THREE
Meryton Assembly
Elizabeth
Miss Elizabeth Bennet arrived at the Meryton assembly with her patience tested, having endured a considerable journey in a small carriage with four sisters and a mother in a state of sustained agitation.
The evening had not begun well. Mrs. Bennet had discovered a crease in Kitty's best glove at half past five, which had set off a chain of events that resisted description.
By the time the Bennet carriage pulled away from Longbourn, every gown had been inspected, every bonnet questioned, and the sustained lament on the subject of Mr. Bennet's absence had occupied the remainder of the journey without interruption.
Jane, Mrs. Bennet had declared more than once, was the most beautiful creature in all the country, and on that point alone, Elizabeth found she could not disagree.
Mr. Bennet had announced that morning that he would not be attending.
This had surprised nobody. He did not enjoy civil events and had retired to his library before anyone could mount a sustained argument against it.
Mrs. Bennet had not taken this philosophically.
“How am I to introduce the girls?” she had demanded of her husband, of the carriage, of all her daughters, and of the Hertfordshire countryside.
“Sir William will do his best, I am sure, but it is not the same. It is not the same at all.”
Elizabeth had said nothing, preferring to look at the darkening fields instead. The evening, she thought, had every prospect of being interesting regardless of who performed the introductions.
She was proved right almost immediately.
The assembly room was warm and bright and well-attended, and Elizabeth stepped inside with the pleasure she always took in a room disposed to enjoy itself. Her best friend and neighbour, Miss Charlotte Lucas, found her within moments, appearing at her elbow with the ease of long practice.
“You are late,” said Charlotte.
“Five minutes,” said Elizabeth. “My mother required them.”
“She required them to good effect. Jane looks very beautiful.”
Elizabeth glanced to where Jane stood with their mother, composed, lovely, and entirely unaware of both. “She does,” she agreed.
Turning back to her friend, she lowered her voice. “Have they arrived?”
They had spoken of Mr. Bingley when Charlotte visited the evening before, as had every household in the neighbourhood.
Of his friend they had said rather less.
What little was known of Mr. Darcy did not particularly invite elaboration, and Elizabeth had found herself oddly reluctant to discuss him as she would any ordinary subject.
He had occupied her thoughts in a way she could not entirely account for since her father's quiet description of a young man by a window, and she was not yet ready to share that with anyone, even Charlotte.
“Not yet,” said Charlotte. “My father is receiving guests at the door. Had they arrived, I would have known.” She paused. “I confess I am curious.”
“As am I,” said Elizabeth. “Though my mother appears considerably more so.” Across the room, Mrs. Bennet stood with her gaze fixed on the entrance, back straight, every part of her trained on the door.
Elizabeth watched her and felt the familiar combination of amusement and resignation her mother so reliably produced in her.
“Your mother's reasoning is plain enough,” Charlotte said, glancing toward Mrs. Bennet. “With five daughters and an entail, one cannot wholly fault her logic.”
“One can fault the delivery,” said Elizabeth.
They stood together near the edge of the room as the first set began to form, speaking quietly of the neighbourhood and other inconsequential matters, whilst the Netherfield party remained conspicuously absent.
They did not appear until a quarter past eight.
Elizabeth noticed the stir before she saw the party itself.
Attention shifted toward the entrance, heads turning one after another as the room rearranged its focus toward something newly arrived and worth observing.
Sir William hastened toward the door with the eager civility that distinguished him at every assembly he had ever attended.
Then the party entered. There were five of them, and Elizabeth assessed them at once.
Two ladies came in first, well-dressed and London in their manner, the kind of dress that announced its own expense without appearing to try.
Behind them, a broad-shouldered gentleman with a florid face who went immediately and with great purpose toward the refreshment table, which disposed of him as a candidate for Mr. Bingley without further consideration.
Then a young man, reddish-haired and open-faced, paused just inside the doorway. His eyes moved quickly over the room before brightening, and his smile came easily, as though the sight before him pleased him exceedingly.
A tap on her shoulder made Elizabeth turn. It was Jane, who had slipped away from their mother and now stood at her side, tilting her head toward the new arrivals.
“Which one do you think is Mr. Bingley?” Jane asked.
“The one already smiling at everything,” said Elizabeth. “There, with the reddish hair. He looks as though he has decided to like the neighbourhood before the neighbourhood has given him any particular reason to.”
“That is a very agreeable quality,” said Jane.
“It is,” Elizabeth agreed. “Let us hope it survives the evening.”
Then her eye moved to the last member of the party and she went rather quiet.
He was in a bath chair, pushed by a manservant whose steady movements spoke of long familiarity with the task. The occupant sat turned slightly toward Bingley, saying something too low to catch, and Elizabeth had a brief moment to study him before he faced the room.
Dark-haired. Broad-shouldered, with the appearance of having once possessed considerable strength and activity.
Young, younger than she had expected, which was the second time that observation had occurred to her in connection with Mr. Darcy.
His face, when he turned, was composed almost beyond expression, not unhandsome in its arrangement, yet marked so strongly by something that Elizabeth found herself thinking a smile would transform him entirely.
He did not appear a man much given to smiling.
The room noticed him at once. Every head turned with the careful indiscretion of practiced observers.
Elizabeth caught the slight tightening at his jaw, the minute straightening of his shoulders, and then all sign of reaction disappeared behind that composed stillness.
His expression revealed nothing further.
Charlotte leaned toward her. “Well,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” said Elizabeth.
“That is Mr. Darcy. He is not what I expected.”
“Are you speaking of his youth, his condition, or his pride?” said Elizabeth.
Charlotte's eyes brightened with quiet amusement. “His pride seems to have preceded him. But I confess I expected someone older.”
“For a man in his situation,” said Elizabeth, “one would expect at least some effort at civility.” But she said it without full conviction, for the face before her did not entirely match the arrogance she had been led to expect.
Sir William, having received the party at the door, beckoned first to his daughter with evident satisfaction. Charlotte was carried off before Elizabeth could say another word to her.
Elizabeth felt a hand settle upon her arm. Mrs. Bennet appeared beside her with all the urgency she reserved for moments of social importance.
“You see,” Mrs. Bennet said in a lowered voice that was not sufficiently lowered, “if your father were here, Sir William would not be introducing Mr. Bingley to his family first. It is exactly as I said. Exactly as I said, and nobody would listen to me.”
“Sir William is introducing his own daughter, Mama,” Elizabeth replied. “It is hardly a calculated slight.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” said Mrs. Bennet. “He wishes Mr. Bingley for Charlotte, though I know very well he would prefer Jane above anybody else—” She stopped abruptly and drew herself up as Sir William began steering the party in their direction.
Mrs. Bennet immediately signalled to her other daughters, who gathered beside her with practiced haste.
The introductions, when they came, were performed with Sir William's characteristic enthusiasm.
Elizabeth observed the party carefully. Mr. Bingley proved exactly what his countenance had promised, warm, attentive, and sincerely pleased to meet everyone presented to him.
His gaze passed over the group as Sir William spoke and settled first upon Elizabeth with open admiration, then upon Charlotte, and finally upon Jane, where it remained.
Not improperly, nor with deliberate boldness, but with a fixed attention he did not appear aware of giving.
Elizabeth noticed it with immediate satisfaction and wisely held her tongue. Mrs. Bennet, however, noticed it as well and gently urged Jane a half-step forward.
Mrs. Hurst received every introduction with gracious civility touched faintly by condescension.
Miss Bingley smiled with perfect correctness, though there was little warmth in it.
Mr. Hurst had already secured another glass of wine and appeared far more interested in that accomplishment than in the assembly itself.
Mr. Darcy inclined his head when introduced, spoke little, and regarded each person with a directness Elizabeth now understood after her father's description.
When her own introduction came in the general movement of the party, he looked at her steadily.
She returned it steadily before Sir William swept the party onward.
Before they had progressed far, Mr. Bingley turned back toward Jane and requested the honour of the first set. Jane accepted with quiet composure, though Mrs. Bennet received the moment almost as though a formal declaration had already been made.