Page 8 of The Cat Who Loved Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice Variation)
Though never known for grandeur, the Meryton Assembly Rooms were aglow with candles and humming with anticipation that evening. Waxed floors gleamed, polished mirrors doubled the light, and an earnest quartet of musicians did its best to supply the necessary elegance for a country ball.
Having exchanged pleasantries with the host, the Bennet family moved with practised ease aside to make room for the next arrivals.
Mrs. Bennet immediately secured a position near the wall with the best vantage of the door, spreading her skirts carefully over her slightly elevated chair as if staking a formal claim.
Jane, Elizabeth, and Mary stood poised just behind her, offering nods and courteous greetings to neighbours, while Kitty and Lydia clustered close enough to remain within sight but scarcely able to contain their restless excitement.
Mr. Collins, having arrived in the second carriage with Mr. Bennet, stayed close at his cousin’s shoulder as though glued there by solemn duty. He peered at the crowd with grave interest, smoothing his black coat and glancing frequently at Mr. Bennet for cues on how to behave.
Mr. Bennet lingered at the edge of the group, his mouth twitching at the earnest conspiracies exchanged behind the fluttering fans of Meryton’s assembled matrons. He was perhaps shortsighted, but decidedly not deaf.
Beneath the chandeliers’ steady glow, conversations rippled in measured waves, rising and falling with the flick of a fan or the polite dip of a curtsey.
Elizabeth swept her gaze across the room with calm alertness, noting the eager glances exchanged among families with daughters to marry and the subtle competition for places with a clear view of the musicians’ platform—a small raised stage at one end of the hall where the orchestra was placed, allowing dancers to follow their cues and ambitious mothers to ensure their daughters were seen at every turn.
Jane’s cheeks already wore a shy flush, brought on by the warmth of greeting so many friends and acquaintances who smiled upon seeing her.
Mary clasped her small reticule with academic precision, her gaze solemn as she scanned the room for any opportunity to discuss music or decorum. Yet even she could not help watching the swirl of gowns and the practiced turns of the first set forming.
Kitty and Lydia, meanwhile, were nearly vibrating with the effort to remain collected, their eyes darting like magpies to every regimented coat and laughing group of younger men in the crowd.
Mrs. Bennet surveyed her daughters with the air of a field marshal reviewing her troops.
Satisfied for the moment, she adjusted her shawl and began greeting acquaintances with theatrical warmth, loud enough to ensure half the room heard her delight at seeing old friends.
She kept an eagle eye on the door, smoothing her expression at every new arrival, determined not to miss the first glimpse of Mr. Bingley or any sign of the wealthy friend Mr. Darcy.
Meanwhile, Mr. Collins hovered like a shadow beside Mr. Bennet, leaning in at intervals to murmur solemn observations on the moral benefit of community gatherings and the notable respectability of the Meryton ladies.
Mr. Bennet endured these confidences with thinly veiled amusement, steering them both toward a position where they could watch proceedings without getting drawn onto the dance floor.
Elizabeth inched a little closer to Jane, offering a subtle squeeze of her sister’s hand.
She smiled, softening her voice so only Jane could hear.
“Take heart. Mama will not let them forget you tonight—even if you wished it.” Jane’s eyes sparkled despite her blush, and she shook her head gently.
Their shared laughter, hushed though it was, felt like an anchor in the shifting, glittering chaos of the assembly.
The hum of conversation deepened noticeably as the door to the assembly room opened wide to admit the trio everyone was watching for.
Mr. Bingley entered first, all eager delight and open-hearted welcome, arm politely offered to his sister.
Miss Bingley swept in with regal composure, her gown impeccably arranged and her chin held high, offering brisk nods to any she deemed worthy.
Behind them, Mr. Darcy followed with measured, unhurried grace, his expression composed, watchful, and solemn in the flickering candlelight.
Miss Bingley paused to acknowledge the host with carefully modulated charm before fixing her critical gaze on the crowd. Bingley, meanwhile, greeted the host with warm, boyish enthusiasm and glanced quickly around until his eyes fell on the Bennet party, lighting up immediately.
Mrs. Bennet’s entire frame went rigid for an instant before she surged halfway out of her chair, her eyes gleaming with determined focus.
“Jane, Elizabeth—compose yourselves!” she hissed, patting her hair with a nervous flutter and tugging the hem of her shawl into perfect alignment. “Mary, do not scowl! Kitty, Lydia—stand still and smile!”
Mr. Collins straightened and cleared his throat portentously, muttering about the honour of such connections as he tried to position himself in Mr. Bennet’s protective orbit.
Bingley beamed as they approached, bowing over Mrs. Bennet’s hand with genuine warmth. “Mrs. Bennet! You are too kind—so delighted to see you. And of course, Miss Bennet—Miss Elizabeth—it is all I hoped for, to find you here this evening.”
Jane’s flush deepened as she offered him a demure curtsey, her voice gentle but steady. Elizabeth, at her side, added her own polite greeting with a sparkle of dry amusement in her eyes that Darcy did not miss.
Darcy offered a carefully measured bow, his voice low but impeccably courteous. “Mrs. Bennet. Miss Bennet. Miss Elizabeth. Miss Lydia. Miss Kitty. It is...an honour to meet you here.”
Miss Bingley offered the Bennet ladies a cool but outwardly polite curtsey, her eyes flicking from their gowns to the crowded floor with barely veiled scepticism.
Elizabeth watched Darcy carefully, noting the slight hesitation before he spoke, the faintly searching look in his eyes that belied his cool tone. Mrs. Bennet, however, was having none of that.
“Oh, we must make you feel at home! Jane, Elizabeth—stand closer, don’t be shy! Mr. Bingley, you must lead a dance this evening—Jane is an excellent partner.”
Bingley’s face lit like a boy at Christmas. “I should count myself the luckiest man here if Miss Bennet would accept.”
Darcy inclined his head more gravely but made no move to join the flutter of anticipation that followed. Mrs. Bennet’s sharp eyes swung to him next.
“And you, Mr. Darcy? Surely you dance?”
He gave the smallest of sighs, so quiet it might have passed for a breath. “On occasion, madam. When I find it...appropriate. Unfortunately, I am already engaged for the first dance—with Miss Bingley.”
Mrs. Bennet’s face fell with a dramatic abruptness that was almost a performance in itself.
Caroline’s complexion paled noticeably at the word “unfortunately,” which betrayed rather too plainly that his preferences might have lain elsewhere had he been free.
Elizabeth, alone among them, caught every flicker of these shifting expressions.
Yet she maintained her composure, schooling her features carefully so as not to betray her observations.
Her brows lifted just a fraction in silent challenge, but she bit back the retort that danced on her tongue.
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, was undeterred.
“Well, I am certain you will find many here quite appropriate indeed. We are a friendly, sociable neighbourhood.”
Mr. Bingley laughed delightedly at the exchange, slipping his arm lightly through Darcy’s in companionable encouragement. “Come, Darcy—there will be plenty of sets and so many pretty partners to choose from. Few gentlemen tonight, you know. You will be in high demand.”
Darcy’s mouth twitched—almost a smile—but he offered only the faintest nod. Elizabeth watched the whole tableau with keen interest, wondering if this reserved gentleman might yet surprise them all before the evening was over.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Bennet beamed like the sun breaking through clouds. Her mission had begun in earnest.
At that moment, Mr. Bennet arrived through the press of guests, making his way back to the group with a genial nod to neighbours he passed. In his wake came Mr. Collins, trying not to be jostled, one hand clutching his hat against his chest like a talisman.
Mr. Bennet gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial glance, as if to say “watch this unfold,” before greeting the group politely. “Ah, Mr. Bingley, good evening. Miss Bingley, welcome. Mr. Darcy—pleasure to see you here among us country folk.”
Bingley beamed, greeting him with unstudied warmth. “Mr. Bennet! Delighted to see you again. We were hoping to find you and Mrs. Bennet here. A grand evening, is it not?”
“It improves by the minute,” Mr. Bennet observed with mild irony, casting a pointed look at Mr. Collins, who responded with an even louder, self-important throat-clearing, plainly expecting to be presented.
Mr. Bennet allowed himself the faintest sigh before turning to their company. “Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, Miss Bingley—may I present my cousin, Mr. Collins of Hunsford.”
Mr. Collins bowed with great ceremony, one hand pressed theatrically to his waistcoat.
“Honoured—truly honoured—to make your distinguished acquaintance. I am lately come into the living at Hunsford, which, I must add, is most generously bestowed upon me by my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She is all affability and condescension.”
Miss Bingley raised her brows just perceptibly but managed a polite inclination of the head.
Mr. Bingley blinked, then offered an amiable smile. “Indeed? Very good of her, I am sure.”
Darcy’s bow was reserved but scrupulously correct. “Mr. Collins. ” Darcy’s eyes grew a shade cooler but remained polite.