Mr. Dashwood, who had been following the exchange with amusement, seemed gratified by Kitty’s eagerness.
'I cannot imagine.' Elizabeth, unwilling to prolong Kitty’s torment further, smiled. 'We happily accept your invitation, Mr. Dashwood.'
Harry’s face broke into an expression of elation. 'I hope Norland offers much to interest you all. And should its pleasures prove insufficient, Brighton is not far.'
'Brighton? I have always longed to go to Brighton! Lizzy, might we — '
'Norland, yes. Brighton, no,' Darcy declared.
Elizabeth concurred. As far as she was concerned, their family had experienced quite enough of Brighton, the scene of Lydia’s disgrace. Though the Prince Regent’s fondness for the seaside resort drew the fashionable to it in flocks, Elizabeth had no desire ever to lay eyes on the place.
Kitty released a sigh of resignation. 'I suppose it is too cold yet for seabathing anyway'
'Perhaps on a future visit,' said Mr. Dashwood.
The implication that Kitty would be spending more time in Sussex eradicated her remaining disappointment. Anticipation lit her features once more. 'I should like that.'
Mr. Dashwood, his attention now focused entirely on Kitty, failed to notice Darcy studying him. Darcy’s countenance was open, yet assessing, and Elizabeth wondered how Mr. Dashwood was faring in the evaluation. She rather liked him herself, and wanted to distract Darcy before their guest sensed he was on trial.
Playfulness still dominating her mood, she turned to Harry. 'Mr. Dashwood, my husband has developed quite an interest in hunting of late. Since meeting Lord Hartford, he simply cannot hear enough sporting talk. Does Norland offer good quarry?'
She felt Darcy’s gaze shift to her. His expression thanked her profusely for reminding him of the longest social call he’d ever endured, and promised she’d pay for her raillery later. She responded with wide-eyed innocence.
'Yes, indeed! In fact, I plan numerous hunts and shooting outings during the week of the party. Are you partial to any particular game, Mr. Darcy?'
'No,' he said, his eyes still on Elizabeth. The slightest smile played at the corners of his mouth. 'But apparently my wife is.'
Mr. Dash wood, mistaking Darcy’s meaning of 'game,' regarded Elizabeth with surprise. 'Do you hunt, Mrs. Darcy? We shall be too late for prime fox season, of course, but the pack will still give us a good run.'
She laughed. 'I find it difficult enough to maintain my balance in a sidesaddle on flat ground.'
'You are a better rider than that,' Georgiana asserted.
Elizabeth realized Darcy’s sister had said little during the meal. Though handsome and accomplished by even the strictest standards, Miss Darcy disliked drawing notice and participated in many conversations primarily as an attentive listener. Some erroneously perceived her silence as arrogance, but Elizabeth recognized it as simple shyness.
'It is kind of you to say so,' Elizabeth said. 'Nevertheless, if I ever tried to hunt, I no doubt would fall off my mount while jumping the first ox fence. You, on the other hand, could probably manage fairly well. Better than I, at least.'
Georgiana ducked her head at the praise of her equestrian skills. 'I would have to stop before the fox was treed, for I do not think I could witness what follows.'
'Neither could I!' Kitty exclaimed. 'I couldn’t bear to see the poor fox set upon by hounds and killed.'
'That is precisely why foxhunting is an inappropriate pastime for ladies,' Darcy said. 'Blood sport runs counter to their gentle natures.'
Elizabeth thought about many of the well-bred women who occupied society’s highest ranks, and chuckled softly. 'Ladies are quite capable of blood sport, darling. Their field is the drawing room.'
After dinner, the gentlemen withdrew to the library. Darcy offered Mr. Dashwood a glass of port, then took his customary chair beside the fire. Though invited to avail himself of the seat opposite, Mr. Dashwood instead perused the titles lining the walls.
'Homer, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Johnson, Wordsworth… You have an impressive collection.'
'I keep some favorite volumes here. Pemberley’s library is far more extensive. Whenever I come to town for long periods of time, I bring additional books for study and pleasure — and visit booksellers to add to the shelves.'
A row of novels caught Mr. Dashwood’s eye. He traced their spines with his fingertip. 'Mrs. Lennox, Mrs. Burney, Mrs. Rad-cliffe.' He selected a volume and thumbed its pages.
'Those belong to Georgiana and my wife. Do you have a large library at Norland?'
Mr. Dashwood frowned. 'I’m not sure, come to think on it. Oh, the room’s big enough, but as for what occupies its shelves, I have little idea. I don’t think I’ve been inside above half a dozen times.'
'Six times in your whole life?' Darcy could scarcely comprehend such a thing. His own thirst for knowledge, the lessons of his private tutor, and hours spent at his father’s elbow learning to administer their estate had seen him practically raised in Pemberley’s library. Economics, business, law, literature, philosophy — only Cambridge had offered more wisdom than that room contained.
Mr. Dashwood shrugged. 'When I was a child, my lessons were in the nursery, of course. Then it was off to Eton and Oxford. I was seldom home, and when I was, the library was the last place that held any interest for me.'
'Your father conducted all his instruction in the field then? My own father did a good deal of that, too.'
Darcy’s father had been a strong advocate of direct experience, encouraging his son to talk with tenants and occasionally get his hands dirty as he prepared to one day assume the responsibilities of a landlord. He’d believed a man who has never seen a calf born or rubbed soil between his fingers cannot ever truly understand the principles of agriculture. One’s status as a gentleman might free him from toiling to survive, but the best landlords were at least passingly familiar with the land and people in their care.
'Instruction? I don’t understand you, sir.'
'Training you to take over for him eventually.'
Mr. Dashwood replaced the book on the shelf. 'We seldom talked about Norland. Or much else.'
'You were not close?'
'Not especially.' He moved toward the fire. 'As soon as I could read, my parents sent me off to obtain a gentleman’s education. Each month, I received a parcel containing an allowance and a letter from my mother expressing her hope that I was cultivating the right sort of acquaintances and conducting myself in a manner that promoted our family’s reputation. So long as I met their expectations, they left me to myself. I suppose my father would have explained a few matters about estate management to me had I ever asked — it seemed at times that money was all he ever talked about — but I never asked. I was content to simply enjoy the privileges of wealth without any responsibilities.'
'And now?'
Mr. Dashwood studied Darcy, seeming to weigh how much more he cared to reveal about himself to the sponsor of a woman he hoped to court. 'Now I find myself in possession of an estate I know little about,' he said finally.
'You certainly are not the first gentleman to discover himself ill prepared to govern his affairs.' Darcy could think of many estates that had fallen into mismanagement by heirs who lacked the interest or aptitude to properly administer them. It reflected well on Mr. Dashwood that he had recognized this failing in himself, particularly at such a young age. As Harry had owned Norland for only a few months, Darcy hoped his indifference had been of a duration too short to cause damage. 'The question is, how do you intend to correct that deficiency?'
'I hadn’t planned to do anything about it. None of my friends seem to pay the least attention to such matters — if they own land at all, they just leave everything in the hands of their solicitors and stewards. And I don’t know that I really have the temperament to supervise so many little details.'
He took a chair, perching on the edge of the seat and leaning toward Darcy. 'But this past week, I roamed all over Norland, from its attics to its parkland. I thought about what it would be like to show it to Miss Bennet, to see it through the eyes of someone beholding it for the first time. I wanted it to be a place that would impress her. And then I realized that in wanting her approval of Norland, what I really sought was her approval of me. That when I inherited Norland, it became as much a part of me as any other possession, a representation to the world of who I am. And just as I would never neglect my appearance or my manners, neither can I afford to neglect my
