muttered as his friend left the room.

Chapter 8

Posted on Tuesday, 8 April 2008

The Netherfield party arrived fashionably late to Sir William’s party; everyone else had arrived before them. At least four and twenty families were in attendance at Lucas Lodge, but the presence of the Bennets provided them wit the most pleasure. All five of the daughters had come, causing three of the men to smile and grin unreservedly. The addition of Colonel Forster and several redcoats to the usual amalgam of Hertfordshire society created a mix of red to the gentry’s finery. While Darcy was relieved this evening included more men than ladies, Rawlings had hoped this evening the color blue would have been the most becoming color of the night.

Sir William bowed politely and the gentlemen returned the gesture in kind. “Ah, gentlemen, good evening. I am honored by your presence.” He directed their attention to a small group of officers to the left. “Please let me introduce you to our newest resident, Colonel Forster. You may be interested in his stories, as he has just returned from the continent.”

After making the introductions, Rawlings, Kent, and Darcy engaged in an enlightening conversation with the colonel while Bingley sought out Miss Bennet and Blake looked for Miss Elizabeth.

Darcy focused not on the colonel’s retelling of a battle but on Elizabeth Bennet’s eyes as they lit up when Blake walked toward her. He frowned. I will have to speak to him soon. Realizing he was not attending to the colonel’s discussion, he removed himself to the fireplace. From there, he could watch Elizabeth and Blake’s conversation unimpeded. Although he could not hear their words, he could watch their expressions. He noted that Blake spoke first.

“Miss Elizabeth, I am the fortunate one today.” Blake bowed slightly without releasing his eyes from hers.

“How so, my lord?”

“Why, you have not only attended this gathering today, but you have also honored me with your smile. Are those wildflowers?”

Nodding, she touched the delicate blossoms in her hair. “Lord Blake, have you long been friends with Mr. Bingley and the others?”

“Yes, we all attended Cambridge together and shared the same lodgings. The five of us became friends when Mr. Rawlings’ mother passed away. That facilitated a bond between us, you see, as we were all without mothers as well.”

“I do not quite see. How did that bind you?” Elizabeth asked.

“Mothers are the necessary ingredient to civilize the beasts! We all laughed about our being wild without restraint, you understand. So we tried to civilize each other. We agreed that each of us would dress up as a mother for one of the others. Mother would then lecture her adopted son about his uncivilized ways – gambling, drinking and, umm, other things that wild gentlemen do. Of course, Mother would have to partake of much drink to wear the dress.”

Elizabeth opened her eyes wide. “A dress?”

“Perhaps not literally,” Blake confessed with a sheepish smile.

“But there are five of you here? Was there not another to even it all out? Or was one of you left without even a substitute mother?”

“You are correct. We each have one mother, except Bingley, who has four. We all reserve the right to lecture him! He is the youngest among us.”

“So mothers lecture, is that what you think, Lord Blake?”

“Well, lecture may not be the correct term. Shall we say educate instead?”

Elizabeth smiled widely. “And in what subject did your substitute mother educate you?”

Blake shook his head. “No, Miss Elizabeth. You know very well that a mother’s conversation with her children is confidential. I am sure your mother has educated you, and you would not wish to reveal any of it.”

“True. Nevertheless, did your mother try to match make you a wife? Did she tell you to smile and blink your eyes and hide away your wit and intelligence?” Elizabeth bowed her head, and then she slowly looked up to him with a very broad smile and rapidly blinking her eyes.

He chuckled. “No, but if you could have heard Mother Fitzwilliam humorously lecture me, excuse me, educate me about women, you would surely be laughing now.”

“Fitzwilliam? And which gentleman is Mother Fitzwilliam?”

Blake inclined his head towards Darcy. “Why, Mr. Darcy of course. I need the very best to educate me.”

Hearing his name, Darcy realized they were both staring at him. He swiftly diverted his eyes to the other guests.

Blake returned his gaze upon Elizabeth. “Sorry, we all agreed to use our given names when posing as the fairer sex.”

“You mean the wiser sex!”

“Wiser, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Yes, you have said that your role as mother is to educate. Does that not make the female gender wiser?” Elizabeth raised her right eyebrow in anticipation of Blake’s surrender.

He presented her with a slight nod of his head. “You are right; I stand corrected. As I said, we use our given names when we pose or direct a question to Mother. I guess it is a code of sorts.”

Endeavoring to conceal the doubt from her voice, she asked, “So, Mr. Darcy was humorously lecturing you about women?”

“Yes, precisely, and you would have found the humor in it as well, I am sure.”

Elizabeth remained purposely silent on that comment. She looked at Blake with questioning eyes and then glanced at the other members of the Netherfield Party. “And to whom were you the mother?”

“I, Mother Robert, dressed up for the Honorable Gerald Rawlings, second son of the Earl of Wolverly.” He almost curtsied as he spoke. While wearing a dress was not required, all the men did curtsey occasionally when they portrayed a mother. The depth of the curtsey corresponded with the amount of drink consumed beforehand.

Looking over to Colonel Forster’s group, she shook her head, as she was unable to picture Mr. Rawlings accepting Lord Blake’s advice on any topic.

“Miss Elizabeth, I must assure you that I have behaved properly by cautioning Mr. Rawlings about the evils of women,” Blake said drawing her eyes back on him.

“And what evils are those, Mother Robert?”

For the briefest of moments the air was still before Blake answered slowly, “Why the evils of beautiful eyes in a beautiful face with a smile that lights up a person’s heart. A woman so unique she would cause the man to lose sight of all his goals in life; a woman so special, he could do nothing but follow her command.”

“And would this mother have an evil woman in mind?” Elizabeth asked, even if she knew she was tempting fate.

“Yes, Miss Bennet, Mother Robert does.” Blake lowered his chin towards his chest and in such a way that his sky blue eyes suddenly darkened to a deep cobalt, catching Elizabeth unprepared as he said quietly to her, “And Mother Robert has decided she is best suited to someone other than Mr. Rawlings, or Mr. Bingley, or Mr. Kent or even Mr. Darcy.”

He surprised himself with this revelation. Watching her blush, he detected the sound of a heart pounding so hard he could almost make out its rhythm. Placing his hand upon his chest, he quickly realized it was not only her heart beating in such a way. As they stood starng at each other, neither was aware of other eyes watching them.

Mrs. Bennet leaned in close to Lady Lucas and whispered, “Why Lord Blake’s look said it all. He is smitten with one of my girls. He, a marquess, wanting my Elizabeth!

Mr. Darcy had quickly moved to join Blake and Elizabeth. He stood close to Elizabeth as Charlotte Lucas approached the group. Having witnessed Elizabeth’s deep blush, she felt it her duty to rescue her friend. "I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows."

Glancing at Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth answered Charlotte. "You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable; but as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers."

Blake offered his arm. “Please, Miss Elizabeth? I would dearly love to hear you play.”

“For you, I shall make an exception.” Elizabeth tipped her head as she took his arm.

At that, Mr. Darcy openly met her eyes with a strange, black stare. She could not quite make out its meaning, but of its intensity, she could have no doubt. His eyes bored into hers. She felt them on her even as she turned her back to approach the instrument.

What is amiss about me, tonight? Elizabeth thought. Well, Mr. Darcy can simmer in his own thoughts. As she moved to the piano, she imagined him dressed up as a mother giving ... What did Lord Blake say? Humorous advice. Bah! It is not possible for a man so smug and so haughty to own one ounce of humor.

Planning to turn the pages for her, Blake quickly moved towards the piano.

“I play from memory, Lord Blake,” Elizabeth whispered. She watched him retreat to Mr. Darcy’ side as she began to perform.

Darcy spoke quietly to his friend. “Her performance was acceptable, though by no means on the level of many London ladies.”

“Is there nothing these people can do to please you?” Blake asked.

“You seem to be pleased. Too much, in my opinion. Take care and remember our discussion when we were hunting the other day. Do not give her false hopes.”

The two men parted. Lord Blake made his way to the piano and Mr. Darcy left to stand by the window. Darcy’s eyes never left Elizabeth as she moved to allowed Mary a turn at the piano. His lips turned up slightly when Blake arrived at the piano a little too late and in the end, turned pages for Mary.

Across the room, Kent handed Rawlings a glass of wine. “When do you leave?”

Rawlings winced as he took a sip. “In the morning, before breakfast. I delayed my journey to the last second.”

“How long do you stay in London?”

“Perhaps a se’nnight. Family obligations, you understand. My father is celebrating his birthday, and we all must attend. He will be five and fifty.”

“Is there much festivity planned?”

Rawlings exhaled loudly. “Dinner and a ball. The ball is not for my father, but for my self-indulgent brother, Reginald. They have finally negotiated a bride for him; or, shall we say, rather sold him to the highest bidder.” He closed his eyes. He and Kent had often discussed their personal life, although it was usually over brandy in the old days of Cambridge. He was, after all, Kent’s mother.

Kent questioned his friend with his look. “You seem concerned; I did not think you were close to your brother.”

“No, it is not my brother that concerns me. I fear they will place me on the auction block as well,” Rawlings admitted with a self-conscious laugh.

Having finished turning the pages for Mary, Blake joined the two, interrupting the easygoing conversation between his friends. “So, you are off in the morning, Rawlings? Could you take several letters I have written to my uncles?”

“Of course. Is one for the uncle in politics we spoke of during our talks the other day?” Rawlings asked.

Blake nodded. “Yes, and there is a letter for my uncle that is involved in the London Stock Exchange.”

Rawlings chuckled. “Now I see why Darcy feels you are the best choice for all things financial.”

“I hope to meet with both my uncles when next I am in town. I need to advise them when I will return. Do you have any idea when Bingley plans to leave?”

Rawlings shook his head. “I understood he was to stay a month, but that was before he found his lady of the moment. I suspect it will be longer now. For him there is no point in his returning to London.” Rawlings inclined head towards Elizabeth. “You have not a similar obligation to stay, do you, Blake?”

Blake ignored the pointed reference. “I am not needed in town for another month. My uncles will not be there before then.”

Having followed the direction of Rawlings’ look, Kent turned to Blake and said abruptly, “I noticed you were having an intense conversation earlier.”

Blake glared at Kent. “You notice too much. Perhaps if you filled your time with activity you would not focus so often on others.”

Bowing, Kent said blandly, “I beg your pardon. I did not mean any offense. I was just concerned when Miss Elizabeth appeared flustered.” Kent did not attempt to conceal his smirk.

Blake’s anger flashed in his eyes. “You do not know what flustered is. I doubt if you have ever experienced anything resembling an intense conversation. I am surprised you could recognize one when you saw one.”

Coughing, Rawlings gained Blake’s attention. “Tell me, will you be visiting Goulding’s stables tomorrow?”

“I was not aware that a visit is on the agenda. I am at Bingley’s mercy there.”

Rawlings handed Blake a drink. “Pardon me. Mr. Goulding made arrangements earlier tonight. You were busy with Miss Elizabeth at the time.” Rawlings brushed an imaginary speck of lint from his coat.

“Bingley and Darcy are anxious to see his prize stallion. I understand it is sought after by many people,” Kent said.

Blake shrugged. “Mr. Goulding would say that even if it was not true.”

“It will be interesting then, to hear of your visit when I return,” Rawlings said.

“You will take the letters?”

“Yes, of course. I will see to it they are delivered immediately upon my arrival.”

“Thank you.” Blake abruptly left to stand alone at the window. He and Darcy shared this trait in common—staring out the window when they did not wish to be bothered. I was unduly rude. Kent is a nice enough sort of chap, and I will be in business with him. I must seek him out at Netherfield and apologize for my actions towards him of late. But who is he to think he can speak to me in such a way?

Kent concentrated on Blake and Darcy’s seeming interest in the same woman. More often than not, the dark looks Darcy cast towards a woman pointed to a desire for the lady. However, tonight he was uncertain if he stared in interest at Elizabeth or in concern at Blake. Sighing at the thought of the consequences of a rivalry between the two men, he caught sight of another friend standing a little too close to the eldest Bennet daughter.

“You seem lost in thought,” Rawlings commented, his words pulling Kent from his reverie.

“Perhaps, but then I am not alone. I noticed earlier you seemed fascinated by something. Or someone.”

“We are such a pair. One is a thinking man and another is an enjoying man. What holds your mind?”

Kent tilted his head towards Bingley. “To be honest, I was thinking of how often Bingley finds a new lady. It is his usual habit.”

“Yes, he does seem infatuated.” Rawlings eyes found Bingley, who, of course, was deep in conversation with Miss Bennet. “And Darcy seems more withdrawn than usual. But I suspect it is the alliance that has him distracted.”

“Perhaps it is so, but perhaps it is something else.” Kent did not share Rawlings’ opinion. Darcy is never withdrawn over business, he thought.

Rawlings shrugged. “Well, no matter what Darcy may be about, it looks like Blake is friendlier tonight.”

“Yes, I was prepared for Bingley to find a new love, but not Blake. I suspect his friendliness is due to the second Bennet girl; Miss Elizabeth.”

“You noticed that too?”

Kent chuckled. “Yes, it seems the two of us are noticing everything tonight. Nevertheless, it is obvious enough for anyone to notice. Except, perhaps Bingley. I doubt he even knows they are in the same room.” He glanced over to Blake. "This time it appears Blake is preferred over Darcy. Normally, he has to stand in line for the women ignored by Darcy."

"As do we all.” Rawlings winced again as he took another sip of wine. “Except Bingley, who always seems to do very well for himself. No Darcy castoffs for him.”

"I agree. He has never needed Darcy’s help in that regard. What about you? What has caught your eye? Or should I say whom?”

Rawlings smiled. “Yes, it is true; I was watching the youngest Bennet girls. I cannot quite make out how they are so different from the two eldest. They are so animated – unlike any gentleman’s daughters I have ever known.”

“By animated do you mean laughing, flirting, and spilling their wine?” Kent refilled his own glass.

“Yes, they do seem to be having more fun than the others.”

“Especially the youngest ... Miss Lydia.” Kent tried hard to remember the other one’s name.

“Yes, the taller, prettier one.” Rawlings canvassed Lydia’s form. “She does wear the most revealing of dresses.”

Casting his eyes upon the youngest Bennet’s figure, Kent smirked. “She has much to reveal. In fact, she is the most well-endowed of all the Bennets.”

“Not if you consider her mother.”

Kent laughed a little too loudly, causing the youngest Bennet to turn and gaze at them. Rawlings openly smiled at her. She did not return his smile, preferring to flirt with the handsome red-coated gentleman by her side.

Rawlings sighed. “However, her mother puzzles me. She wants her daughters to marry well, and yet she does nothing to temper their actions.” Or shove them towards men of means instead of these insignificant little redcoats.

When Miss Mary began to play a tune well suited for dancing, Kent grinned at Rawlings. “Shame it is not a waltz so you would not have to wait to enjoy that well endowed figure!”

It was Kitty, and not Lydia, that looked towards Rawlings and smiled. He approached her and easily secured her hand for the dance. They lined up next to Lydia and her redcoat partner, who stood next to Bingley and Jane. Finally, young Thomas Lucas and his youngest sister, Maria joined the group and they began to dance.

Pleased that several of the young men had chosen to dance, Sir William approached Darcy for the very purpose of encouraging him to follow suit. Elizabeth passed by and, seeing the opportunity, recommended her to him. When she turned down Darcy’s offer, Sir William slowly edged his way elsewhere. Watching the refusal, Blake released a deep breath. He knew his opportunity had just disappeared; she could not dance with him now. He kept his eyes glued to Elizabeth as she moved to talk with her friend, Charlotte Lucas.

Darcy was too much engrossed by his own thoughts when Kent interrupted. "I can guess the subject of your reverie."

"I should imagine not."

"You are wishing we were back in Bingley’s library working on tedious business matters!"

"Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

“Dare I ask whose eyes might they be?” Kent asked.

Mr. Darcy replied with great intrepidity, "Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!" repeated Kent pretending to be ignorant. "Her eyes are fine, indeed, especially as she casts them on another.” He inclined his head towards Blake.

Furrowing his brow, Darcy narrowed he eyes. “Humph.”

Kent had mixed feelings. On one hand, Darcy’s confession was cause for concern. On the other, he felt his own goals might be easier to achieve if a relationship developed between the two. Such a dilemma!

Chapter 9

Posted on Saturday, 12 April 2008

Sitting down with his coffee and a small stack of mail, Darcy found the breakfast table empty. Blake, as usual, had ridden out before sunrise. Bingley and Kent were sleeping in, as was their habit following a party. Rawlings was preparing to leave for London.

Darcy had barely cracked the seal on the first letter when Whitson informed him that Rawlings wanted a word with him. Quickly gulping down the rest of his coffee, he hurried to meet his friend. He heard humming sounds coming from the library. Oh, he is in a jolly good mood.

Rawlings, dressed for riding, sat in his usual chair by the fire, nodding his head and tapping his fingers in time with the tune.

“You wished to speak to me?”

Startled, Rawlings jumped up. “Yes. I need a moment of your time.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows in a quizzical way, but he waited for his friend to compose his words. They settled into chairs facing each other.

“I want to thank you for including me in the alliance; although, I must admit I do not understand why. I bring nothing of any consequence.”

Squeezing the arms of the chair, Darcy lowered his eyes. “I owe you much.”

Rawlings raised his hand to stop him from speaking any further. He waited for his friend to relax.

“Why not join me for breakfast before you leave?” Darcy asked.

“Not this morning. I had a tray sent up early. Although, I am tempted to pack up a few of the cook’s sweet pastries.” Chuckling, Rawlings patted his stomach. “No! I ate too many treats already. If I keep this up no one will ever confuse us again!”

Darcy diverted his eyes. “Why did you wish to see me?”

“I am leaving in a few minutes. Is there anything you need for me to do in town?”

“Nothing more is needed than to book your passage and meet with Mr. Cuffage.”

“Oh, I will.” Rawlings patted his pocket. “Mr. Phillips gave me papers to take to Mr. Cuffage.” He leaned back in his chair. “This country solicitor has surprised me.”

“How so?” Darcy approached the window.

“His wife believes we are here as a shooting party.”

Darcy caught sight of Blake riding up the driveway in a slow trot. “And to find ourselves brides, I suspect.”

Rawlings shrugged. “Is marriage not what all women think about?”

“And fashion. Even Georgiana would not forgo dresses and shopping.” Darcy rolled his eyes.

“Spending money is women’s business. Men are the necessary evil that provides it.” Rawlings joined Darcy by the window. “I suppose that is why women pursue gentlemen the way they do, and the men find the means to offer it to them.” He narrowed his eyes. “Not all ways are honorable.”

For a short time, the two men wordlessly eyed Blake making his way to the stable.

Rawlings turned to Darcy. “Are you confident in this risky fur trade business?”

“If the Ascot deal does not work out, I will at least be satisfied we tried. More of the risks are on you.” Darcy clasped his friends shoulder. “The voyage is dangerous enough without having to worry about the Americans.”

“True, but the Royal Navy worries me more. I hope to be riding on a fast moving American-owned ship. Kent provided me with a letter to give the captain of the Lively.” Rawlings gave his friend a half frown. “As you are aware, the Navy boards American cargo ships and captures the men.”

“You should not worry. They would not dare conscript the son of an earl.”

“But, Logan may be pressed into service.” Rawlings altered his uneasy tone in his voice. “He has served me admirably.”

“And me also.” Darcy again clasped his friends shoulder. “He would not be touched on your say so alone.”

“Perhaps.” Rawlings relaxed. “I do crave the adventure all the same.”

“How long do you expect to be in London?”

“A week at most. I delayed my departure until the last possible moment. I am sure the earl is not pleased.”

Darcy bowed his head. “I beg your pardon for detaining you from family duties at this time.”

“I detest them.” Rawlings body became rigid. Staring out the window, he held his hands behind his back. “Unwilling people cannot be detained unless guns and shackles and the like are used.”

“Many kinds of guns and shackles exist,” Darcy said, quietly.

“I can attest to that!” Rawlings relaxed, turned to the door, and then glanced sideways at Darcy. “Well, I am off. Do you have any letters for me to take to town?”

Nodding, Darcy reached in his coat pocket.

“My pleasure.” Rawlings smiled as he took the thick letter. He pretended to weigh it with his hand as an imaginary scale. “I assume its weight is due to those four syllable words you are so fond of.”

Darcy sighed. Since Cambridge, his friends teased and taunted him about his propensity to struggle over word choice. It was not due to its length but to the exact meaning behind it.

Rawlings bowed, placed it in his pocket beside the other important documents, patted them tenderly and left. Logan was waiting with horses saddled and ready to leave.

Darcy returned to the dining room to find Bingley and Kent with their first forkfuls of breakfast fare swallowed. An unhappy Blake followed right behind him.

“Not an agreeable ride this morning?” Kent asked.

“It was adequate. The scenery was dull—not a single object of interest.” Blake sat in his usual chair. His plate held a small amount of food, of which he pushed around the edges. Sipping his coffee, he ignored the conversation until Bingley addressed him.

“Blake, perhaps this afternoon will cheer you. Today, we go to Goulding’s horse farm to inspect the stallion.”

Blake looked up from his cup. “Yes, I understand he expects us at two.” Having spent the last several years purchasing thoroughbred horses, he had grown skilled at recognizing the obvious signs of what not to buy: if an animal laid back it ears; shied away when approached; had a runny nose; stood on limp or crooked legs, or its pupils did not dilate in light. If a horse passed this short test, he then evaluated the size of its chest. If one side were larger, the horse would favor one lead over the other, which was never a desirable attribute. Since most sellers allowed only one ride — and riding was not a fair measurement — over time and after years of experience, he had discovered that it took no more than three minutes to assess the worth of any horse.

“With regret, I must decline,” Kent said. “I need to attend to some pressing business that cannot wait until tomorrow. Alas, my responses have to be sent today.”

“I will not delay you. Please do not hesitate to ask my staff to assist you in any way. Darcy has them all well trained.” Bingley winked to his friend who, in turn, displayed a slight upturn of his mouth.

“The correspondence would not take long if there were not so much.” Smirking, Kent glanced at Darcy. “I do not labor over finding the right or longest word or phrase.”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “True, I do spend time choosing my words. Others use the first thought that comes to mind; I try to find the most accurate one for the purpose at hand. Usage of the correct word conveys an unmistakable acumen.” He looked at his disbelieving friends. “I can even guess which words each of you would use to portray your feelings about being around a beautiful lady?”

“I can think of a few!” Bingley said, enthusiastically.

“Now, Bingley, you say glad.” Darcy turned to Kent. “Yours is happy, Rawlings always uses delighted and Blake, pleased is how you describe everything.”

“And you, Darcy, what is your choice?” Kent asked as he moved to the door. He chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. “My guess is you would be petrified! ”

The other two laughed; Darcy grimaced. “I believe in high spirits sounds better, do you not agree? Which best conveys the situation?”

“They all sound like glad to me!” Bingley grinned. “I do not care since it is I that will be around the beautiful lady.”

“Well, I too have some work keeping me busy this morning,” Darcy said. “I will be able to join you on your visit to Gouldings for I shall not need to search for big words today.”

“Blake, do you wish to go?” Bingley asked.

“I have no work to do. I finished mine yesterday. I do not drag my feet as these fellows do!”

Everyone laughed, but Blake told the truth. Since procrastination annoyed him too much, he completed every assignment without delay. While his friends labored over calculations and difficult mathematical equations, he spent his time in leisure.

“You only finished fast when mathematics were involved.” Darcy stood to leave.

“True, it does come without any effort to me. I multiplied three digit numbers at age five.”

Darcy smirked. “Yes and Mr. Rudolph reproached you for the methods used many times.”

“Not a single master, particularly not Mr. Rudolph, convinced me my method was wrong. I always came up with the exact answer!” Blake shrugged his shoulders. “What does it matter how you accomplish the task as long as, in the end, you are successful?”

“A gentleman follows the proper way of all things,” Darcy said.

Blake scoffed.

Kent and Darcy left to attend to business; Bingley and Blake remained. They spoke about the challenges in completing difficult literature assignments from the boring masters. They laughed at funny and embarrassing recitations of poetry in front of old men.

Blake and Bingley liked each other. They both had similar charming natures, especially around the opposite sex. Preferring to spend time in the company of the ladies, neither man felt compelled to apologize for it. Both attended many balls in town, and they danced every dance. They flirted with and wooed women the entire night. Most importantly, they both enjoyed smiling, and that had not changed with the passage of time.

The conversation took a different direction, which focused on the men at Netherfield Park.

“I do not understand Darcy sometimes. I mean, he shies away from practically all ladies.” Bingley settled back into the chair and waited for an answer.

“Yes, he can be aloof around them.” Blake slyly glanced at the door. “Only when he is closely acquainted with a lady will he flirt a little.”

“I have never seen him act in such a fashion.”

Blake chuckled. “His idea of flirting is no more than the way we would say hello.”

“Ahhh.” Bingley nodded. “Kent is also reserved.”

“His sole purpose is to imitate Darcy. Now, Rawlings became that way after he wed.”

“I was surprised when he married Miss Stevens. Why, he had just finished university!” Bingley said.

“Within a month, I believe. We may never know the reason why. Rawlings does not suffer a single word to be spoken about it.”

“True. One time I remember his friend, Lord Dembrey, asked him, and he simply walked away.” Bingley followed a sigh with his grin. “But he seems happier now.”

“Yes, as a widower he does smile and tease more.”

Bingley’s carriage pulled into the Goulding estate. The most beautiful oak trees, all changing colors with the autumn season, lined the path to the house. Bingley, Blake and Darcy noted the many handsome looking horses grazing in the fields. Others raced about, and a few of them stopped to view the carriage as it passed by. They were of every color, size and shape. The men all agreed the owner took meticulous care of the animals, for no other reason than their healthy appearance.

Bingley pointed to the horses alongside the hillside. “Does it not feel like an orphanage? They are trying to display themselves for adoption.”

Blake gazed out the window. “I do believe they are!”

Darcy spotted the stallion, standing alone in the field, far away from the hillside. He, with his majestic posture, gave the impression of being independent and not easily owned by any man

The senior Mr. Goulding kept an eye on the carriage approaching his house. In the business of selling horses, Goulding recognized ego played an important role. All men, and predominantly young men, needed to deem themselves capable of harnessing the most spirited of things. They settled on owning and controlling horses. At Sir William’s party, he sensed a competition between these friends when they made an appointment to visit the stables. He looked forward to the additional profit a rivalry would bring.
“Welcome, good sirs,” Mr. Goulding said as the three men exited the carriage. They exchanged the usual polite pleasantries before he directed them to the stables.

For an older man, Mr. Goulding had the physique of a young one. He worked the horses daily. After breaking the wild ones, he, and the now tamed horse, jaunted across the countryside. It was his life’s only true pleasure. He chuckled as the astonished visitors eyed his stables.

“Oh my, this is far more than I expected.” Blake gaped at the building size.

“Excellent, Mr. Goulding.” Darcy viewed the stable housing over fifty beautiful thoroughbreds, not including the ones in the field. “From where do they come?”

“Far away places such as Arabia, Germany, Russia and even a few made their way here from the Americas. They have developed some interesting breeds; the Morgan in particular. Must be because of those wide open spaces they brag about so much.”

Darcy turned to Goulding. “I believe I caught sight of the stallion mentioned last night in the field. A beautiful white horse stands 16 hands tall?”

“Yes, I suppose you did get a glimpse of him. However, good sir, he measures a full 17 hands. A tall one he is even for one of his type. He is as close as you can get to a purebred Andalusian, one of the world’s ancient breeds. In earlier times, these sturdy horses were mixed with Arab and Barbary strains. Today’s breed has a bit of Oriental blood, but not this one.

“If my recollection is correct, Romans made use of them in several ways,” Darcy said.

“Yes, this Spanish horse had the strength and agility needed for various military activities. Not only did the Romans ride them into battle, but they made them pull their chariots as well. Few horses are able to accomplish that successfully.”

Noting two of the gentlemen showed no interest in the history, Goulding waved to a stable hand brushing down a chestnut mare. “I will send a boy to get the stallion.”

“I am surprised you do not need to send a man. In fact, several men.” Bingley chuckled.

“He is strong, you are correct, but if you treat him right he is gentle, too. Shall we take a tour of my stable and examine the many other fine breeds available?” Mr. Goulding pointed to the building and waited for the guests’ response.

The men agreed promptly and spent the next half hour viewing, patting and otherwise inspecting the horses.

“Is that horse an Andalusian as well?” Blake directed everyone’s attention to a beautiful white stallion owning the same strong build and haughty air about him.

“You have an exceptional eye, my lord, but no. He is a Lipizzaner. However, the Andalusians were used to breed with these horses, and that is why they appear so much alike. He comes from lowlands of the Carpathian Mountains, bred in Lipizza, Archduke Maximillion’s royal stud farm.”

Eyeing the quality thoroughbreds in the stalls, Blake smiled with admiration. “I am surprised the ton are not aware of your business. I would have heard of it, Mr. Goulding, if so.”

“Oh, some do. They choose to keep it a secret. I provide the best of my horses to the best of families, and, might I add, I hope to furnish a few more in the near future?” He bestowed them with a pleasant smile.

As they progressed to the horse corral to wait for the stallion, Bingley spied a young man speaking to a lady. “Lord Blake, I believe Miss Elizabeth Bennet is here.” Squinting, he looked around the area for any other visitors.

Blake gasped. “Oh, my. I agree.”

Mr. Goulding nodded. “Yes, Mr. Bingley, you are correct. Miss Bennet often comes to visit Mrs. Goulding. In spite of the age difference, they are firm friends. Neither suffers fools kindly. It does appear, at the moment, she is engaged in some argument with my second son, Robert. This has been their way—always arguing—even as youngsters. They always end up laughing, of course. The two are, beyond doubt, most fond of one another.”

Blake’s eyes widened at hearing this, keeping them aimed on the two apparent friends as they spoke so cozily. He caught himself clenching his fists and frowning. Embarrassed, he hastily turned away to look for the stallion.

The primary object of the trip soon appeared and drew the attention of all the men. Nevertheless, when Robert Goulding and Elizabeth walked out of view, any interest Blake had in horses evaporated. Years of training was suddenly lost to him. He left the others and went in search of Elizabeth. Bingley followed close on his heels, hoping to learn if her eldest sister was also visiting.

After taking a turn around the garden, Robert Goulding led the young lady to a bench in the garden. “Pray tell me Miss Elizabeth, how is Miss Bennet?”

“She is doing well. She was sorry to miss the visit, but it could not be helped.”

“I wished she was able to come today. My, umm, mother would have enjoyed it very much, as would my brother.” He lowered his head and added, “and as would I, too.”

Lord Blake and Mr. Bingley joined them, cutting off any further conversation between the long time friends.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but I could not miss giving my regards to you, Miss Bennet.” Lord Blake bowed politely.

“Lord Blake, how exceedingly kind. And you as well, Mr. Bingley. Have you met Mr. Goulding?” Elizabeth proceeded with the proper introductions, and for several minutes, the group spoke of the many fine horses on the farm and in the stable.

While sharing an amusing story about runaway ponies, a footman approached young Goulding. “Please excuse me; I am called away. Miss Elizabeth if you would be so kind to send Miss Bennet my good wishes, I would be most grateful. He bowed to the group and left.

Mr. Bingley’s eyes followed him into the house, his concern growing over a perceived relationship between Miss Bennet and Mr. Goulding. Finally, he asked the question weighing heavily on his mind. “I overheard you earlier saying your sister, Miss Bennet, was unable to come. I hope she is not ill.”

“She is well. Thank you for asking.”

“Does she visit here often, I mean, to behold the new arrivals? Is she fond of horses?”

“No, she rarely visits, but yes, she does have a fondness for them. On the other hand, I am found here all the time and yet I care naught for the creatures.”

“Mrs. Goulding must be pleased you come to visit,” Blake said coolly.

“Yes, her and her family. Her sons taught me how to shoot arrows, fish, and even climb trees.”

Blake smiled at the thought of Elizabeth doing these things “Do you come here to play like that still?”

Smiling mischievously, she chuckled. “No, I come to abuse and tease young men who dearly want to ask pointed questions, but cannot.”

“All the young men or just a few?” Blake glanced over to Bingley and then back to her.

“All of them, for they all desire what I know. You see, I am a member of the wiser sex.”

Blake could not conceal his smile. She nodded in return.

Bingley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And what is that information you hold so dear?”

“Why, Mr. Robert Goulding will soon be engaged to Miss Lamberton. Her father has an estate eight miles west.”

A collective sigh was released from both men; Bingley was relieved Mr. Goulding did not have any understanding with Miss Jane while Blake was grateful that their childhood friendship had not left him with an interest in Elizabeth.

Elizabeth turned to look toward the stable. “I am surprised you are not inspecting the beasts?”

“I did want to pay my respects as soon as I become aware of your presence. I knew not if you would be returning to the horses.” Blake led the way toward the corral. “We have come to inspect a new stallion. It took me but a second to decide to purchase the magnificent beast—even if Mr. Goulding prices the horse high.”

Elizabeth looked at Blake with raised brows.

Speaking quietly, Blake gazed at her. “I am willing to pay handsomely for things of exceptional value.”

As the corral came into view, the marquess pointed to the spectacular horse Darcy was patting. Bingley politely turned away from Blake and Elizabeth and watched Darcy continue his inspection.

“Mr. Darcy seems interested too. Are you not concerned he may purchase him first?” Elizabeth asked.

“No. he takes too long to make a decision.” Blake chuckled, and then with a serious expression leaned into her. “I, on the other hand, move quickly.” Looking back towards Darcy, he scoffed. “I will outbid him if need be. Perhaps though, we should join him in case he fools me just this once.” Blake attempted to lead her to the corral.

Elizabeth came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, I rarely go near the stallions. I prefer only the gentler, smaller horses. I usually stay at the house or here in the garden.” She inclined her head towards several small bushes. “As you see, my lord, there are many winter roses beginning to grow.”

“I am not surprised. This is a place where things of beauty are on display.” Blake gazed at the horses, then upon the flowers and finally when his eyes fell on Elizabeth’s face, his smile deepened until her eyes sparkled in return.

Fidgeting, Bingley cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, Lord Blake. Please excuse me.” Bowing, he left their vicinity.

Mr. John Goulding, the eldest son, replaced his father when the special messenger arrived at the house. It appeared the other gentlemen would not return to the corral to vie for the stallion. He studied the tall, quiet focused gentleman for a few moments. He decided to put an exciting picture in Darcy’s mind to create a sense of urgency before commencing with the negotiations.

For several minutes, Darcy patted the horse, checked his teeth and eyes, and tested the strength in its legs. However, when Blake and Elizabeth turned the corner toward the corral, his countenance changed from a relaxed, controlled state to a tense rigid stance. Darcy’s eyes maintained their hold on them as Blake and Elizabeth talked and laughed easily. When Bingley left the two unchaperoned, he experienced a sharp pain in the pit of his stomach. He was unsure which trigger made him unhappy; the twinge of alarm or the easy camaraderie of the couple.

John Goulding concealed a small smile. “Mr. Darcy, with such a scowl, are you imagining losing the race to this magnificent horse?”

Without turning, Darcy said, “You mistake my mind, Mr. Goulding. There is no race I cannot win. All I need are two things.”

“Two things, sir? May I ask what they are?”

“One, I must be willing to sacrifice what I hold dear.”

“And the second?” Goulding leaned in, hoping to gain perspective.

"Knowing the exact moment to make my move.”

“And has that time arrived; is this the moment to make your move?”

With determination, Darcy stared at Goulding. “You ask the wrong question. You should be asking me if I am willing to sacrifice.”

“Oh, and are you willing to sacrifice today?”

While he contemplated his answer, he stared hard at Elizabeth, speaking in an animated fashion to his friend. Without changing the direction of his gaze, he patted the horse with a gentle touch. “I have not made up my mind, but if I do, I will be like the wind at your back: invisible, yet determined. No man can ever stop the wind, and no man shall ever stop me from succeeding in a race I choose to win.”

The senior Goulding returned from the house just as he finished speaking. “I am sorry to inform you, Mr. Darcy. The stallion has been sold.”

Chapter 10

Posted on Sunday, 20 April 2008

Mr. Bennet looked up from the letter he had read often when he heard a knock on the door. Placing the well-worn correspondence inside an unmarked journal, he then locked it in the left drawer with a key he kept on his person.

“Mr. Bingley,” Hill announced.

Mr. Bennet rose to greet the young man. After dispensing with the required civilities, he offered, and Mr. Bingley accepted, a glass of port.

Bingley chose to sit in the chair next to the window with a clear view of the garden. He thought the house was quiet, too quiet. Seeing nothing of interest as he searched the yard, he glanced around the study. Along the wall was a most comfortable looking sofa. Books overfilled the shelves, some of them lying on top of standing ones. Turning his attention to Mr. Bennet, he imagined the eldest Bennet daughters sitting in the two chairs facing their father’s desk. He wondered if they were ever as nervous as he was at this moment.

Mr. Bennet watched him size up the room. “How may I be of service?” With a devilish smile he added, “I have many fine things to offer a young man such as you. All you need is to ask.”

“Thank you. I do ask you for a favor,” Bingley said, distressed that he was unable to hide his blush. He pondered the best way to approach this important gentleman.

With his hands clasped together. Mr. Bennet tapped his lips as he waited for the young man to speak. This morning he had enjoyed the quietude of the house while his wife and daughters had gone visiting. He smiled at Bingley, who appeared to be struggling with himself.

Bingley cleared his throat. “I am planning to host a competition for my friends, and I wondered if you would like to be involved.”

Mr. Bennet raised both brows. “A competition?” As Bingley fidgeted in the chair, he chuckled until an unrestrained mischievous smirk appeared. “Well, I understand you have a magnificent new firearm, so how can I refuse? I would have to run quite a distance to avoid the range of the bullets.”

Misunderstanding Mr. Bennet’s meaning, an alarmed Bingley answered, “Oh no, sir. I would never risk your health. I only want you to act as judge.”

“And what would I be judging?” Leaning forward, Mr. Bennet observed the range of emotions cross Bingley’s face.

“It is complicated.” Casting his eyes down, Bingley noticed his boots were too dusty to be in a gentleman’s study. He tried his best to hide them under the chair.

“As are all things where young people are concerned. I think I will be able to keep up!” Mr. Bennet smiled mischievously. He watched with amusement as Bingley’s feet tangled up in the chair legs.

“The competition is made up of five games; a different one each day.”

“Games?” an astonished Mr. Bennet asked. He leaned back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. He raised his open palm to Bingley to stop him from continuing. “You want me to judge five games? Shall I move into Netherfield Park?” Mr. Bennet smirked at Bingley’s startled expression. “That way, Mr. Bingley, I could be available all day and night.”

Mr. Bingley’s eyes grew wider, but before he could speak, Mr. Bennet said, “My family would never permit it, sir. Please go on.”

Bingley exhaled a deep breath. “Yes, tomorrow I am planning to ask my friends to select a game of their choosing. They would plan their game, get the equipment and get the rules approved by a judge. You, if you agree,” Bingley asked with pleading eyes.

“So I do not know what I will be judging?” Unable to conceal an amused and slightly befuddled expression, Mr. Bennet leaned back in his chair in anticipation of a response.

“In the beginning, I need someone to review the rules for the games. I just want to ensure no one manipulates the game to their own advantage.”

“But you are all friends, is that not true?”

“Yes.” Bingley fidgeted in the chair. He took a breath, released it. He did not want Mr. Bennet to think ill of his friends, but he also knew how men sometimes would find ways to their own advantage. “But we are all competitive. Any problem would be coincidental. You could help us avoid any such situation.”

“Does the judge get a gun to keep the peace if things get a little out of hand?” Mr. Bennet stood and walked to the far wall where his own flintlock was hung.

Bingley sighed. “Ah, a modified Baker might be available.” Must I give away my entire stock of rifles? Mr. Bennet gently patted his firearm, turned back towards Bingley, and smiled at him.

“Now young man, how will I get the rules?” Mr. Bennet returned to his seat, resuming his earlier position. Clasping his hands together, he lightly tapped his chin.

“Each man will bring them to you.”

“I am surprised you are not the one who brings all the rules, Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said with a twinkle in his eye.

Bingley shook his head. “No. The men can decide if their game remains a secret until the morning it is played. But for my game, I will bring the rules to you on another day.” He snuck another peek out the window.

“Yes, I see. Another day. I quite understand.” Mr. Bennet raised both his eyebrows.

“I asked Sir William Lucas to judge as well. He agreed to assist for the duration of the game.”

“Oh. He is needed to help keep the peace between friends?”

Bingley tapped his fingers on the chair. “Between competitors, yes.” Smiling warmly, he gazed at the older man with bright eyes. “You will be invited to all the games. The competition should be terrific fun. I am planning to ask Mr. Goulding, Mr. Long, and Mr. Phillips to be judges too.”

“Ahh, one peacekeeper for each young man. But, who will keep the peace between the peacekeepers? Old men are a competitive lot themselves.” Mr. Bennet hid his smirk behind a loose fist.

Grinning, Bingley relaxed.

“Well, Mr. Bingley, I look forward to it, then. May I refill your glass?”

“Yes, please.” Sipping his wine, Bingley repeatedly checked out the window, which did not go unnoticed by the older gentleman.

The young man questioned Mr. Bennet on local farming issues for some time. He continued to give his attention to the garden, then stared at the study door and finally back to Mr. Bennet who continued to refill their glasses. Mr. Bennet did not conceal his amusement as they sipped away the afternoon.

When Bingley’s questions became more general and even repetitive, Mr. Bennet took pity on him. “I hope you are able to stay for refreshments, Mr. Bingley. I am sure Mrs. Bennet will return with all our daughters in short while.”

“Yes, thank you. I would like that very much.” Settling in his chair, Bingley no longer felt the need to look out the window.

A less anxious Bingley then identified the game he had chosen for the competition. Mr. Bennet was quite surprised. Moreover, when he explained the reason why he chose it, the older man stared at the young man with a new level of respect. In fact, he asked if there would be a chance for others, including himself, to try their hand at the game. Bingley agreed, but only after the competition was complete.

Soon thereafter, the Bennet ladies returned, and the study no longer held Mr. Bingley’s interest.

“Go on, young man, you have earned it.” Mr. Bennet waved his hand towards the door.

Mr. Bingley nearly tripped as he stood.

Mr. Bennet leapt up to catch the man. “Well, perhaps you should spend the rest of your time here, Mr. Bingley. Shall I ring for some coffee or tea?”

“No sir. I will be fine. I just need a bit of fresh air.”

The two men promptly moved to the door. Mr. Bennet spied his housekeeper in the hallway. “Hill, please ask Jane to show Mr. Bingley the garden. He has been most interested in it all day.” As Hill left to carry out the request, Mr. Bennet smirked at the blushing young man.

Waiting by the front door, Mr. Bingley could not stop grinning. His grin turned into a wide smile when Jane was quick to appear.

She led him around the side of the house. “Mr. Bingley, I am surprised to see you here today. To what do we owe this honor?”

“I came to ask your father a favor.”

“Oh.” Jane blushed. Every muscle tensed as she lowered her eyes to look at her hands. She took shallow breaths while she waited for him to continue.

“I asked him to be a competition judge,” Mr. Bingley blurted out. Hiccup.

Jane’s eyes grew wide. She suggested they sit on the bench; Mr. Bingley quickly agreed.

The conversation did not make much sense to Jane. Mr. Bingley prattled on about balls, and judges and shooting and ruts. She may have initially been disappointed at the direction of the chat, but discovered she was content to sit and listen to him talk.

Everyone at Netherfield Park attended an early breakfast at Bingley’s request. A se’nnight had passed since the Lucas party. Rawlings entered the dining room just in time for breakfast with much enthusiasm.

“Good morning.”

“Welcome back, Rawlings. When did you arrive?” Kent asked.

“Late last night. I am pleased to be here.”

“Why is that?” Blake asked.

“I am now happily ensconced in a house no one knows, in a town no one has heard of, and in a county few travel to.”

Everyone was keen to hear the latest gossip from town. Rawlings told them of the current talk; from the antics of the Prince Regent to Lord Byron’s latest escapade. Cheerfulness, shocked expressions, and solemnity filled the room. Gentlemen from the highest circles were just as much interested in the comings and goings of the society in which they live as the Hertfordshire community was in theirs.

“Was the trip to Goulding’s successful?” Rawlings glanced towards Darcy, who tilted his head at Bingley.

“Not for us. Bingley stole a great stallion from his dearest friends.”

“I did no such thing. I bought the horse while you were deliberating and Miss Elizabeth diverted Blake’s attention. I cannot help it if I am a man of action and you are not.”

All the men laughed so loudly that several servants outside the dining room came running to offer assistance if needed. Once the butler realized the gentlemen were merely laughing and wiping their eyes with their breakfast napkins, he waved them off. They left the room shaking their heads.

Bingley tapped his glass with his spoon. They all quieted and looked questioningly at him. “Friends, I have a great surprise for you and it involves the Goulding stallion.”

“What is it, man?” Kent leaned back in his chair as Bingley attempted to formulate his words. The men shrugged as they glanced at each other.

“I wish to announce that the stallion is to be the prize to the winner.”

“You are planning to give away the stallion as a prize? I am shocked.” Darcy lifted both eyebrows, but his look of surprise quickly turned into a grin.

“Yes, prize. Mr. Phillips said he would need at least another fortnight to finish up. We need to be available. With the business discussion done, and hunting season nearly over, I did not wish for you to become bored. Therefore, I found a way to keep us busy. I am holding my own type of Olympics, and you, my friends, are the contestants. The winner will get the Goulding stallion.”

“Olympics, Bingley? Are we to run and throw discs and whatnot?” Blake asked as images of ancient Greeks danced in his head.

“No, my Olympics will be five days of games. Each of us will select a game.”

Kent scrunched up his face and pursed his lips. “We each get to pick a game of our choosing?”

“Yes, and you must compete in your own game, so select wisely.” Bingley grinned.

“You and your games, Bingley. I, for one, will not choose Twenty Points. Well, go on ... tell us more.” Rawlings rose to get some coffee and more of those wonderful pastries he had enjoyed before. He had not found anything so tasty in town.

“Each day, one of you will be responsible for hosting one game for the competition, including providing an explanation of how to play the game. We will draw straws to determine whose game goes first.

“How exactly does this all work?”

“Blake, it is simple enough even for a senior wrangler to understand. Someone holds five straws of different—”

Blake glared across the table at Rawlings. “Do not be such a. . .half-witted . . .addle brained . . .arse. Why do you not go back to London? We had such pleasant conversations when you were away.”

“Well, here is how it will work.” Bingley spoke quickly. “For example, one may select backgammon and—”

“Backgammon? Rawlings interrupted. “Exactly what kind of Olympics is this? We are not that kind of men!”

All the men laughed as Bingley’s face grew red. “All right, fencing. Let us use fencing as an example. The person selecting fencing would establish the order of the matches and the winning points for the players.”

Kent and Rawlings started finger dueling. Coughing loudly, Darcy sent them the most menacing look he could generate.

“But could he not just manipulate the rules to his advantage?” Blake eyed Kent.

Bingley shook his head. “No, the rules for the game must be approved by my independent judge—Mr. Bennet. And, others will be judges too.”

“And who might they be, Bingley?” Kent asked.

“Sir William is one.”

“Capital, capital.” Rawlings clapped his hands together.

“Mr. Goulding is another. Mr. Long and Mr. Phillips also agreed to be alternates as needed.”

“What else do we need to know?” Darcy glared at Kent and Rawlings. They should grow up sometime soon.

“Points for the stallion will be awarded each day based on where each one of us placed in the game for the day—for example, five points to the winner of the fencing match, four for the second place player, three for third place, two for fourth place and one point for the person finishing last.”

“Why are you doing this? That is one fine bloody horse,” Kent said, and then turned to stare back at Darcy. Rawlings sat up straight and attempted to view Bingley more seriously.

“I did not want my friends to start a bidding war for the horse, as I suspect Mr. Goulding wanted. I purchased him only after I offered a modified Baker rifle as part of the price.

“Ahhh. And here I believed he lacked principles. I understand the sale better now.” Darcy recalled his anger when Mr. Goulding announced it. He had stormed away in a huff and sat in the carriage waiting for the others. He had not waited long as Blake and Bingley were quick to join him. As they left, Blake had continued to smile at Miss Elizabeth walking towards Longbourn. Bingley had appeared uneasy, and preferred to stare at his hands the entire return trip to Netherfield Park.

Bingley added when Darcy returned to the conversation at hand, “Oh, one more issue. The morning of your game, you will announce it and hand out the rules. You may keep it a secret until then if you like.”

“All right, this is easy enough to understand. But what will you give my friends here when they lose?” Blake asked.

Rawlings sat upright. “Wait, tell me about the stallion. I was in town, and I do not know if I wish to compete.”

“Oh, you will want to compete, my friend. Trust me.” Darcy smirked. “The stallion is an Andalusian.”

“I see. I see, indeed.” Rawlings rubbed his chin. As a member of the Four Horse Club, he knew the worth of such an animal. Understanding the value of the prize, he took the competition much more seriously.

“Now to the losers, you will each receive a fine case of whisky from Oban – an excellent scotch whiskey.”

Blake cleared his voice. “You shall enjoy sipping your scotch for the stallion will be mine. No one here can best me at any game. You may bet your life upon it.”

Kent rolled his eyes.

Rawlings laughed. “Do not be such a tottering, flap-mouthed harpy. Blake, your pronouncement is a true insult, not that silly phrase you attempted earlier. You could not shoot a cow at twenty paces. One of us may choose target shooting, which, if I recall, was not a competition at university.”

The others snickered. Blake narrowed his eyes as he stared at each one of them.

“True, you did win every competition in university, Blake, but as men of the world now, we may prove to be a much harder challenge,” Darcy said.

Bingley tapped the glass with his spoon. “Now you are free to try to win the horse so you can stop being angry at me. I named the horse Heracles in honor of the Greek Olympics.”

Raising his hands, Rawlings lowered his jaw in a mocking fashion. “Heracles? You paid attention to Greek studies? Bingley, I am shocked!”

“I liked the sports and the wars; poetry and philosophy are better suited to Darcy.”

The men pestered Bingley with many questions.

“What type of games can we choose? Must they be athletic in nature?” Kent asked.

“Anything within respectable boundaries,” Bingley replied.

“Are we to compete naked as the ancient Greeks did?” Rawlings asked.

“If you make it a rule for your game.” Bingley shook his head violently and waving both hands exclaimed, “No. No. I am just joking. You can choose to be naked or not, I will leave the whole nakedness up to you, but you cannot make your fellow competitors do so.”

Smiling, Darcy interrupted. “I have just the game in mind for my day, and you do not want to be naked for it.”

Blake turned towards Darcy. “So you want to do this?”

He nodded. “I want the stallion. He is a beautiful horse.”

“Well he is mine.” Blake declared matter-of-factly as he stared at his fingernails. Suddenly, he picked up the water goblet, and in a toast to the others added, “But I will be happy to share a glass or two of your Oban scotch.

“When and how is this to happen?” Rawlings asked.

“In seven days we will begin. Games can be of any kind. There are no limits when selecting a game. Your goal is to choose something that will give you the most points.”

“Any more instructions?” Kent asked. “I have a perfect competition in mind.” His smile grew as he glanced at Rawlings, then at Darcy and finally at Blake.

“Team games are not permitted. You may spend free time practicing. My servants will assist you in any way possible, as they have all been made aware of the plans. I will assign one servant to each of you with Whitson as the arbitrator for any issue.”

“Can we use our own valets to help?” Rawlings asked.

“Of course, and anyone else you wish to include. You have time to send for any equipment needed, but you must be ready on the day your game is scheduled.”

“Is that it?” Kent asked. He was anxious to get started. His game would take some time to set up.

Bingley kept his eyes on his plate and fidgeted with the fork he was holding. He released his breath and said calmly, “After this little competition is completed, my family will arrive.”

“And is that not yet another kind of sport for us, Bingley?” Rawlings chuckled. He stood to leave along with Kent and Darcy but stopped and pronounced,

“Netherfield Park is certainly not for the faint of heart.”

No matter how juvenile some of the men acted when Bingley announced his competitions, all the men took it seriously thereafter. The next week found the men in a whirlwind of activity, from writing rules to putting together the games.

On the morning of Bingley’s announcement, Kent left for the study. He furiously wrote messages to go by express post. Whitson agreed to provide him a footman who was familiar with carpentry.

Whitson, concerned about Kent’s requests, spoke to Mr. Bingley who answered, “Unless it is illegal I do not wish to hear about it. I approve of his changes.”

“You do not wish to know the extent of the effort?”

“No. It will be fine.”

“As you wish.” Whitson bowed, shook his head, left the room and mumbled, “I hope he remembers this conversation after the game.”

Darcy left the breakfast room to speak to Bingley’s steward.

The steward had become well acquainted with Mr. Darcy when he stepped in to guide an inexperienced Mr. Bingley at running an estate. Having worked closely with the two young gentlemen, the steward was one of the few from Hertfordshire to admire the Mr. Darcy. He had watched Mr. Bingley repeatedly given all the credit while his friend merely stood in the far background. He knew where the credit belonged and had tried to thank him several times, but Mr. Darcy would not permit him to do so. Therefore, when that gentleman appeared that morning with a request for himself, he was pleased to offer his assistance in any way possible.

On the morning of the announcement, Darcy rode out towards the eastern part of Netherfield Park. He did not appear again, not even for dinner. However, like Kent, he spent the next day writing and sending messages. A few days later, a delivery arrived from Derbyshire, causing a great commotion. Darcy’s spirits improved. He smiled to everyone, and the staff took note, for none of them had never before seen him smile.

Now Bingley spent his time in the library making drawings of something on several sheets of paper. If the drawing made him unhappy, he discarded it in the fire, ensuring every trace of the paper turned to ash.

On the morning of the announcement, Blake chose to stay in the dining room and enjoy the bountiful food left behind as his friends disappeared to plan their games. As he sipped his coffee, he relaxed and imagined himself riding the stallion, Heracles, while all his friends sat sipping their scotch. He only needed one day to prepare his rules for Mr. Bennet.

Rawlings went straight to his bedchamber. He had much to discuss with Logan, and Logan would have plenty to do.

“Mr. Logan, I need your help.” Mr. Rawlings motioned for Logan to sit in the chair by the desk.

“I suspect this is about the Olympics?”

“I should have known you would have heard of all this before me.”

“Not before. The staff discussed the competition while you were being informed.”

“I will need you to acquire a few things.” Using the pen and writing paper from the desk, he began to scribble a list.

“Will one or two be sufficient?” Logan sat patiently, waiting for the list.

“You know me too well. Yes, I suspect it will, depending on what we find in the surrounding country. Did I bring my blue and yellow striped waistcoat and other clothes?”

“I pack for any situation.”

Rawlings relaxed a bit. He handed Logan the completed list. “Bingley is quite the sportsman, I say.”

“I suspect he has not had any responsibilities or obligations in his life. Sports are just one way to fill leisure time.” Leaning back in his chair, Logan sipped his tea.

“Some of the other ways are a lot more fun.” Reaching for the cigar, Rawlings ignored the teacup in front of him. “Bingley is an amicable man. He gets bored too easily, and I suspect that is the reason for his devising activities for us all.”

“Amicable is not the most useful trait when it comes to running an estate.” Logan said tactfully as he looked up from his cup.

“Oh, are you aware of something amiss here in this. . .” Rawlings waved his hand about the room. “Colosseum?”

“His servants are undisciplined, to say the least.” Logan leaned towards his master. “They gossip worse than the old dowagers in town.”

“Anything important that might negatively influence our stay here?”

“Perhaps. The rumors are about the Bennets.”

“Oh.” Rawlings sat erect and clasped the arms of the chair. He furrowed his brows and patiently listened as Logan filled him in on all the latest talk.

“It is of little importance to me.” Settling casually back into the chair, Rawlings gulped his wine. “I never even bothered to learn the amount of Miss Lydia’s dowry.”

They discussed the effect on the alliance and the impact on the men. Finally, returning his focus on the competition, Rawlings provided Logan with the funds he would need to purchase the items. Logan left, and Rawlings began work on drawing the map and writing the rules.

Sighing at the thought of getting the rules approved, he began to look forward to a trip to Longbourn. I must ask Logan to find out when they will be busy playing soldier somewhere else. Perhaps, I will be the favorite one now that the pert Miss Lydia’s 7000 dowry has been lost and so has the reason for those red-coated leeches to hang on her every flirtation.

Continued in Next Section