Chapter One

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

It was not matrimonial possibilities that had drawn Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, CM to the vicinity of the market town of Meryton in Hertfordshire. He had come to aid his friend Mr. Charles Bingley, in determining if the estate of Netherfield Park was an appropriate property upon which he might cut his teeth as a landed gentleman. But he was, as always, decidedly aware that on his first entering any neighborhood, the surrounding families would consider him as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters. He was determined to be on his guard against such machinations and entanglements at all times.

“What say you, Darcy?” Bingley asked. The two gentlemen reined in their horses and took in the view of the large house on the wooded hill.

“It seems pleasant enough,” Darcy admitted.

“Oh, it’s nothing to Pemberley I know. But I must have an estate if I am ever to learn to manage one. Will this do, do you think?” Bingley was a confident young man, but was aware of the limitations of his experience and upbringing. He valued his older friend’s advice on this and many other things.

“I cannot think you have spent much time in the somewhat limited society such a neighborhood as this may offer. Have you considered how you and your sisters may get along?” The gentleman from Derbyshire was more than familiar with country living. He considered himself a country squire at heart, despite the time he spent in the Metropolis.

“Country manners? Nothing could be more charming.”

Darcy smiled inwardly. His friend thought the whole world charming. “The decision is yours. But, I suggest you take it.”

“Thank you, I agree.” It was a fine early autumn day, and the temperate air and open fields tempted the friends to continue their most enjoyable ride. With a merry laugh, they raced to the house on the hill. As they rode, Darcy’s keen eyes spotted a young lady watching them from a tall hilltop some ways in the distance. He was not able to take in many details before she was occluded by the trees, but he was favorably impressed with her lissome figure and fine eyes. Prudence, Darcy. Be always on your guard.

Bingley took possession of the estate the day before Michaelmas. At first it was just he and Darcy in residence. Having no lady in the party precluded them from any formal entertaining. But it did not stop the local gentlemen from making their calls to introduce themselves and welcome the newcomer to the county. Three of the visitors stood out in Darcy’s recollection. The first was a local knight, Sir William Lucas, who Darcy suspected was newly risen to the ranks of the gentry. He had the air of a former military man and the style of a parvenu.

“I am delighted to welcome you to our humble society, Mr. Bingley. I trust you will find us convivial company.”

“Thank you, Sir William. I am most anxious to become better acquainted with the neighborhood.” Bingley replied warmly.

“Your timing could not be more fortuitous then,” effused Sir William. “We are to hold a public assembly in a fortnight, on the 15th. You would delight the county were you to grace us with your presence. I can assure you that despite our seclusion, this neighborhood can boast some of the loveliest maidens in all of England. Not even the Court of St. James may offer blossoms to rival the Miss Bennets who are often referred to as the Flowers of Hertfordshire.”

“Good gracious. I would be greatly saddened to miss such an opportunity to meet the good people of Meryton. If my guests are amenable, I shall certainly attend.”

“Capital! Just capital.”

The next man that drew Mr. Darcy’s notice was Mr. Robinson, a tall, thin gentleman only a few years older than Darcy yet already nearly bald. Mr. Robinson entered the room with his pipe and pouch following behind him like a faithful hound.

“Um, Sir,” Bingley pointed out the levitating objects to his guest.

“Dear me,” Mr. Robinson said chagrinned. “I thought I had left these in the curricle. Ah well. Leave it to me to make a cake of myself on first meeting the new squire.” He waved his hand and the offending items floated slowly into his waiting grasp. He tucked them into his pocket and turned to his host.

“I cannot tell you how glad I am to see this old haunt let at last. It’s been more than two years since the Sturbridges vacated. And the old pinch penny has neglected to employ a good sheriff for the estate in all that time.”

“Have there been particular issues?” Darcy inquired. He knew that this close to London there was always to possibility to problems boiling over from the City.

“No more than one might expect. This is a quiet area. But it’s the principle of the thing. D’you know that Old Sturbridge actually has Miss Elizabeth Bennet acting as sheriff in his absence? It is all unofficial, but still. Though as her own father has her patrolling Longbourn, it might be expected that neither father nor daughter see anything wrong with it. But I tell you, a young lady putting herself in the way of poachers and ruffians and … and … who knows what. It’s not right.” He was pacing at this point, waving his arms in agitation. “And I want to know what you are planning to do about it!” His finger pointed most decidedly to Bingley.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Miss Bennet?” Bingley repeated uncertainly.

“No, no. She’s far too gentle to do anything of the sort. And a beauty par excellence! A true nonpareil. But Miss Elizabeth is something of a wild one. Always traipsing about the fields and lanes. I know she’s the most gifted person in the county, but that is no reason for her to involve herself in what ought to be a gentleman’s duty.”

“I suppose I will either have to hire a sheriff or take over the magisterial duties myself. What say you Darcy? You helped me revise for my martial courses. Do you reckon I am up for the job?”

“I would be happy to assist you while I am here.”

“My friend Darcy is a Crown Magistrate so I know he won’t lead me astray.”

The third memorable visitor was Mr. Bennet, FSA, the father of the daughters spoken of so highly by their neighbors. Mr. Bennet was a man of medium height, with greying hair. Darcy guessed his age to be near fifty and was surprised to realize he was a recognized scholar on the subject of antiquities. Darcy recalled having read at least two of his treatises. He presented an odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humor, and reserve.

“. . . And if you ever care to while away the afternoon with a good game of chess, I have both the leisure and the board to offer you a contest. Until then, I bid you a good afternoon.” The master of Longbourn kept his visit short. In Darcy’s opinion, it was extraordinary that he never once mentioned his five unwed daughters to the two eligible gentlemen.

The following days were filled with pastoral pleasures; shooting, riding, and walking. Darcy took to the air on several occasions to explore the estate and its surrounding environs. He saw only one other flyer during this time, a royal messenger. Likewise, Bingley took time to speed around the borders of the estate and along all its lanes, discovering the best ways to reach all the tenants and other notable locations in case of need. Darcy found the cloud of dust kicked up behind his fleet-footed friend that made him so easy to track from the air most amusing.

“I think I must begin to return the calls from the local gentlemen.” Bingley said as they finished their evening repast. “As I am sure you have no desire to accompany me on these visits, I was wondering if you wished to return to Town for a few days. I must go back on Friday to escort Caroline and the Hursts.”

“That sounds like a reasonable plan. I do not mean to abandon you …” Bingley rolled his eyes. “But there are some business matters that would be significantly more convenient to address in person.”

“Will you ride or fly?”

Darcy considered for a moment. It was judged somewhat unseemly to blatantly exhibit one’s gifts among the ungifted without due cause. But London was, to a certain extent, the exception to this notion. As the number of gifted in the metropolis was staggering and the utility of some gifts too profound to disregard. Still those most frequently seen parading their gifts in public were the neck or nothing young bloods who were all agog to display to their own advantage. Darcy never wanted to be considered among such indecorous company. “I believe I will ride. I’ll need my mount for the return journey in any case.”

“Very well. I shall call upon Mr. Bennet tomorrow. Will you join me, or will you be on your way before then?”

“You offer me Scylla or Charybdis. I shall choose the vortex and begin my journey immediately after breakfast.”

“Will not even the hope of gaining a glimpse of the Flowers of Hertfordshire tempt you to join me in this social foray?”

“I leave such horticultural delights to you,” Darcy avowed. “I would caution you Charles. I know you are of a romantic disposition, but be guarded, lest you raise hopes, or worse, expectations in the daughters of the county.”

“A man has to marry someday, my friend. With the right lady I would go willingly into the parson's mousetrap.”

The next day Bingley returned Mr. Bennet's visit, and sat about ten minutes with him in his library. The young gentleman had entertained hopes of being admitted to a sight of the young ladies, of whose beauty he had heard much; but he saw only the father. An invitation to dinner was soon afterwards dispatched. Mr. Bingley was obliged to be in town the following day, and consequently unable to accept the honor of their invitation.

As Darcy made his way to his town house, he found the Old North Road too crowded with cart and carriage traffic to make for a comfortable ride. As he was in no hurry and it was a fine day, he decided to explore the lesser trafficked byways. Unfortunately, as he neared the outskirts of the metropolis, he was beset by a pair of highwaymen. One of the fellows appeared normal enough, though with a full-face mask one could not discern his countenance. He wore a soldier's waistcoat and breeches. The other was more noteworthy. He appeared to be shaped from roughhewn granite and wore homespun. He was as tall as his mounted comrade and almost as wide as the companion’s cart-horse.

“Your money, or your life!” cried the presumed deserter. “Try to run and Crag’ll tear yer limb from its socket and beat you bloody with it. Then he’ll eat yer horse.”

Darcy held up his empty hands, each palm facing a brigand. The grotesque started towards him while his partner held the gentleman under his gun. Before the man mountain could approach more closely, Darcy released a pulse of gravity from each hand, sending the two outlaws slamming into the trees behind them. A reversed pulse pulled the pistol from the hands of the stunned deserter. The grotesque had maintained his footing and started towards Darcy. Floating off his mount, the crown magistrate moved to meet the rocky scofflaw.

The concussion from their collision could be felt for a furlong and heard far further. Darcy was braced for the impact and smote the stone giant, driving him into the packed earth up to his knees. Seeing the fate of his companion, the deserter attempted to flee. A wave of Darcy’s hand caused the gravity around the man the man to increase, drawing him inexorably to the ground where he continued struggling ineffectually to escape.

“I would say you may have chosen both your profession and your victim poorly,” the gentleman chided. “But now what should I do with you?” He pondered the quandary for a brief time before deciding that he was justified in an overt display of his gifts as the quickest manner of transporting them to the local magistrate. While he had wide ranging jurisdiction as a crown magistrate, it was considered discourteous to conduct an investigation or make arrests on the properties of another magistrate without at least informing them and more commonly asking their permission.

He secured the horses and shackled the criminals, then flew up well above the trees. He used his enhanced vision to search for the nearest town or manor. Finding a large house not a mile hence, he returned to his prisoners. Binding the presumed deserter to his saddle and causing the grotesque to become weightless, he secured the man-mountain so that he floated like an observation balloon tethered behind Darcy as he rode to the nearby manor. Once he had made his report and turned his prisoners over to the local landowner, Darcy continued more directly to his home.