Chapter 7
Ayoung man with unruly curls, kind eyes, and a dazzling smile entered beside a lady of similar coloring but vastly different disposition.
Where he radiated pleasure in his company, she emanated disdain.
Behind them followed another woman who bore a clear resemblance to the young man and woman.
She was accompanied by a fashionable gentleman whose ruddy face suggested weary resignation.
Elizabeth leaned closer to Charlotte. “I do not see any dukes.”
“More is the pity. I suspect the only gentleman Mr. Bingley brought is already married. How disappointing!”
Mama bustled through the room collecting her daughters, and Elizabeth dutifully joined her family group, only maintaining her theatrical limp after Charlotte threatened to stomp on her other foot.
Introductions proceeded with predictable ceremony.
Elizabeth appreciated that Mr. Bingley engaged her neighbors with sincere interest. His were not the stiff, haughty manners of a highborn gentleman but the attentive and approachable manners of one who had to earn his place in society.
His behavior was in every way agreeable and very much like Mr. Robinson’s, although that was where the two gentlemen’s similarities ended.
Where Mr. Bingley belonged to smiles and sunshine, Mr. Robinson was dark and, Elizabeth thought, sad.
His smile reached his eyes, but she sensed a heaviness about him.
Sir William wasted no time introducing the two newcomers to each other. Mr. Bingley was all pleasure and delight. “Ah, excellent! Trustworthy men who negotiate shipping contracts are worth their weight in gold these days. I tried to get my father to invest—”
Miss Bingley's sharp “Charles!” carried clear reproof.
Her brother merely shrugged off the criticism.
“Mr. Robinson, you must tell me about your recent travels. The Reinhardt family, they are based out of Vienna, are they not?” This knowledge earned another disapproving glare from his sister, whose eyes darted around her, observing the crowd surrounding them.
“You are correct, though they have interests all over the continent. The assembly tonight reminds me fondly of similar gatherings I attended there—the same spirit of community and genuine pleasure in modest entertainments.” Mr. Robinson smiled at the group around them.
Sir William’s chest puffed, and Mrs. Long fluttered her eyelashes at Mr. Robinson with a skill that would be the envy of any adolescent girl.
Miss Bingley forced a pinched smile. “How… provincial. I suppose different experiences shape different perspectives.”
Mr. Robinson's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but he continued addressing Mr. Bingley. “The people here possess a warmth that—”
“Oh, Mr. Robinson,” Miss Bingley interrupted, her fan fluttering dismissively, “you speak of warmth, but surely you must find the fashions here rather… quaint.” Her gaze flickered to Mrs. Long, whose fingers self-consciously reached toward the ribbons she had been so proud of minutes before.
Tilting her head up, Miss Bingley looked down the length of her nose at the group assembled around them.
“We have moved beyond such simple country styles in London.”
“Is that Miss Higden swaying on her feet?” Charlotte tucked her arm through Mrs. Long’s. “Come, Mrs. Long, let us bring her a glass of lemonade. I am eager to hear about your latest trip to the milliner.”
Miss Bingley sneered, as though she had done a good deed by ridding them of Mrs. Long’s company. Never before had Elizabeth met someone she was so quickly inclined to despise. Sir William stuttered and sputtered, at a loss for how to appease all his guests without causing any more upset.
Elizabeth did not know why she looked at Mr. Robinson just then, but had she not, she would not have seen his cordial mask slip enough for her to witness the steely glare he directed at Miss Bingley.
In a blink, it was gone. He touched Sir William’s arm. “Pray allow me to compliment you on your selection of musicians. There is nothing lacking in their performance.”
Miss Bingley laughed. “Perhaps your extended absence has affected your memory of English ways. One can hardly compare country fiddlers to a proper orchestra.” The cutting remark landed with precision, causing several nearby conversations to pause.
Elizabeth’s blood heated. Who was this nouveau riche to ridicule Elizabeth’s friends?
Mr. Robinson's response remained measured. “I find merit in music that brings joy to its listeners, regardless of venue.”
“How very democratic of you,” Miss Bingley said, the word dripping with condescension.
At this point, Mr. Bingley intervened. “You would do well to heed Mr. Robinson’s view.
If he is as connected as I suspect, he has heard the finest orchestras in the world and still takes pleasure in a humble tune.
” Turning to Jane with a warm smile, he said, “Miss Bennet, this music is too lovely to waste. Would you honor me with the next dance?” He looked about, in a glance encouraging the other gentlemen present to follow his example and secure their own dancing partner, effectively scattering their party.
Elizabeth decided she liked Mr. Bingley very much.
As Jane graciously accepted, Sir William—apparently believing that none would be more qualified to dance with Miss Bingley than cultured Mr. Robinson—said, “Perhaps you would favor Mr. Robinson with a dance? Such a fine pair you make—both tall and so fashionable.”
Miss Bingley's expression could have curdled fresh cream. “I fear I am quite parched,” she announced, fanning herself with affected delicacy while fixing Mr. Robinson with an expectant stare that presumed he would immediately offer refreshment.
Mr. Robinson met her gaze steadily, his expression conveying such pointed assessment of her character that anyone possessing sensibility would have colored in shame.
The prolonged moment grew increasingly uncomfortable before he inclined his head with arctic civility.
“I shall retrieve lemonade for you directly,” he said, though his tone suggested the courtesy was offered despite her behavior rather than because of it.
Elizabeth's heart went out to him. A gentleman's need to earn his living hardly rendered him unworthy of common politeness.
She watched him navigate toward the refreshment table while Miss Bingley immediately accepted Mr. Hurst's invitation to dance, her thirst apparently forgotten.
Mr. Robinson returned bearing lemonade to discover his intended recipient had gone.
Without hesitation, Elizabeth approached.
“How thoughtful of you to bring refreshment, sir.”
His grateful smile transformed his features entirely. “Miss Bennet, would you care for lemonade?”
“Indeed, I am most grateful.” She accepted the glass just as someone bumped against her, upsetting its contents and dribbling over her fingers onto the floor. “Perhaps if I wish to drink this rather than wear it, I should seek less crowded quarters. The evening air might prove refreshing.”
Mr. Robinson offered her his arm. “May I escort you outside?”
“I should welcome the company.”
They stepped onto the small terrace behind the assembly room, where lanterns cast gentle pools of light against the darkness and people conversed in clusters. The autumn air carried the scent of dying leaves and hearth smoke.
Elizabeth glanced at his beard, looking away before he noticed. “How long were you away from England?”
He hesitated before responding. “A considerable time.”
There was a sadness to his reply that she did not understand. “Forgive my curiosity, but Meryton hardly seems like a place for a well-traveled gentleman to stay for long…” She paused, waiting for him to answer her unasked question.
He did not. Instead, he turned to her with a gleam in his eye and a slight twitch at the corner of his lips.
The contrast between his brooding melancholy and this proof of humor delighted her, and she understood his deliberate silence.
He would wait for her to voice her question or let her live with her curiosity unsatisfied.
The fiend! Boldly, she asked, “Why are you here, Mr. Robinson?”
His eyes crinkled. “Mr. Philips invited me.”
“My uncle. He did not tell me he had met anyone new.”
“We only met yesterday.”
“You seem to be in each other’s confidence already.”
“He has been helpful to me, and I hope I might return the favor to him… and his family.” His eyes locked with hers, once again grave and intense.
She sensed there was something he wished to communicate with her, something she ought to know.
But in the next breath, his expression softened.
“What else was I to do this evening? I am new to the village and therefore had no other engagements, so I accepted your uncle’s invitation to the assembly. ”
“A fair point. Does it improve your spirits to observe others dancing when you have yet to allow yourself the same pleasure?” She sipped from her lemonade, watching him over the rim of the glass.
“You think my spirits… melancholy?”
“There is a gravity about you that suggests familiarity with sorrow.”
“You give your opinion freely for so new an acquaintance.”
“I merely made an observation. We so rarely have newcomers at the assembly, it is diverting to sketch the character of a person I have not known my entire life.”
He laughed. “I am honored to play a part in this evening’s entertainments.” Just as quickly as his laughter began, it stopped. He looked away, his jaw working visibly.
Elizabeth regretted her prying. “Forgive me. I am too curious for my own good.”
“Your candor is refreshing,” he replied quietly. “I wish everyone could be so honest.” He appeared about to continue, then clamped his mouth shut.
Unwilling to end their discourse so soon, Elizabeth said, “I confess relief at this reprieve myself. I received distressing news recently and do not feel like dancing. There is an excess of ladies present anyway. Nobody shall notice my absence.”
Mr. Robinson's eyebrows rose skeptically. “I doubt that.”
The sounds of music and laughter drifted from within, reminding her of her obligations. “I should rejoin the party,” she said reluctantly.
He escorted her to the door and bowed. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Elizabeth.”
“You do not intend to leave so soon?”
“I have no reason to stay.”
She clasped her hands together, wishing he would stay but knowing she would do better to let him go. “You would be hard-pressed to find another lady here who agrees with Miss Bingley.”
He smiled. He had an inviting smile and perfect teeth. She imagined a dimple in his cheek under his beard and was surprised to realize she wished to reach up to touch it.
“I am pleased to have met you, Miss Bennet. I have a busy morning planned on the morrow and must rest.”
“Shall we see you again?” She bit her tongue, hoping he did not think her too forward.
He tipped his head at her. “Until we next meet.”
She watched him walk past the lanterns into the darkness. Something about Mr. Robinson had awakened feelings she had no right to entertain—particularly now, with her future so inexorably determined.
Yet as she returned to the assembly, Elizabeth found herself hoping their paths might cross again, even as reason warned her that such a meeting could only lead to heartache.