Daisy Chains 02

Daisy Chains

Part the Second

Renee was delighted with the ball.  She had danced every dance and had not been wanting for a partner.  Mr. Cardieu even offered to walk them home, and Bella had to walk behind them, hearing Renee flirt the entire way home.  She didn’t even bother to wait up, Renee was at the door so long, not wanting to bid Mr. Cardieu goodnight.

“How was the assembly, mum?” Charlotte asked as she brushed out Bella’s dark hair.

Bella sighed as she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“Undoubtedly a success,” she replied.  “Renee was in rare form.  She will be married by Candlemas at this rate.”

Charlotte paused and considered before she retook up the brush and continued her ministrations.  “Then it will just be us,” she murmured.

“Yes, just us,” Bella agreed, thinking darkly of Darcy.

If Charlotte noticed, she did not mention. 

Several long moments passed and Charlotte put down the brush.  “Time for bed.”

Bella obligingly got up and allowed Charlotte to help her out of her dress and into her nightgown.  “Don’t let Renee keep you up too late,” Bella warned.  “She can be effusive.”

“It is alright, mum,” Charlotte promised.

“It is well past midnight.”

“Tis no burden.”

Bella highly doubted it.

She could still hear Charlotte bustling in the hall as she fell asleep.

Bella was the first awake in the household, well before Renee and even before Charlotte.  She slid into a dark blue day dress and brushed out her own hair, placing it in a braid and then pinning it up on the back of her head.  She certainly looked respectable, she decided. 

Going down to the kitchen, she grabbed a piece of toast and then slipped out into the sleepy town.

No one would miss her—at least until the candles ran out and she had to order a new batch.  Renee could not be counted on for such small necessities.

She looked into shop windows for well on half an hour and then wandered down a lane out toward the countryside.  She wasn’t certain how long she meandered down the road, but she came upon a meadow.  The day was quite fine, and she lay out among the daisies and decided it was just sunny enough to take a nap.

Bella could feel the clouds pass overhead, making patterns against her cheek.

Her mind passed to the stern Mr. Darcy.  She imagined his brow lined in thought and wondered what sort of notions he mused over.  Then she thought of Edward Masen who always had a smile on his face or a laugh ready to erupt out of his chest.  Bella always knew what he was thinking.  If he were here right now, he would make a daisy chain and make her a crown.  He would call her princess and then—

“I see you have found Netherfield.”

Bella knew that voice.

Her eyes fluttered opened and she quickly looked about her.

She was decidedly not in the fields of Kenbridge, or indeed anywhere in Norfolk.  It was too warm for that.  Pushing a stray bit of hair out of her eyes, she looked up and saw a figure was blocking the sun.

“Beg pardon?”  She shielded her eyes but still could not make out who was speaking to her.

The figure stepped back and she fully rose to a sitting position.

Looking around her, she saw nothing but a meadow.

Darcy was standing a few feet around her, his horse grazing a little ways away.

She had to fight off a grimace.

Bella had been having a rather pleasant dream of Edward Masen and his green eyes.

“Have I disturbed you, Miss Swan?” Darcy inquired, offering his hand.  There was no hint of solicitousness in his voice.

“No,” Bella lied, reaching out to take his hand.  Rising, she felt the familiar unpleasant chill at the touch of their fingers.  She unfortunately was not wearing gloves—and neither was he.  For the first time, they were touching skin to skin, and Bella hated the sensation.  She dropped his hand as soon as she could, almost as if burnt.

If Darcy noticed, he did not indicate.

He was too busy regarding her.  “Do you take to sleeping in other people’s fields, Miss Swan?”

“Only my own,” she admitted.  “However, I find myself much removed from Norfolk.”  She glanced around and realized, “I do not see a house.”

Darcy turned and pointed toward the West.  “Netherfield is behind those trees.”

Shading her eyes, Bella looked in that direction.  “Is it?” she wondered.  “I shall take your word for it.”

Darcy was regarding her again.  “Should you like to see it?”

“I should not like to impose,” she quickly demurred.

“No imposition,” he assured her.  “Caroline and Louisa should be pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Chewing her lower lip, Bella decidedly did not want to come.  She did not wish to postpone leaving Darcy’s presence any more than she had to.  “I doubt they are expecting me.”

“A good hostess is always at the ready,” Darcy rebutted.

“It is not tea time.”

“Is it not?” Darcy’s voice was now stern.

“Renee does not know where I am.”  She was probably entertaining suitors of her own and was only glad that Bella was out of the way.  Less competition was always to be desired and Bella, as an heiress of seventeen, albeit a plain young lady, was certainly competition. 

Darcy glared at her.  “We shall send her a note posthaste.”

She would not be gainsaid.  “Mr. Darcy, I know I am on Mr. Bingley’s land—”

“And I am offering you every hospitality instead of leaving you to sleep like a vagrant in the middle of a field.”

Bella was taken aback.  “You think watching the clouds go by in a meadow is behaving like a vagrant?”

Darcy would never fight to compose himself, but he was certainly collecting himself, even if only for the barest of moments.  “Perhaps it was a poor choice of words—”

“Indeed, I believe that it was,” she agreed, refusing to cross her arms like a disgruntled child.  She was, after all, a young lady of seventeen.

They stared at each other.  Or, rather, Bella glared and Darcy regarded her in wonder.  She wondered why he liked her so much—how he didn’t feel revulsion at their every touch like she did.  It was peculiar that it was one sided.  Her feelings were so strong she could not believe that he could not at least read her dislike.

Looking in the opposite direction, she wondered aloud, “What is in that direction?”

“Longbourn, I believe.”

She looked at him in question.

“It is the estate of the Bennets.”

Bella remembered Jane Bennet from the assembly the night before.  “Mr. Bingley danced with some of the Bennet daughters,” she remembered.

“Yes, three of them,” Darcy agreed.

Bella looked up at him.

“The two eldest and then a Miss Catherine.  He could not decide who was the prettiest.”

“Perhaps he will decide on subsequent meetings,” Bella murmured, half to herself. 

“Perhaps he shall,” Darcy agreed.  “I care not.”

“No,” Bella agreed.  “No, I suppose not.”

They remained in the meadow among the daisies: Darcy standing stupidly, Bella sitting a few feet away, and the horse grazing further and further off.  They were at a stalemate. Bella wished that Darcy would just leave.  Then she could lie back down and look at cloud formations.  Darcy, however, would not abandon her for some reason. 

The day turned grayer and grayer, and Bella looked up, wondering if it might rain.

“Miss Swan,” Darcy tried a good hour later.  “We are surely going to get wet in half an hour or so.”

She was afraid of the same eventuality. 

Carefully taking him in, she made to walk toward them when another rider came up to them.  Bella looked up and saw a man that was so handsome he took her breadth away.  When he came upon them, he circled them once and then reined in his horse.

“Is all well?” he asked in a voice that was more like chimes than a human voice.  His golden eyes flashed in the grayness of the day, his blond hair shining in cloud cover.

“Quite well, sir,” Darcy answered sternly back.  “I was just escorting Miss Swan to Netherfield Park.”

The man nodded.  “Well met, sir,” he greeted, nodding.  “Madam.—I am Dr. Cullen, the night surgeon.  I have been called to Hatfield Orchard.  There has been a fall.—If nothing is amiss—”  He took his reins in hand, spurred on his horse, and continued on.

Bella was in absolute amazement and turned to Darcy in question.

“It appears we have a night surgeon,” he offered, holding out his hand to her.

She carefully took it, her eyes still tracking the disappearing horse.

Dr. Cullen was everything that Darcy was not.  He was soft spoken with an inbred gentility. His face was chiseled and handsome, his youth apparent, but with a nobility that not even hundreds of years could breed into a family.  He was well dressed in a fresh cravat with a carelessness that showed he didn’t care about his appearance, but was undeniably alluring anyway.

“I have not heard of Dr. Cullen,” Bella admitted as Darcy led her to his horse.  “Is he well liked in the neighborhood?”

“I know not,” Darcy told her as he lifted her into the saddle of his horse.

Bella had to hold back a shiver when he settled into the saddle behind her, taking up the reins, his arms coming around her. 

“We have been in the neighborhood hardly longer than you and Lady Swan.”

Feeling a blush suffuse her cheeks and chin, Bella was glad that her position on the horse shielded her face from Darcy.

“I do not believe he was at the assembly last night.  I should have noticed if he were dancing with Renee—”  Bella should have noticed if he were in the room at all.

Darcy clicked his tongue at the horse, urging it forward.

“A night surgeon has much claim upon his time,” Darcy agreed.  “Perhaps we will meet him by and by if we, too, fall out of an apple tree.”

The statement was meant to close the conversation, but Bella opened her mouth to ask another question, but quickly shut it.  She could feel the tension radiating off of Darcy.  Perhaps he, too, noticed how handsome Dr. Cullen was and did not appreciate the competition.—and Dr. Cullen was certainly competition, even if the good doctor didn’t look twice at Bella.

Bella had noticed him and now that she had noticed him, she would seek him out.

She would just have to make sure Renee didn’t get to him first.

Silently, she hoped Dr. Cullen wasn’t married.  A man that handsome surely must be married, she thought to herself, as they rode toward the clump of trees that hid Netherfield from sight.  He was too handsome not to be—but he was also young.  Very young.  Young enough not to be married.  This pleased Bella.

Any memories of her dream of Edward Masen were pushed out of her head.  He was just a boy back in Norfolk.  He hadn’t even kissed her.  It was a silly schoolgirl fancy.  He had no profession, no estate, no prospects… unlike a night surgeon with a finely tied cravat and an exceedingly handsome waist jacket.  It was not as fine as Darcy’s, but Bella didn’t want Darcy—and just one look at Dr. Cullen made her heart soar. 

She wanted to know everything about him—whether or not he grew up in Meryton, to how he took his tea, to whether he smiled or was circumspect.  Her head was full of Dr. Cullen when they arrived at the well appointed house of Netherfield Park.

The house looked quite fine from the outside, though not as fine as Kenbridge.  The grounds were certainly not as extensive or as well maintained.  There did not even seem to be a garden as far as Bella could see.

Bella was let down from the horse and escorted up the staircase to the main entrance and shown inside.  The inside left much to be desired as well.

“Is Pemberley finer?” she asked carefully as her pelisse and bonnet were taken.

Darcy looked over indulgently.

“Much finer, Miss Swan,” he assured her.

Bella was much relieved although, of course, she had no intention of marrying Darcy.

They were shown into a well appointed drawing room, which was several years out of fashion, and Bella found herself greeting the Bingley family.

Charles Bingley was a young man barely out of Cambridge—tall, eager to please, ginger with freckles, in a blue coat.  He seemed to have forgotten a handkerchief that morning, making him appear a little childish, but he was smiling amply at her.

He was sitting at a card table with his two sisters.

The younger of the two, Caroline Bingley, must have been about twenty.  She was of middling height, ginger as well, equally had freckles, and had a fine countenance.  Her silks were fine but not as fine as Bella’s.  It was clear she meant to catch a husband, but where she would find one in Hertfordshire was a mystery to Bella.

The eldest, Louisa Hurst, was very much like Charles and Caroline.  She was taller than her sister, but looked alike to her as ever two sisters could look.  She was dressed less fashionably but no less neatly.  Only a year or two older, she was satisfied that she had at least caught a husband, though Mr. Hurst left very much to be desired.

The fourth at the card table was none other than Mr. Hurst.  He was a stout man with sideburns and clearly had a fondness for port.  He had no manners, no sense of expression, no care for his wife, and no politics.  In a word, he was a disappointment.

The card game broke up at their entrance and Caroline immediately went to the pianoforte to display herself.

Louisa ordered tea and removed to a couch, drawing Bella with her. 

“Well, we have a baronet’s daughter in the neighborhood,” she murmured in obvious delight.  “We find ourselves in refined society.  I understand you and Lady Swan have taken a small house in Meryton proper.”

“That we have,” Bella agreed carefully.  “It is naught for entertaining.”

“Then we must entertain you,” Louisa decided, “for we are decidedly neighbors.  I know Caroline would agree with me.”  She indicated her sister who was certainly watching them from her place behind the instrument.  Caroline did not seem best pleased.  “Forgive Caroline.  She is a little sour.  Darcy danced twice with you and was by your side all yesterday evening and failed to dance with her once, so she had only Mr. Hurst for a dance partner.”

“Surely,” Bella breathed, a little worried, “it was not my intention to monopolize him.”

“But it was his intention to monopolize you,” Louisa pointed out as the tea service as brought in and set in front of them. 

The tea service was fine but not as fine as even the third best tea service at Kenbridge House.  Bella and Renee had not been able to bring any of the tea things with them and so had to make do with what was in their new town house, more’s the pity.

Louisa began to make the tea, her eyes flashing to Darcy who was at the window, looking out at the lawns.

“That is his usual pose,” Louisa informed her.  “He has much to think on.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, his estate, I suppose,” Louisa flushed out the water.  “Whatever it is that men think on.  Heavens know I don’t know.  Hurst never has a thought between his ears.”  She took the strainer and placed it over the top of the tea pot and then placed the leaves in it, before pouring hot water in the tea pot for a second time, this time steeping the tea.  She looked at Bella with her bright green eyes.  “You shall not have a dull husband.”

A blush began to suffuse Bella’s cheeks.  “It is too soon—”

“Quite right,” Louisa agreed.  “You hardly know if you like each other yet.”  It was clear, however, that she certainly had an opinion on the matter.

Caroline had finished performing by the time Louisa was handing out the teacups.  Darcy came over from the window and was happy to take a seat across from Bella, the better to regard her over his dish of tea.

“Did you have any happy partners at the assembly last night?” Bella asked Bingley, wishing to be agreeable and wishing to dispel the uncomfortable feeling of having Darcy’s gaze on her.

“Oh!” Bingley effused. “Some very pretty partners.  I should not know who I liked best!”

“Charles,” Louisa informed her, “did not dance with any young lady twice.  He gave everyone an opportunity to please him and came away so well pleased, he was almost disappointed.”

Bingley sighed.  “I think you have the right of it, Louisa.”

“I know I have the right of it,” she agreed, smiling at him coyly.  “I am your favorite sister.”

Caroline did not refute this.  She was too busy staring at Darcy, who was pointedly ignoring her.  He was too involved taking in the slope of Bella’s neck, which was making her decidedly uncomfortable.

“You must have had a favorite of the young gentlemen, Miss Swan,” Caroline asked a little pertly.  “How many did you dance with?”

Darcy looked up sharply.

Bella stilled.  “I thought it was obvious,” she murmured.  “I danced only with Mr. Darcy.”

“No other beaux asked you before we arrived?  You were not popular?”  Caroline now had an edge of nastiness to her voice.

“Decidedly not,” Bella told her frankly.  “But I am told you only had one partner as well, Miss Bingley.” 

Miss Bingley colored and looked away.

The jab was beneath her, but Bella didn’t like being told she was on the shelf.  It was always a sore point that her mother gained more attention than she did, even at her own coming out ball, when her own father had been alive.  Bella knew she was long in the face and had eyes that made men uncomfortable.  She didn’t need to be reminded by the likes of Miss Bingley.

Darcy seemed much contented.

Louisa reached out and squeezed her hand.

Bella was surprised in having found a friend in her.

Louisa walked her out as they were sending her back in the carriage.

“I am sorry for Caroline.  I am afraid she has set her cap at Darcy.”

“I quite understand,” Bella agreed.  “I understand Pemberley is quite fine.”  She looked around the hall, mentally making comparisons to the estate she had yet to see.

“Most fine,” Louisa agreed, “though I have not seen it myself.  They say,” and here she stepped closer to Bella so the footman might not overhear, “that Darcy is worth at least ten thousand a year if not very likely more.”

Bella’s eyes widened.  Kenbridge had only been worth six thousand.  Could Pemberley be so fine as that?  “Are you certain?” she murmured.  “Renee—that is, Mama—will be in effusions.”

“I would not tell her then, though she is likely to hear it from the local matrons.”

“Yes,” Bella agreed carefully.  “Yes, undoubtedly she will.”

At this the drawing room door opened and Darcy himself walked out.  He was just as tall as ever he was and when he reached out to take Bella’s hand, she still felt a tendril of unease skate up her skin. 

“Miss Swan,” he stated solemnly, bowing over her hand.  “I shall call on you and your excellent mother soon.”

“You shall find the townhouse very unaccommodating,” she apologized in advance.  “I am not certain all three of us shall fit in the parlor.  I quite despair.”

His dark eyes gazed solemnly into hers, making Bella catch her breath.

“I am certain we can find a solution,” he promised, his thumbs stroking the top of her hand before letting it go again.

Bella curtseyed to him and, nodding to Louisa, swept out of the house and into the carriage.

How low she had come, needing to borrow the carriage of an acquaintance.  The day had become decidedly gray and there was even a decided drizzle.  It would have been miserable to walk all the way back to Meryton, but still… Bella did not like having to accept charity.

When she arrived back on High Street, the road was muddy and she had to avoid a puddle.

The sound of laughter was coming out of the parlor, and she looked to Charlotte for an explanation.

“Lady Swan is entertaining,” Charlotte explained quietly as she brought a shawl.

“Who is in there with her?”

“Mr. Roland Thurbank,” Charlotte responded, taking his card from up her sleeve.  “He comes from an estate called “Sturbridge.” 

“Never heard of it,” Bella sighed, “but then again, I do not know the houses here about.”

“Do we know his income?  Did he dance with Renee?”

Charlotte shrugged.  No, how would she know.  There was no way to know unless she had been told.

“How long has he been here?” Bella inquired.

“Well above an hour and a half.”  Charlotte was looking decidedly worried.

Bella looked about, hoping there was a clock.  There was none.  “Do we know what time it is?”

“The only clock is in the parlor,” Charlotte apologized.

Nodding, Bella decided, “Send in tea.  Tell her I have returned from tea at Netherfield Park and have retired to my room before luncheon in half an hour.  Hopefully that will get her to tell him to go.”

Charlotte hesitated.  “Shall I prepare luncheon after I serve her?”

“Decidedly,” Bella told her.  “If she doesn’t make him go, I shall eat without her.”

Charlotte bustled away to the kitchens and Bella took a few steps to the stairs.  A loud eruption of laughter came from behind the parlor door and she turned.  Charlie had barely been his grave these two months and Renee was behaving disgracefully.  Bella knew that the marriage between her parents had been for appearances’ sake only, but her mother could at least show a little decorum.

Closing her eyes in pain, Bella willed back the tears.

Charlie had been so young himself, barely thirty-six years old.

He couldn’t take Renee’s adultery anymore. 

There had been arguments, fighting, shouting.  Once Renee had even thrown a vase at Charlie’s head.  Then the fateful night had occurred.  It had all gone wrong.  Renee had slapped Charlie that night—and then Charlie had taken his black charger and ridden out into the rain.  He had never come home.

Bella blamed Renee.

She blamed Renee for all of it.

For Charlie’s unhappiness.  For Charlie’s death.  For their loss of Kenbridge.  For their present reduced circumstances.  For her sudden need to marry.

Less than two months ago Bella had been enjoying a gentle flirtation with Edward Masen. 

Now she was trapped with Darcy of Pemberley as a suitor and every time he touched her, he made her skin crawl.

A shiver of light through the front window caught her attention.  It reminded her of the flash in Dr. Cullen’s eyes.  She sighed happily to herself.  He had been a rare form of a man although she had barely spoken to him for half a moment.  If only she could twist her ankle in the evening so she could send for him.  Then he would touch her ankle, perhaps even without the stocking!

Her heart fluttered at the very notion.

The kitchen door opened and Charlotte entered, cutting off her musings.  She was bearing a tea tray.  The tea service looked very ill indeed.  Perhaps Bella should write to Sir Lewis and ask him to send the fourth best set.  He could be kind enough and do it—couldn’t he?

Couldn’t he?

Charlotte went into the parlor, pushing the door open with her back.

Bella could hear giggling come out of the room.

Her mother was giggling like a girl of thirteen.  It disgusted her.

Thinking no more of Edward, Darcy, or Dr. Cullen, Bella climbed the stairs to her poky room where she would escape into a book of Thomas Gray.