Chapter 3
Meryton Assembly Hall
“Come along, my dears,” Mrs. Bennet said, smiling at her elder three daughters. “The dancing will start in about twenty minutes.”
Elizabeth obediently stepped into the large, familiar assembly room, which was already half full of ladies and gentlemen dressed in their best finery.
Several vases sat in the usual nooks, filled with chrysanthemums in an explosion of cheery yellow, or a profusion of deep pink.
The brass candlesticks had been polished until they shone like gold, their wax candles glowing brilliantly.
The floor had been freshly swept, with nary a speck of dust anywhere to be seen, and the silver punch bowl on its table in the corner gleamed with a mirror shine.
Tea and lemonade and punch and little ratafia cakes sat decoratively arranged, waiting to refresh the dancers.
It was the same familiar scene that Elizabeth had seen constantly over the course of the past two years, and the assembly hall was nearly as well-known to her as Longbourn.
Today she saw it as if with new eyes, the knowledge of her inheritance turning her accustomed world into an alien one.
The old dear faces of her friends and neighbors, the other young ladies who had grown up alongside her, their mothers and fathers, the mainstays of her childhood, seemed different somehow.
It was not Meryton that had been altered, of course.
The town and its people were the same as ever.
It was Elizabeth who had changed overnight.
Except she had not really changed either, had she?
She had always been an heiress. It was only her knowledge of this fact that had shifted her perspective.
It was still incredible to contemplate; she was, or at least would be early next year, a very wealthy woman.
Longbourn was solvent and comfortable, with no debts, and Mr. Bennet was not parsimonious in the pin money he provided for his wife and daughters.
Elizabeth had always been content, if occasionally a trifle uneasy at the thought of the future.
She need have no such worries now. She would be entirely able to support herself and her sisters and mother in the event of their father's death.
“Good evening, Eliza,” a familiar voice said from her left, and Elizabeth turned to smile at her closest friend outside the family, Miss Charlotte Lucas.
“Good evening, Charlotte,” she said. “You look very well tonight.”
“Thank you. My mother, of course, insisted on purchasing a new dress for me, given that Mr. Bingley is supposed to attend tonight’s assembly.”
Elizabeth looked around quickly and said, “But he is not here yet?”
“No,” Charlotte said, “nor does it matter what I wear, seeing that no man with eyes in his head will pay any attention to me when you and Jane and Mary are in residence.”
Elizabeth sighed at these words, but did not insult her friend by arguing. Charlotte was not ugly, but she was not pretty either. Her countenance was nondescript, and compared to Jane’s blonde beauty, and Elizabeth and Mary’s titian hair, she was not likely to attract much attention.
It was not fair, not at all, as Charlotte would make any man a wonderful wife. She was very intelligent and sensible, along with being kind. But most gentlemen looked more at the outward appearance than at the heart and mind.
“My father refused to tell us much about Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said aloud. “I hope that Sir William has been more willing to discuss his character?”
Charlotte shrugged and said, “My father describes him as charming, and friendly, and handsome.”
“I think that might be him!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her gaze shifting toward the door, where an unfamiliar party had just entered.
Even as she watched, Sir William Lucas surged forward to welcome them, and Charlotte said, “My father wishes for me to be introduced to Mr. Bingley as quickly as possible, Eliza. I will find you later.”
“Until later,” Elizabeth agreed and watched as Charlotte made her way toward the visitors.
There were five of them, three gentlemen and two ladies, and Elizabeth found herself evaluating them with interest. The man speaking eagerly to Sir William Lucas was almost certainly Mr. Bingley.
He looked to be about five and twenty years of age, with dark blond hair and a handsome face.
Behind him stood a man of some thirty years, already portly, not at all handsome, but clearly dressed finely.
The last man was the most interesting. He was one of the taller men Elizabeth had ever laid eyes on, at least six feet and maybe an inch or two taller than that. His hair was dark and slightly curly, his figure was excellent, and his countenance incredibly handsome. He was a most impressive man.
The two ladies in the party were also impressive in their own ways. They appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties, were dressed in silk, and both wore turbans with feathers on them.
She had no idea of their characters, of course, but they at least seemed like an interesting group of people, and Elizabeth looked forward to meeting them.
***
Meryton Assembly Hall
Two Hours Later
Darcy lurked in a corner, holding a cup of punch in one hand as if it were a shield against the world.
The musicians scraping away at their violins were grating on his nerves, and the heat of the room made his skin prickle.
Already, his patience for the assembly was wearing thin, for he derived no pleasure from the company of this merry, inquisitive group of strangers.
He had stood up twice, doing his duty by the ladies of his own party.
The local ladies who wished to dance with him would have to be disappointed. He would not partner with strangers.
Darcy glanced around the provincial little assembly hall with contempt, only to catch himself with a sigh.
To a man accustomed to the stately rooms which housed the balls of the London upper crust, Meryton's assembly hall looked small and mean indeed.
Darcy, however, had always preferred the country to Town, and when he was not feeling tired and short-tempered, he could appreciate the simplicity of the Meryton assembly hall.
It was clean, neat, and well-maintained.
In fact, now that he was paying attention, it put him forcibly in mind of the assembly hall in Lambton, the town but a few miles from his estate of Pemberley.
He stood for a minute watching the dancers, and the gossiping matrons along the walls, and the jocular gentlemen red-faced and sweating in their finest coats and the heat of the hall.
The people, too, were likely not so different from their bucolic northern counterparts; simple, honest, nosy, friendly folk, with none of London Society's grand pretensions.
Were Darcy to make an effort to socialize, he would probably be greeted with open arms.
But he felt no such desire to socialize. Morning calls, made both to and from Netherfield, were inevitable, and he would meet Bingley's many neighbors then. A setting such as this, with such a crowd around him, did not inspire Darcy to mingle and fraternize.
Yet, were he not so preoccupied, perhaps he would be more willing to be friendly.
As it was, his mind kept going back to Netherfield Hall, where his sisters awaited his return.
Serena, especially, was likely to still be up when he arrived back to the house, occupied with her own pursuits.
For a moment, he wondered if Serena should have attended this assembly to practice being among strangers, but no, she would have been anxious indeed without the opportunity to meet any of the locals beforehand.
The truth was that the elder Miss Darcy was not fond of parties and assemblies and crowds, and the thought worried him as Serena would be entering Society next spring and would be forced to mingle with far more discerning ladies and gentlemen.
Small foibles could be easily overlooked and forgiven in the relaxed atmosphere of a country assembly; the same mistakes, committed at a ton hostess's ball, or worse, at Almack's, could spell disgrace and disaster for the unfortunate and their family.
The Darcy name was an old and respected one and would carry Serena through a few small mistakes, but she would doubtless not enjoy the experience.
Darcy had half a year in which to prepare for Serena’s nineteenth birthday and the coming Season.
The girl had, at least, stopped growing, but she was already too tall.
That alone would be enough to prejudice Society against her.
At five feet and ten inches, she loomed over many gentlemen.
Old Mr. Darcy had passed on his great height to all three of his children.
Standing six feet and one inch in his stocking feet, he had cut a fine figure of a man, but it was not at all modish for a lady to tower over her neighbors.
Nor did Serena flutter and simper and giggle and gossip as did so many young ladies of the ton.
She was shy in company and tended to be awkward at the most inopportune times, with no gift for setting others at their ease amid uncertainty.
Her small talk was lacking, as she did not paint neat little watercolor flowers, and she found sketching and drawing a dead bore and, while she sang reasonably well, had never had any interest in learning an instrument.
Darcy feared that Society's matrons would find her accomplishments inadequate, that her peers would find her inelegant, and that gentlemen would find her odd, or worse, to be a bluestocking.
Serena read extensively, developing her natural intelligence with a thirst for knowledge, but such an education might not be enough to carry her through the ton.
A few months would not be sufficient time to rectify all such deficiencies that the critical mammas of the haut ton would be sure to ferret out.
“Come, Darcy,” a familiar voice said from his right. “I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance.”
Darcy jolted in surprise and then turned to look down at his friend Bingley, whose handsome face was flushed with pleasure.
“I certainly shall not,” he said immediately.
“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 engaged, 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 around the room, and his eyes fixed on a blonde goddess standing near the punch table talking to a red-headed matron.
The girl was as lovely as any he had ever met in London and, to his pleasure, was charmingly attired in muslins instead of expensive silks.
Of course, she might well be too poor for silk.
“Is she not stunning?” Bingley asked. “Her name is Miss Bennet, and she is the eldest of five daughters, though the younger two are not yet out.”
“She is very beautiful,” Darcy agreed.
“Her younger sister is sitting right over there,” Bingley continued, “who is also very pretty, and I daresay very agreeable. Come, let me ask Miss Bennet to introduce you to her!”
Darcy swung his eyes to the young woman in question and found himself taking a startled breath.
The girl was not as conventionally handsome as her elder sister, perhaps, but she was magnificent, with vibrant red curls, a beautiful face, and sparkling brown eyes.
For a moment, he was sorely tempted to dance with the lady, but then he reminded himself that he ought not to raise expectations in this little backwater.
Moreover, he was too worried about Serena to enjoy dancing with a stranger.
“The young lady is undeniably very handsome,” he agreed, “but I truly do not wish to dance with a stranger tonight. Indeed, I think, if you do not mind, that I will ride back to Netherfield Hall. I wish to be certain that my sisters are content.”
Bingley looked a trifle disappointed, but he merely nodded and said, “Of course, Darcy. It was kind of you to come, and I will see you later.”
Darcy bobbed his head and made his way carefully around the edge of the room toward the door.
Phoenix was waiting in a stable nearby, and the night was a clear one.
He would return to Netherfield within the next half hour.
He chanced one look back at the red-haired beauty Bingley had pointed out to him, and to his surprise, he discovered that she was looking directly at him with a small smile on her lips.
He quickly averted his gaze, impressed by her lovely eyes and delicate features.