A Wife for Mr. Darcy

Providence for intervening.
    “Actually, not a one. Mr. Bingley’s time was quite taken up with Miss Jane Bennet, a most agreeable lady and the daughter of a gentleman farmer. Shortly before I left Hertfordshire, he made her an offer of marriage, and she has accepted him. Understandably, he could think of little else.”
    “That is very good news for Mr. Bingley that he is marrying well.”
    Did he hear her correctly? Did she just say that Bingley was marrying well and not the other way around?
    “Knowing Miss Bennet, I agree that Mr. Bingley is marrying well, but considering his fortune, it is also a good match for the lady.”
    “What I meant is that Mr. Bingley is not a gentleman, but will be marrying a gentleman’s daughter.”
    “You don’t consider Mr. Bingley to be a gentleman?”
    This seemed to make Mr. Darcy unhappy, and so she demurred. “Who am I to say who is or who is not a gentleman? I was only basing my opinion on my understanding that his father was in trade.”
    “Have you met his sisters, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst?” If she had, then she would know they were well educated, accomplished, and elegantly attired.
    Miss Montford tilted her head to the side, which was something she did when she was puzzled. “How would I know them, Mr. Darcy, as we do not have the same friends? We may have attended some of the same events, but I have never been introduced to them. Do you think that I might be introduced to them?”
    Darcy could not tell from her tone if she considered that to be a good thing. But surely if they were to marry, she would understand that the family of his closest friend would be invited to their home.
    “Mr. Bingley tells me they will marry around Christmastime,” he said, ignoring her question. “He has a large family, so it will be quite an affair if all can attend the wedding celebration.”
    “How nice for them,” she responded, and then the silence returned for what seemed an eternity. “Shall I play something, Mr. Darcy?”
    “Yes, please,” he answered eagerly, and then sank back into the chair with a sigh of relief. They would not have to talk as long as she was playing.
    “Do you have a request, sir?”
    “Surprise me,” and then he thought of something Elizabeth Bennet had said about what constituted an accomplished woman: “You see, Mr. Darcy, we are of necessity more practical in the country. Jane and I have painted many screens, but when every fireplace has one, we stop. Even the largest house can only hold so many tables, no matter how beautifully painted, and when it comes to the matter of music, many of our friends are talented on the pianoforte. But if the truth be known, most people prefer an air or a jig to a concerto as we love to dance.”
    After thinking about Miss Elizabeth’s comments, he asked, “Miss Montford, something lively, if you will,” and she searched among the music sheets before finally settling on a Scottish air, and while she was playing, he could not help but notice how many painted tables there were in the room.
    While Letitia played, Darcy’s mind was flooded with visions of Elizabeth. How he would love to wrap his fingers around her dark curls while gazing into her coal black eyes and to trace the outline of her face with his fingers. His thoughts of the lady spurred him to action.
    “Miss Montford, I do not recall if I mentioned that Mr. Bingley is hosting a ball at his home in Hertfordshire, and I have promised that I will attend.”
    She showed no sign of unhappiness at his news, and after deciding that the visit had lasted long enough, he rose, bowed, and beat a hasty retreat, and when he got into the hackney, he loosened his neckcloth as he felt as if he was being strangled.

    At supper, after interrogating her brother about his visit with Miss Montford, Georgiana pronounced it to be satisfactory.
    “Since you are gone so frequently, perhaps you might consider writing a poem or love letter.”
    “Please, Georgiana, I am not a romantic.”
    “Flowers?”
    “May we have this conversation after I return from Hertfordshire?”
    “Yes, and I have a surprise for you, Will. I have been feeling guilty about not going to the country with you, so I have changed my mind. I shall attend the ball at Netherfield.”
    Instead of the expected response, her brother put his head back and rubbed his temples as if fighting a headache.
    “Georgie, would you pour a glass of Madeira for me? I have something unpleasant to tell