Chapter Four #2
Warmth washed over her as she stepped into the vestibule.
The assembly hall was ahead, well-lit and already filled with guests.
It was fuller than usual, no doubt due to the curiosity spurred by Mr. Bingley’s arrival.
The musicians tuned their instruments as those gathered for a night of dancing stood in groups, conversing.
All eyes turned to the door with every newcomer, only to look crestfallen when it was not the one they expected.
The hall itself was charming—if a little worn.
Candles glowed from sconces along the walls, their light reflecting off mirrored panels installed decades ago to give the illusion of grandeur.
The floor had been polished to a high shine.
Refreshment tables on one side held neat rows of punch bowls, cold meats, pastries, and delicate sweetmeats.
Gentlemen’s shoes clicked briskly across the boards, and ladies swirled in gowns of every color imaginable—greens like woodland moss, rose pinks, blues ranging from stormy sky to robin’s egg.
Ribbons fluttered, fans snapped open and shut, and the hum of conversation filled the air like a living thing.
Elizabeth saw Jane standing with Charlotte Lucas off to one side.
Charlotte’s father, Sir William Lucas, was the evening’s Master of Ceremonies.
Formerly the Mayor of Meryton, Sir William had been knighted by King George.
The honor had elevated his family to the gentry.
Charlotte was their eldest at nearly seven-and-twenty and was as yet unattached. She hurried to join them.
“Lizzy! How good it is to see you.” Charlotte kissed Elizabeth’s cheek and took her hand. “You look very well this evening.”
“As do you, my friend.” Charlotte wore a new gown of dark blush silk. Her hair had been styled elaborately in a way that flattered her features. The color softened her complexion; Elizabeth thought it made Charlotte look almost luminous.
“You are too kind. I cannot compare to the ‘jewels of the county.” Charlotte smiled self-deprecatingly. “I am pleased enough with my appearance this evening.”
Charlotte was plain of face, but Elizabeth scarcely noticed.
Her friend was witty, somewhat sarcastic, prudent, and kind.
Any man would be blessed with such a wife.
Unfortunately, men did not often give such ladies any notice.
Elizabeth squeezed her hand, hoping silently that Charlotte’s turn would someday come.
“I am eager to finally see Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, breaking the slightly awkward silence that had arisen. “Papa teased Mama mercilessly after his call. He could recall nothing of import, according to her.”
The ladies chuckled good naturedly. “I was fortunate enough to meet him when he returned Papa’s call,” Charlotte confided. “I have never met someone so eager to be pleased with any and everyone around him. Let us hope his good humor lasts when faced with some of the sillier aspects of our society.”
Jane looked slightly alarmed. “Oh dear, I do hope Mrs. Long’s nieces do not descend upon him all at once. And Mr. Goulding’s daughters are so forward—they will quite frighten him!”
Elizabeth laughed. “Or he will be too amiable to be frightened and simply smile through it. He sounds precisely the sort of gentleman Mama has been dreaming of for years.”
Before Charlotte could respond, the murmur of the assembly shifted—like a wave turning direction.
Sir William Lucas stood at the entrance, bowing repeatedly, his face lit with pride.
A hush fell, punctuated by a few stifled squeals from young ladies.
Mr. Bingley entered first: light-haired, cheerful, and beaming, stepping into the room as if among friends rather than strangers.
Two elegant ladies followed—Miss Bingley in dazzling orange silk and Mrs. Hurst in shimmering pale lavender—both surveying the room with expressions of polite superiority.
“The Netherfield party,” Charlotte whispered under her breath. “The lady on Mr. Bingley’s arm is his sister, Miss Bingley. And the portly gentleman and his partner are Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Mrs. Hurst is Mr. Bingley’s other sister. The tall gentleman—”
Elizabeth’s heart thudded once, hard.
She did not hear Charlotte’s next words.
Mr. Darcy.
He was taller than any man present and impossibly striking in his dark coat.
His expression was unreadable, almost stern beneath the candlelight.
Yet as his gaze swept across the hall, something in his countenance changed.
Elizabeth felt it before she fully understood what she saw: a strange stirring, a tightening in her chest, the air itself seeming to hold its breath.
Then his eyes found hers across the room.
He did not look away.
Neither did she.
Elizabeth’s breath caught.
For a fleeting moment she wondered whether she had imagined the intensity of his stare.
But no.
It was unmistakable.
Mr. Darcy’s gaze remained fixed upon hers with a look that was neither bold nor improper, but searching, as if confirming that she was truly there and not some trick of the candlelight.
At that moment, Sir William Lucas, resplendent in his embroidered waistcoat, strode forward with his customary buoyant cheer.
“My dear Charlotte!” he called, bowing first to Jane, then to Elizabeth, and finally gesturing eagerly to his daughter. “Come, my dear, come! Mr. Bingley wishes to be introduced, and I will not have it said that the Lucases lag behind in hospitality.”
Charlotte flashed Elizabeth an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Lizzy—Papa will not rest until he has displayed every courtesy. I shall return shortly.”
Jane squeezed her hand reassuringly. Elizabeth nodded, watching Charlotte’s retreating form until her friend melted into the busy crowd.
But even as her attention followed Charlotte, Elizabeth felt it—the persistent awareness prickling along her skin. Cautiously, she let her gaze drift back toward the Netherfield group.
Mr. Bingley spoke animatedly with Sir William, his bright smile lighting the room. Miss Bingley inspected the assembly with thinly veiled disdain. Mrs. Hurst whispered something to her husband, who looked faintly bored.
And behind them, slightly apart from the rest, stood Mr. Darcy.
His posture was precise, almost rigid with self-command, yet his attention…
Mr. Darcy’s gaze returned to her again. Not staring, not challenging—merely… observing. Curious. Focused. As though she were the only person in the hall whose presence he found worth noting.
Elizabeth felt her cheeks warm. Why is he looking at me so? Does he recognize me with such certainty from one brief conversation?
Mr. Darcy shifted slightly, withdrawing his gaze just long enough to respond to something Bingley said.
But the moment the exchange ended, his eyes lifted once more, straight to her.
Elizabeth’s pulse fluttered wildly. Something was beginning.
She felt it as surely as she felt the floor beneath her slippers.