Page 6 of The Talented Daughters of Longbourn

Assembly Hall

Meryton

The next evening

The assembly was, if anything, even worse than Darcy had imagined it would be.

Sweat ran under his collars, the room sweltering with the heat of the crowd.

There were no windows in the hall, and the lack of ventilation only made the atmosphere more stifling.

The light of dozens of candles – wax candles instead of foul-smelling tallow candles, thank God for small mercies – shone brilliantly from carefully arranged mirrors.

Across the room, a table had been set up with pitchers of lemonade and a bowl of arrack punch, with biscuits and ratafia cakes piled high on plates next to the drinks.

Dames and matrons sat along the walls, gossiping busily, while their husbands sat around bored or clustered together in smaller groups near the potted plants.

A corridor off to the right probably led to a room for the gentlemen interested in cards .

The ample floor was awash with color; the clothes of the dancers in many hues. There must be at least twenty local families here, a generous mixture of fathers and mothers and daughters and sons.

More daughters than sons. But that was no great surprise, really. The war against the Corsican tyrant had drained so many young men from the villages and towns, and the cities and estates.

The people dancing and talking were typical of a place like Meryton. They were dressed in muslins instead of silks, and their behavior was not that of the truly fashionable members of the haut ton. They laughed too loudly and ate too much in company.

Worst of all, of course, were the mutterings of the matrons of the place and their simpering daughters.

“Mr. Bingley has five thousand pounds a year!”

“Mr. Darcy has ten thousand pounds a year and a large estate in Derbyshire!”

“Mr. Fitzwilliam is the son of an earl!”

Darcy grimaced to himself as he led Mrs. Hurst, Bingley’s older sister, into the last movement of the dance.

He would participate in the next set with Miss Bingley, and then he intended to hide in a corner for the rest of the night.

Bingley and Richard could please the local ladies by dancing with their daughters. He refused to do so .

As he approached Miss Bingley to ask her to dance, he noted that there was one truly lovely lady amongst the dancers, a blonde girl of some twenty summers, with blue eyes, an exquisite countenance, and a perfect figure.

Bingley was radiating enthusiasm, which was no surprise, as the younger man had always had an eye for blondes, and this woman was incredibly lovely.

Not that Darcy was interested in the woman. He would dance with Miss Bingley and consider his duty complete for the evening.

Miss Bingley was, he quickly learned, as displeased as he was with the entire affair.

She hissed vindictively into his ear during the cotillion, making remarks about the clothing of the other dancers, and their lack of skill in dancing, and the poor taste in music, and the vapid decorations.

He agreed with her, of course, but did not enjoy hearing her whine.

As his body performed the appropriate movements of the dance, he considered a letter he had just received from his steward at Pemberley regarding a tenant who had broken his leg only a few days before the man’s wife had birthed a fifth child.

The family was struggling, and Darcy took seriously his responsibilities as master of Pemberley.

He would order his steward to arrange for baskets of food and. ..

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy, that was entirely delightful,” Miss Bingley said coyly .

Darcy blinked and looked around. The dance was over, and his best friend’s unmarried sister was hanging on his arm with the determination of a limpet.

“Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Darcy said, forcing himself to focus on his partner. “Might I fetch you a glass of lemonade or punch?”

“Oh, punch, to be sure,” Miss Bingley replied, “thank you, Mr. Darcy. I do hope that these yokels are able to make a decent punch.”

He winced at these words, which were spoken all too loudly, and guided Miss Bingley over to a chair near her sister, Mrs. Hurst. He then fetched a glass of punch for each of the ladies, whereupon he slipped away and tried to hide unobtrusively behind a large potted plant.

He was only partially successful; he was a tall man, and the richest of the single gentlemen in attendance.

He was painfully aware of the regard of the older women sitting on the chairs and of the young ladies swirling around on the dance floor.

Some of the gentlemen were glancing at him, too.

He knew what they were thinking.

“How wonderful to have ten thousand pounds a year! To be related to an earl!”

He was fortunate, he knew that. He and Georgiana would never go hungry, would never be cold or poorly dressed. Yes, they were blessed .

But he was also burdened by tremendous responsibilities.

He was, at age eight and twenty, master of an enormous estate, with dozens of tenant farmers.

The local town of Lambton, filled with people very much like those who populated Meryton, also depended on Pemberley, since the inhabitants of the estate purchased many of their goods and foodstuffs from the town.

Last, but definitely not least, he was weighed down with concern over Georgiana.

His little sister, more than a decade his junior, had lost both father and mother before she had turned twelve years of age.

Darcy was more father than brother, but realistically, he was not her father.

He was intelligent and hard-working, but that had not been enough at Ramsgate.

He wished, again, that he had been able to knock out a couple of George Wickham’s teeth.

“Darcy!”

Darcy jerked in surprise and stared at Bingley, who had, now that the set was completed, left the dance floor and was staring at him with merry eyes and a slightly flushed countenance.

Darcy guessed that Bingley had enjoyed at least two cups of punch already, and while the man was not generally prone to getting drunk, he was probably especially cheerful.

“Yes?” Darcy asked with a forbidding tone.

He knew Bingley; the man was the best of friends, but he was also outgoing and energetic.

It was all too likely that Bingley would try to provoke him into dancing.

When Bingley was flush with alcohol, he never could manage to remember how much Darcy disliked dancing with strangers.

“Come, Darcy,” said Bingley, “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”

Darcy grimaced, sorry to be correct about Bingley’s purpose.

He said, “I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner. At such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. Your sisters are not available, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to me to stand up with.”

“I would not be so fastidious as you are,” cried Bingley, “for a kingdom! Upon my honor, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening; and there are several of them, you see, uncommonly pretty.”

Darcy looked rather desperately to the left and caught sight of the blonde-haired angel, who was standing with her hand on the arm of a young gentleman in a blue coat.

“You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room,” he said, lifting his chin toward the blonde .

“Oh, she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld! But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty and, I dare say, very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you.”

“Which do you mean?” Darcy demanded, looking around at the young lady sitting in a chair nearby.

She had chestnut hair and dark brown eyes.

His dour mood prompted him to ignore that she was quite lovely, and he said coldly, “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to temptme; and I am in no humor at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men. You had better return to yourpartner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me.”

At this moment, two things happened in succession. First, the girl in question turned and lifted one eyebrow. He felt his chest clench within him – had she heard his insulting words?

Second, Richard Fitzwilliam, younger son of the Earl of Matlock, Darcy’s cousin, and to some degree his handler, abruptly appeared in Darcy’s field of view and glared dangerously.

Darcy swallowed and felt himself straighten.

He had rarely been at the receiving end of Fitzwilliam’s ire, but he recognized the authority in those gray eyes.

Nor did he have any confusion about why his cousin was angry with him.

“I am sorry,” he muttered. “I spoke too loudly. ”

“Loudly and rudely,” Fitzwilliam answered back, continuing to peer sternly at the master of Pemberley. “Now, you will immediately ask Bingley to introduce you to the lady you just insulted so egregiously, and ask her for a dance. Is that clear?”

Darcy winced at these words but nodded obediently. After all, this was exactly why he was effectively paying his cousin to look after him. Richard Fitzwilliam was the soul of courtesy, and Darcy, with his penchant for distraction and his stiff demeanor, often caused offense.

“Very well,” he said with a sigh. “Bingley, would you kindly arrange for me to meet the young lady behind us?”

/

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said, “would you be kind enough to introduce my friend to your sister?”

The blonde was even more exquisite up close. “Of course, Mr. Bingley,” she said composedly. “Elizabeth, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, my sister, Miss Elizabeth. ”

Darcy bowed lower than usual and straightened in time to see Miss Elizabeth finish her curtsey.

For a moment, they regarded one another thoughtfully, and Darcy realized that she was more beautiful than he had initially realized.

It would make the subsequent dance slightly better, assuming the girl could avoid stepping on his toes.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said politely, “might I have the honor of the next dance?”

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” the lady replied brightly, “but I fear I am quite worn out at the moment and do not feel inclined to dance. Besides, I would not be at ease with forcing you to give consequence to a young lady slighted by other men.”

Darcy’s eyes flared open in shock, his lips parted in disbelief. Richard, who was standing at his left, choked noticeably before saying, “I am certain my cousin understands completely, Miss Elizabeth. I do hope you will be well enough to dance the fourth set with me?”

“Yes, you are on my dance card, and I look forward to it,” Miss Elizabeth replied, but her gaze remained on Darcy, and her fine eyes were flashing with fire.

“Until then,” Richard said gallantly and pulled his befuddled cousin away, marching him back to his potted plant .

“She refused me,” Darcy finally stuttered through numb lips.

“She did,” Richard agreed.

“I cannot remember ever having a lady refuse me.”

“Yes, it seems Miss Elizabeth did not much appreciate your insult,” his cousin said sternly.

Darcy stared at the girl, who was now watching the dancing, her feet tapping along with the music.

“Surely she cannot know...,” he began.

“Know what?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“That I am wealthy and connected? That I am Darcy of Pemberley?”

Richard snorted, which drew Darcy’s gaze, and said, “Not every woman is in pursuit of a fortune. Some women have enough integrity to turn away a man who is openly rude and arrogant, even if he is rich.”

Darcy winced again and said, “I am sorry, Richard.”

“I know.”

“Ought I to apologize? ”

“I think not,” Richard said, casting an experienced glance at Miss Elizabeth. “It would be awkward. Perhaps at a later time if you should meet again, when you have more privacy.”

“Very well,” Darcy said meekly, and he retreated a little more behind his plant.

When the current dance was completed, Richard swept forward to guide Miss Elizabeth onto the floor, and Darcy found himself watching the girl with mingled resentment and curiosity.

Resentment because he was Darcy of Pemberley, and he had offered to dance with the girl, which showed that he was contrite over his insult.

Curiosity because, if Miss Elizabeth Bennet was aware of his wealth and his status – and she almost certainly was, given that he had heard whispers about his money and connections for the last hour – well, then, the lady was unusual.

He was considered a great catch on the Marriage Mart.

There were few gentlemen with estates worth ten thousand pounds a year, and fewer still who were also closely related to an earl.

For her to openly reject him, well, it was very unusual.

He watched her dancing with Richard, and he noted the brightness of her fine eyes and the lightness in her steps. She was definitely quite handsome, and there was intelligence and vivacity in her piquant face .

He bit his lip, aware of the slightest hint of disappointment. He almost wished, almost , that he had been able to dance with Miss Elizabeth.

The set ended and ladies and gentlemen departed the dance floor.

Darcy watched as Bingley hurried up to his blonde angel, Miss Bennet, obviously intent on inviting her to dance a second time.

Darcy sighed; it was natural enough that Bingley would make such a request, but it was also unwise.

In small communities like Meryton, a stranger asking a local lady to dance twice the first day they met would indicate that he was very interested in her, and it would give rise to gossip and foolish hopes…

And she was shaking her head.

What?

Even from a distance, Darcy could see Bingley’s disappointment in the slight slump of his shoulders, but his friend was always courteous, and he bowed and turned away, then wandered morosely to Darcy’s side.

“Miss Bennet declined to dance with me again,” he said.

Darcy had determined this already, but he was puzzled. “Did she say why? ”

“Yes, she said that to dance twice would incite chattering and curiosity among her friends, and she does not wish for that so early in our acquaintance.”

Darcy blinked in astonishment. “She is correct, of course.”

“I suppose,” Bingley said unhappily. “She suggested that I dance with Miss Maria Lucas, and perhaps I should.”

“Can we leave soon?” Darcy asked, rather piteously.

Bingley glanced at Miss Bennet, obviously disappointed, and said, “If you would really like to…”

“I would.”

“Very well, then.”