Page 11 of Attempted Compromises
Netherfield, 1811
The journey to Netherfield had been long, and the chilly autumn wind whipped at the windows of the carriage as Darcy peered out, his mind uneasy despite Georgiana’s quiet companionship. Georgiana sat beside him, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery. Across from them, little Andrew rested against the cushions, bundled in a thick woolen blanket with a contented smile, his breaths shallow but steady.
Darcy cast a concerned glance toward the boy, whose frailty weighed heavily on him. The winter air in Derbyshire had proved too harsh for Andrew’s delicate lungs, and though the dirty air of London had helped a little, Darcy had found no satisfactory solution—until he had run into Bingley at White’s.
The invitation had been genuine. Bingley’s warmth and enthusiasm shone as he insisted that Netherfield would be the ideal retreat for the family, a place where Andrew might breathe a little easier and Georgiana could enjoy a bit of fresh countryside air. Darcy, after careful consideration had agreed,though he had privately vowed not to let Georgiana or Andrew out of his sight.
The carriage slowed as they neared the entrance to Netherfield and Darcy allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The air felt fresher here, crisper, and he dared to hope that Andrew might find some relief in this gentler climate. As they pulled up to the manor, the front doors opened and Bingley stepped out, his face breaking into a welcoming smile.
“Darcy!” he called out cheerfully as the footman opened the carriage door, offering a hand to help Georgiana down. “Welcome to Netherfield! And you, Miss Darcy,” he added with a kind smile, bowing politely.
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” Georgiana replied, returning his smile shyly.
“And you must be Andrew,” Bingley continued, crouching down to greet the young boy as Darcy lifted him out of the carriage.
Andrew gazed up at Bingley with wide eyes, and Darcy saw the faintest hint of a smile on his face as Bingley chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ll feel right at home here, young sir. We’ve plenty of cozy rooms and warm fires for you.”
“Fank-oo,” Andrew murmured softly, clutching Darcy’s hand tightly as they made their way inside. The warmth of the hall was a welcome change from the chill outside, and Darcy felt a wave of relief as they settled in, his mind finally beginning to ease.
The afternoon passed with quiet contentment. Andrew spent most of his time by the window, watching the autumn leavesfall with fascination, his breath misting the glass. Georgiana explored the gardens and the estate grounds, the gentle expanse of countryside a refreshing change from London’s bustle.
Darcy, meanwhile, spent most of his time close by, dividing his attentions between his sister and Andrew. Wickham’s actions that summer lingered constantly at the back of his mind, a reminder of the danger that seemed to shadow his family’s peace, and he resolved to let neither of them stray far from his sight.
Later that evening, after Andrew had fallen asleep and Georgiana retired for the evening, Darcy found himself in Bingley’s study, seated by the fire. Bingley poured them each a glass of brandy. The warmth of the room, combined with the quiet of the house, gave Darcy a rare sense of calm, and he leaned back in his chair, allowing himself a moment of reflection.
After a quiet moment, he spoke, his voice measured. “Bingley,” he began, pausing as he considered how best to frame his thoughts. “I’ve been considering a change in my life.”
“Oh?” Bingley raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a curious expression. “Are you finally to sell Pemberley so I can purchase it for my sister?”
Darcy gave a bark of laughter. “No, nothing nearly so drastic.” He took a steadying breath. “I believe it’s time I seriously consider remarrying.”
Bingley’s eyes widened in surprise, though a grin quickly replaced his initial shock. “Well, that is unexpected. Butcertainly, it’s not a bad idea. Andrew and Georgiana would benefit from having a lady about the house—someone who can help raise the boy and be a companion for your sister.” He paused, an amused glint in his eye. “And I suppose you, too, could benefit from a bit of warmth in your life.”
Darcy chuckled, but his tone turned serious as he continued. “It’s true. Andrew needs stability, and Georgiana would benefit from having a mother figure, but the decision is more complicated than that.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “If I marry, it must be to a woman who is kind, someone who will care for my family as though they were her own.”
Bingley nodded thoughtfully, then leaned back with a teasing grin. “Well, if it’s a wife you seek, I do know one lady who would be all too eager to volunteer… my sister, Caroline.”
Darcy froze, searching for the right words to let his friend down gently. “Bingley… your sister is… well, she… that is to say…” He paused, floundering for a moment.
Bingley burst into laughter, clapping his hands in delight at Darcy’s discomfort. “Oh, Darcy, don’t look so horrified! I wouldn’t let you marry my harridan of a sister even if you wanted to. Georgiana and Andrew are too delightful to expose to Caroline’s vitriol.”
Darcy couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of relief, shaking his head. “Thank heavens, Bingley. I was struggling to be tactful. I could never… entertain such an idea.”
“Believe me, I know her faults all too well,” Bingley said with a wry smile. “And rest assured, I shan’t be encouraging herambitions on that score. She’d drive you mad and likely make your sister’s life a misery, too. Caroline has her charms, but they are neither maternal nor compassionate.”
Darcy took a long sip of his brandy, feeling a weight lift at Bingley’s easy dismissal. “Precisely. I need someone with far more depth of character than the usual society miss. She must have a true capacity for compassion, as well as the ability to manage the demands of both Pemberley and Rosings.”
Bingley leaned back, swirling his brandy thoughtfully. “Then you’ll need someone with a good heart and some experience, I think. But I daresay,” he added with a wink, “you may not find her in the circles of London. You’re nothing more than the heir to Pemberley there.”
Darcy sighed, conceding the truth of Bingley’s words. The London social set had shown little interest in his role as a father and guardian. “I had hoped that among the more well-connected families, I might find someone suitable—someone who at least understands the responsibilities of a great estate. But in truth, none I have met seem suited to the demands of Pemberley, let alone to being the acting mistress of Rosings.”
Bingley tilted his head, a thoughtful smile on his face. “And what of Meryton?”
“Meryton?” Darcy echoed, scoffing. “Whoever I choose will be mistress of Pemberley, and she must manage both it and Rosings from afar. Some country miss is unlikely to be familiar with such duties.”
Bingley raised a hand to stop Darcy’s protests. “I know, I know… you’re looking for someone exceptional. But,” he continued with a light grin, “I wouldn’t rule out finding such a lady among the hedgerows and heather. Sometimes, the most extraordinary people come from the most ordinary places.”
Darcy scoffed, giving his friend a skeptical look. “You cannot be serious. The mistress of Pemberley, and an acting mistress of Rosings, must have a great deal of experience and refinement. The position requires a specific type of woman—one who has been trained to manage large estates.”
