Page 45 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

A t Longbourn, the coming Michaelmas Assembly was discussed with some interest. Kitty hoped all the officers might attend. Lydia speculated on who would ask her to dance. Jane, as ever, was quiet but willing, and Mary allowed that such assemblies did serve the public good, if not the intellect.

Elizabeth had expected the usual mix of tolerable partners and over-warm rooms. But when she learned from Mr. Bingley that Mr. Darcy declined the invitation, she felt curiously discomposed.

During that morning’s call Bingley explained: “I do not think he shall attend. He claims he has already made enough of a figure at the last gathering.” Bingley was, as always, delighted with the prospect of an assembly in Meryton and secured Jane’s first dance with great eagerness.

Seated at the writing desk with a half-finished letter before her, Elizabeth found her thoughts unsettled.

That he would not be there—that she would not catch his eye across the floor, not feel again the curious awareness that seemed to spark when they were in company—left a hollow she had not anticipated.

He neither cared for dancing nor for large gatherings.

Whilst her courage would rise in the face of rumours, he was wont to remain aloof.

He might be right, of course. The gossip had not died, and his presence might only fuel it.

But still—she had hoped. Though she would never have admitted it, she had imagined dancing with him.

He had made his choice, and it was arguably a prudent one. And she, for her part, would do what was required—smile, converse, and dance with whomever asked her.

But still there was a flicker of unease.

His absence might be read as retreat—worse, as tacit acknowledgement.

Had he appeared and met her as an indifferent acquaintance, the matter might have settled itself without further comment.

There would have been nothing in their manner to justify rumour, nothing to feed it. And yet…

She did not know what troubled her more—that he would not be there, or that she had wished for his presence at all.

The scent of hay and saddle soap lingered in the air as Darcy adjusted the bridle on his mare. He did not look up when the Colonel entered, boots echoing on the packed earth.

“You are resolved not to attend, then?” Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, brushing a stray stalk of straw from his coat.

Darcy gave the strap a final tug. “I think it best.”

The colonel leant against the stall gate. “You cannot intend to absent yourself from all society. People will talk, whether you are seen or not.”

“I prefer not to provide fresh occasion,” Darcy replied evenly, turning to hang the bridle upon its peg. “There has been too much talk already.”

“Then meet it with composure. Appear unconcerned, dance if required, and betray no hint of unease. That is the surest way to see such nonsense extinguished.”

Darcy looked up at last. “And if my presence only inflames their curiosity? If every glance is interpreted, every silence misconstrued? I risk lending credence to that which has no foundation.”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Is that truly your concern, or does it merely serve to excuse your natural aversion to assemblies?” He shrugged.

“As you please. It would hardly be the first time you were the subject of whispers at a ball. Remain here, if you must—polishing tack—whilst they whisper about Miss Elizabeth instead.”

The stallion beside them snorted and shifted in the straw.

Darcy’s features were unreadable. The colonel sighed and shook his head.

“The Hursts are indisposed, and Miss Bingley declines to go. She saw fit to declare the company ‘little better than savages.’ It seems someone from Netherfield ought to show their face.”

Darcy studied the dust upon his boots. “My attendance would only bring Miss Bennet increased scrutiny.”

“Then ought you not to stand by her?” the Colonel asked quietly. “To show the world there is nothing to conceal?”

Darcy shook his head once. “If I were seen at her side, it would only affirm suspicion. If I avoid her, it will appear cold. And should I abstain from dancing altogether, some other motive will be ascribed. Better that I remove myself entirely. My presence would do her no service.”

The colonel was silent for a moment. “So, you mean to protect her by withdrawing.”

“I mean to do no further harm,” Darcy said, his voice low. “She has made her wishes plain.. Were I to attend, every look would be examined, every courtesy exaggerated. I can neither defend her openly nor pretend indifference. I will not complicate matters further.”

The colonel gave a slow nod. “It is not the strategy I would choose. But see that it is not merely the comforts of solitude you cling to. Do not remain too long in retreat. A woman’s good name, once shadowed, is not easily restored.”

Darcy’s expression hardened. “On that point, I require no instruction.”

Fletcher set the freshly brushed coat upon the stand. “Shall I lay your evening clothes for the Assembly, sir?”

Darcy fastened his cuff. “No. I have already informed Bingley that I will not attend.”

“Not attend, sir?”

“That is correct.”

There was the faintest pause before Fletcher turned from the closet.

“Indeed, sir.” The word carried neither agreement nor approval.

He placed a pair of gloves on the table with deliberate care.

“One notes, however, that the absence of a highly ranked gentleman is often remarked upon with great enthusiasm.”

Darcy looked up, faintly frowning. “You believe I should concern myself with local gossip?”

Fletcher inclined his head, the merest fraction. “I believe, sir, that others will draw their own conclusions. Whether they are correct is seldom the point.”

Darcy glanced at him, a faint crease forming between his brows. “You imply that my absence will be noted?”

Fletcher made a small, noncommittal gesture. “I imply nothing, sir. Only that there have been assemblies where… recollections lingered longer than might have been anticipated.”

Darcy stilled a fraction, the ghost of a memory flickering and then receding. Whatever Fletcher might be hinting at had no bearing on the present. His course was set.

When the Netherfield party arrived, it was composed of only two gentlemen: Mr. Bingley and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

The latter was not long in drawing the attention of the room by his very becoming regimentals, fine manners, and the report, which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance, of his being the son of an earl.

The assembly rooms were thronged beyond expectation, the air close and faintly acrid from many candles and tightly packed bodies.

The abundance of scarlet coats rendered the gathering a military encampment more than a genteel gathering.

Elizabeth, surveying the scene with amused detachment, watched the flicker of sashes and gold braid and imagined her mother’s raptures had she not been confined to her bed with one of her customary ailments.

“I declare, Lizzy,” Jane murmured beside her, “I can scarce breathe in such close quarters. Yet everyone seems in such high spirits.”

“Indeed,” Elizabeth replied, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“I suspect some of our neighbours are discovering that the reality of so many charming officers is rather different from their fond imaginings. Poor Miss Robinson’s new silk slippers have been trodden upon twice already, and the evening has barely begun. ”

Mr. Bingley had scarcely entered the assembly room before his eyes found Miss Bennet. His smile, warm and unfeigned, deepened as he crossed the floor, bowing with genuine delight.

“Miss Bennet,” he said, offering his arm. “Will you do me the honour?”

Jane accepted with composure. “Certainly, Mr. Bingley.”

As the music began and they joined the line, his manner—though properly attentive—held a fervency not easily disguised.

As they turned, his expression barely disguising the eagerness of his admiration, the slight forward tilt of his posture, the unconscious half-step nearer whenever Jane turned her head.

Elizabeth joined the set with her childhood friend, Robert Lucas.

They spent a pleasant half hour catching up on one another’s news.

Elizabeth was delighted to learn that Robert was courting a young lady from Alton, and that he hoped to be wed within the year.

After the dance concluded, Robert returned Elizabeth to join Jane, standing near the refreshment table.

Jane and Elizabeth were soon interrupted by the approach of Mr. Bingley, who was accompanied by the gentleman in regimentals whom Elizabeth recognised as Colonel Fitzwilliam.

That gentleman was possessed of both good sense and easy agreeable manners—a marked contrast to his more taciturn cousin, whose absence this evening had been a disappointment to Elizabeth, although she understood his reasoning.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said with his characteristic warmth, “I believe you are acquainted with the Colonel.”

The Colonel bowed, but his attention rested chiefly upon Jane. There was a softened quality in his expression—an attentiveness that exceeded mere civility and caused Elizabeth’s gaze to linger on him with increased curiosity.

“How very pleasant to see you again,” said Jane, her smile gentle. “I hope Meryton has not disappointed?”

“Quite the contrary, Miss Bennet,” the Colonel returned, his tone touched with warmth. “The company alone would make any place agreeable.”

The Colonel solicited Jane’s hand for the next dance, to Elizabeth’s growing amusement.

Her sister’s acceptance was given with grace, but a becoming flush coloured Jane’s cheeks, and her eyes brightened at the invitation.

More significantly, the Colonel smiled with patent satisfaction at securing the honour.

Far less satisfied was Mr. Bingley, who belatedly asked Elizabeth to honour him with the set.