CHAPTER TWO
THE EVENING CONTINUED WITH THE expected display of polite civility. Newcomers to Hertfordshire society were passed from family to family, each household eager to secure early acquaintance, each matron quietly weighing the consequence of every bow and curtsey.
Having escaped her mother’s vigilant eye, Elizabeth made her way to the punch table and secured a glass for herself.
From that vantage she surveyed the room with amused detachment.
Everywhere she looked, ambitious mamas smiled and fluttered their fans, pretending indifference while their eyes calculated fortunes and prospects.
Daughters, prettily arranged and perfectly conscious of being observed, spoke in tones of studied sweetness to gentlemen who were, by turns, pleased, confused, or alarmed by the attention.
Her gaze soon discovered Jane, and not far from her, Mr. Bingley.
They had already exchanged more looks than Elizabeth could number—five at the very least—and each one seemed to convey more than words could express.
Their smiles formed a silent conversation, perfectly understood by themselves and perfectly evident to everyone else.
Some minutes later, the musicians struck up a lively air, and Mr. Bingley was beside Jane in an instant.
Their first set was danced with such easy grace that even the most fastidious observers could not withhold their smiles.
When he claimed her hand for the second set as well, whispers stirred gently through the crowd.
Mrs. Bennet, radiant with delight, could scarcely contain herself. “Two dances, Lizzy!” Elizabeth heard her exclaim to anyone within earshot, or none at all. “Two dances, and at the very first assembly. Did I not say it would be so?”
Elizabeth only smiled, her heart full of pleasure for her sister. There was no vanity in Jane’s gentle blush, no artifice in Mr. Bingley’s admiration. Even Elizabeth, often quick to laugh at such things, could not doubt the sincerity on either side.
She herself had not danced that evening.
The scarcity of gentlemen had left several ladies without partners, and Elizabeth was in no humour to press her claims. She amused herself instead with observing the company from her place by the wall.
When the final chords of the second set died away, she stepped aside to make room for the passing couples, her thoughts contentedly detached, until she found herself unexpectedly near Mr. Bingley and his tall, grave friend.
Mr. Bingley’s voice, bright and cheerful, rose clearly above the murmur of conversation.
“Come, Darcy, you must dance. You cannot stand about in this fashion the whole evening. There are plenty of agreeable young ladies here. I dare say Miss Elizabeth Bennet must dance as well as her sister, for she is equally very beautiful.”
Elizabeth’s brows lifted, her lips curving in spite of herself. She took a small sip of punch, hoping the motion might disguise the warmth rising in her cheeks. Well now, she thought, this should be interesting.
As if the name itself had summoned him, Mr. Darcy turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers for the briefest moment before he looked away again. When he spoke, his tone was even, deliberate, and cool.
“I was not aware, Bingley, that beauty and dancing talent were the same accomplishment. In any case, the only truly beautiful woman in this room is the one with whom you are dancing. As for the lady you mention, she is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me. You would do better to return to your partner and enjoy her smiles. I am in no humour to offer consequence to young ladies neglected by other men.”
Elizabeth felt the colour rise in her cheeks. Tolerable. It was not the word itself that stung, but the careless disdain with which it was spoken. She turned away at once, affecting an interest in the crowd, though her pulse fluttered faster than she would have liked.
She had thought him proud before, for standing aloof and refusing to dance, thereby lessening the number of partners for others; but now she judged him arrogant beyond endurance.
What manner of man is this Mr. Darcy? she mused.
Rich, handsome, and utterly insufferable.
Pride seems to rest upon him as easily as his cravat.
Yet, as she watched him a little longer, standing away from the cheerful company, she could not help wondering whether such hauteur brought him any satisfaction. A man so unwilling to be civil could never know half the pleasures of those he looked down upon.
Her spirits soon rallied. Setting down her glass, she smiled and crossed the room to where Charlotte stood. “I have just discovered,” she said lightly, “that I am not handsome enough to tempt certain gentlemen. I shall therefore be content with my own company, and a very agreeable one it is.”
Charlotte, still catching her breath from the set she had danced with Mr. Mark, frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Mr. Bingley tried to persuade his friend to dance with me,” Elizabeth replied with composure. “Mr. Darcy declined, declaring I was tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt him.”
Charlotte’s eyes widened. “How abominably rude. It would seem you are not the only one he has slighted, though yours may be the only insult he has spoken aloud.”
Elizabeth raised an inquisitive brow. “Indeed?”
“Oh yes,” Charlotte said. “The whole room is talking of him. Mr. and Mrs. King tried to introduce their daughter, but he turned away before she even reached him.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “A charming man. He must make himself universally beloved wherever he goes.”
Their amusement was soon interrupted as Mr. Bingley approached to claim Charlotte for the next set.
Elizabeth suspected his gallantry was meant more as gratitude toward Sir William for his earlier civility than for any particular inclination, for his eyes strayed more than once toward Jane, who was now dancing with Mr. Mark.
Elizabeth’s gaze followed them fondly, then turned back to the floor.
Her eyes, bright with mischief, took in the swirl of dancers, the flushed faces, the laughter, the rustle of silk and the gleam of polished shoes.
Kitty and Lydia were in high spirits, chattering to two officers in scarlet, their heads bent together in eager delight.
As for Mr. Darcy, he remained at his post near the wall, silent and immovable as a statue. Elizabeth allowed herself one last glance at him before turning away entirely. Whatever his opinion of her might be, she thought, the evening was far too pleasant to waste on the proudest man alive.
***
BY THE END OF the evening, opinion had settled with remarkable unanimity.
The greater part of the room agreed that Mr. Bingley was the most amiable young man ever to appear in Hertfordshire, and that his evident admiration for Miss Bennet was perfectly plain to every discerning eye.
Concerning his friend, however, the verdict was equally clear: Mr. Darcy was universally pronounced the proudest, most disagreeable man alive
Elizabeth very nearly choked with laughter when one spirited matron declared, “To the devil with his ten thousand a year, I would not endure his company for ten minutes!” Another lady, less restrained, asked rather loudly, “How in heaven’s name does so pleasant a gentleman as Mr. Bingley keep such a friend? ”
Elizabeth pressed her hand to her lips to hide her mirth.
She was just turning to find Charlotte and share the jest with her when a sudden stir rippled through the room.
Heads began to turn, voices rose in confusion, and someone near the refreshment table cried out, “A dog! There is a dog in the room!”
Elizabeth froze, her laughter faltering as the colour drained from her cheeks. She blinked once, then twice, as a single dreadful thought struck her.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “Pippin.”
Before she could move, the familiar brown spaniel bounded into view, her ears flying and her tail wagging furiously. Evidently drawn by the scent of the pastries, she darted beneath tables and between startled guests, scattering ribbons, crumbs, and alarmed whispers in her wake.
Pippin, oblivious to the scandal she caused, stopped short before Mr. Darcy, who had been standing in grave conversation with Sir William. She sniffed his boots once, appeared unimpressed, and promptly placed both muddy paws upon them in cheerful greeting.
A small shriek escaped one of the Bingley sisters. The musicians faltered. Several matrons gasped aloud, fans fluttering like startled birds.
“Merciful heavens,” cried an elderly gentleman nearby, “how on earth did a dog get in here?”
Another voice, sharper and more offended, declared, “Who would bring such a creature to an assembly?”
Mrs. Bennet’s bonnet trembled as she turned crimson. “Elizabeth Bennet!” she hissed, her voice high with horror. “Your dog, child? Your dog?”
Elizabeth’s colour rose swiftly. “She must have followed the carriage,” she said, though the slight hesitation in her voice betrayed how little she believed her own pretence. Without another word, she stepped forward in haste.
At the sight of her mistress, Pippin let out a joyful bark and began circling her feet with all the triumph of a conqueror, her tail waving as though she had achieved some noble exploit.
Elizabeth’s heart sank. “Oh, Pippin,” she murmured, hurrying forward as the spaniel’s delighted bark rang out. “You could not have chosen a worse moment, dearest.”
The little dog wagged her tail furiously and bounded toward her, utterly unrepentant.
Elizabeth dropped to one knee, catching her collar before she could begin a second round of mischief.
“Hush now,” she whispered softly, running a quick hand over her silky head. “Let us preserve what dignity remains.”
The room had fallen silent again. Darcy looked down at his boots, where two perfect prints of mud stood in mocking contrast to their former polish. He raised his eyes to Elizabeth, his expression unreadable, his tone low and deliberate.
“It seems, Miss Bennet,” he said, “that your companion is of a bold and independent temper. A pity such qualities are seldom improved by indulgence.”
The words were spoken with composure, almost gentleness, yet their meaning stung. Elizabeth felt the warmth rise in her cheeks. Her fingers tightened on Pippin’s collar, but her reply came calm and clear.
“Your opinions, however grave they are, are duly noted, sir,” she said, her tone steady and touched with irony. “But you would find my dog far more forgiving than I. She seldom takes offence, and never remembers it long.”
A soft murmur of amusement stirred the onlookers. Sir William, eager to restore good humour, gave a hearty “Ha!” and declared that no harm was done. One of the younger officers grinned, though quickly sobered when his companion nudged him to silence.
From among the Bingley party came a sharp little gasp. Miss Bingley had drawn herself up, her eyes flashing indignation at such boldness, but she stilled at once under Mr. Darcy’s cool glance—half astonished, half warning. She coloured slightly and turned away, biting her lip.
Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, fanned herself with desperate vigour.
“Oh, my dear sir, I beg a thousand pardons,” she burst out, bobbing a curtsey in Darcy’s direction.
“It is only Lizzy’s foolish little dog. A most tiresome creature—she must have followed the carriage when we left Longbourn, and none of us were the wiser till now.
I assure you, sir, it will never happen again. Such a mischievous animal!”
Darcy inclined his head slightly. “It was of no consequence, madam,” he said, though his tone suggested that it had been very much a consequence indeed.
Elizabeth’s lips quirked, her mortification softened by the absurdity of her mother’s fluster. Gathering Pippin into her arms, she murmured a quiet reassurance to the spaniel, who nestled contentedly against her shoulder, quite pleased with her evening’s adventure.
When Elizabeth turned again, the musicians were packing away their instruments, and the lively hum of the room had softened into farewells and laughter.
Jane stood near the door, her countenance serene and softly glowing, while Mrs. Bennet alternated between smiles of rapture and sidelong glances of reproach at Elizabeth, as though uncertain whether to scold or rejoice.
Elizabeth bore it all with composure, her thoughts divided between amusement and relief.
Her eyes drifted once more across the room to where the Bingleys were gathering their party to depart.
Mr. Darcy stood a little apart from them, his expression as composed as ever, speaking but little while the sisters made their farewells.
For a fleeting instant, she fancied his gaze turned toward her and Pippin’s retreat, though she could not determine whether in curiosity or censure.
Her lips curved faintly. “Good night, proud Mr. Darcy,” she murmured to herself, more amused than offended.
By then, the musicians had packed away their instruments, the candles were burning low, and the guests were making their final courtesies. The hum of the assembly faded into the chill quiet of the street outside.
And with that, Elizabeth followed her family into the crisp night air, her soft whisper to Pippin—and the dog’s cheerful bark—mingling with the clatter of hooves and carriage wheels beyond.