Chapter Seven
Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were frequent callers at Longbourn, much to Mrs. Bennet’s delight.
Elizabeth could hardly blame her mother.
To have two such eligible bachelors calling upon the household was nothing short of a coup.
Lady Lucas positively seethed with envy while her eldest daughter congratulated her friend on her conquest.
“You are over-exaggerating, Charlotte,” Elizabeth protested as she glanced toward the door. The Lucases were hosting a gathering and all the principal families of the area were invited. According to her friend, the Netherfield party had accepted. They were, however, late.
“I am not. Pray, do not toy with my intelligence and expert observational skills. How many times have the gentlemen called upon your household?” Charlotte raised both her eyebrows and grinned wryly. “My mother has done nothing more than complain since the assembly.”
“Have we a spy among Longbourn’s servants?” Elizabeth teased.
“Oh, undoubtedly. You know your maid Molly is sister to our upstairs maid, Nancy. They share gossip frequently.” Charlotte looked quite pleased with herself.
“I do not begrudge you your good fortune. Only when you marry, promise you will throw me in the paths of other rich men.” They chuckled lightly but Elizabeth could tell her friend was not in jest.
“If I am so fortunate as to gain a proposal from Mr. Darcy, I promise I shall not hesitate to extend an invitation to my dearest friend. I am convinced that if you were among a large society, you would have no trouble securing a match. What man would not want such a practical, intelligent woman for his wife?”
“Men like to have something pretty to look at as well, unfortunately.” Charlotte sighed. “There is nothing to be done in that area, for my features are quite set.”
Elizabeth disliked it when her friend denigrated herself. “You are not unattractive, dear Charlotte,” she protested. “I shall never be convinced of it.”
“I may not be unattractive, but my looks are very plain in comparison to some. Fear not, Eliza; such things ceased to bother me long ago.”
The drawing room around them was warm, bustling, and lit with an impressive number of candles—Lady Lucas had spared no expense in attempting to outshine Longbourn’s most recent triumph.
The room glowed golden, gowns of every color glittering whenever a lady passed too close to the candlelight.
Footmen weaved through the crowd with trays of punch; the hum of conversation rose and fell like the tide.
There was a commotion at the door, and Elizabeth turned in that direction again.
There. Mr. Bingley entered first, his sister on his arm.
The Hursts followed next, and at last came Mr. Darcy.
The latter looked slightly perturbed… Or perhaps it was vexed.
His lips were pursed tightly together, and his expression was rather foreboding.
“What ails Mr. Darcy?” Charlotte breathed in Elizabeth’s ear.
“Considering how fast he left his party, I suspect it was the company in the carriage.” Elizabeth realized Mr. Darcy was coming toward them. She met his gaze and was relieved to see his features soften into pleasure.
“Miss Lucas, Miss Elizabeth, good evening. I am very pleased to see you both.”
“Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte curtsied. “We are happy you have arrived.”
“Yes, well, there was an…unexpected delay.” His quick glance toward Miss Bingley spoke volumes.
“Whatever the case, we are happy you are here.” Charlotte smiled pleasantly. “Now, if you will excuse me, my mother beckons.” She gave Elizabeth a fervent look and curtsied again before gliding away.
Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy and smiled anew. “Fashionably late?” she asked innocently.
“Hardly. Thirty minutes is one thing—and it would be acceptable if we were in town, but nearly an hour's delay?” Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I cannot fathom what they were thinking.”
“They?” Elizabeth had assumed that Miss Bingley had caused the delay.
“It appears my friend is susceptible to his sister’s…
suggestions. I attempted to convince him otherwise, but my knowledge was not…
readily accepted.” He grimaced and shook his head.
“Be that as it may, we are here now, and the company is preferable.” He glanced around. “Is all your family in attendance?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “My father has no great love of society and elected to remain at home with Kitty and Lydia. My parents are selective about which events they attend. When we learned there were to be officers here, my father forbade their coming.”
“Officers?” Mr. Darcy turned about, nodding when he saw the redcoats. “Ah. I take it the militia is to be quartered here?”
“Yes, for the winter. That man there is Colonel Forster. He has recently secured accommodations for his men. They will arrive soon.” Elizabeth’s face must have spoken of her discomfort, for Mr. Darcy’s next words paralleled her thoughts exactly.
“The presence of soldiers can grant safety and peace of mind, but brings its own sort of troubles. Why, I recall the militia being stationed near my home in Derbyshire. Their colonel was not…attentive. His men ran up all manner of debts, leaving the area before they were settled. I do hope the shopkeepers here know not to extend credit.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “Such have been my musings since we heard the news. My father and Sir William are diligent—they will offer warning, but that is the extent of their influence. The shopkeepers will do as they wish.”
“And you, Miss Elizabeth? Are you fond of a man in a red coat?”
She raised an eyebrow, her gaze skittering over his person. “No, sir, I believe I prefer a man in blue.” Her cheeks flushed at her boldness; Mr. Darcy wore a dark blue coat over a blue and gold waistcoat.
Rather than provoke disdain, her forward behavior made Mr. Darcy smile. No words were needed—both could feel their mutual attraction. Holding out his arm, Mr. Darcy offered to escort her to the refreshment table.
Elizabeth placed her hand lightly upon his sleeve. His coat was expertly tailored—of course it was—and beneath the fabric she felt a surprising steadiness. If he was perturbed by the carriage company earlier, he showed none of it now.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said as they moved through the crowd, “are such gatherings frequent in Meryton?”
“Often enough that my mother considers them essential to the health of one’s spirits. She claims too little society leads to melancholy, and too much leads to scandal.”
“And what do you believe?” His tone warmed with genuine curiosity.
“That the truth lies somewhere in the middle,” she replied with a grin. “As it always does.”
Darcy’s answering chuckle was low, pleasant—intimate, almost. It curled through her like warm honey.
When they reached the refreshment table, he accepted a glass of punch for her, their fingers brushing as he passed it. The contact sent a tingling awareness up her arm.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I would procure a hundred glasses if it meant securing your satisfaction,” he said lightly.
Elizabeth blinked. Flirting? Mr. Darcy? Thus far, their friendship had been polite—nothing like Mr. Bingley’s overt attention to Jane.
She laughed softly, and when she lifted her eyes again, he was already watching her—quietly, with a look that suggested he was cataloging every nuance of her smile.
She took a sip of punch to steady herself. The room felt warmer suddenly.
Partway through the evening, Sir William called for the furniture to be moved and the rugs rolled up.
“What is a gathering without a bit of dancing?” he boomed, looking rather pleased with himself.
The man practically shone with satisfaction, gesturing grandly as several young men hurried to comply with his instructions.
Candles flickered in the sudden draft, shadows stretching across the walls as chairs scraped and skirts rustled.
“Miss Mary, could we prevail upon you to play for us? There is no one so accomplished, my dear. And I promise I shall locate another player so you may also partake in the amusement.”
Mary accepted gracefully, taking her place at the pianoforte. The room shifted in energy, warm and lively, as couples migrated toward the center of the room. Soft murmurs of anticipation filled the air; even the militia officers stood straighter, eager to display their skill.
Elizabeth held back, hoping Mr. Darcy would ask for her hand. She was not disappointed.
“Miss Elizabeth?” His voice, low and resonant, brushed against her ear like a caress.
He held his hand out and she took it, allowing him to loop it through his arm and escort her to the floor.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Miss Bingley scowling in anger—a thundercloud amidst bright candlelight.
The song was lively, leaving little room for conversation, but she did not mind.
Simply partnering with such a man was sufficiently thrilling.
The steps brought them apart and together again in quick succession—each meeting of their eyes a spark, each brush of hands a sparkler’s flare.
Darcy moved with precision and grace, far better trained than most of the local gentlemen.
Elizabeth could not help but feel a flutter in her chest when he met her gaze with a warmth he scarcely concealed.
Jane partnered with Mr. Bingley down the line. Her sister’s cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and the gentleman scarcely took his eyes off her. Perhaps we shall both find happiness.
Later, Elizabeth traded places with Mary.
Mr. Darcy took up a position at her side, carefully turning pages as the others danced.
His presence, solid and attentive, sent a pleasant awareness down her spine.
Mary, usually shy and content to sit on the side, partnered with Mr. John Lucas and Mr. Arnold Goulding.
The younger Misses Long looked on with envy—rarely did Mary command such attention at a gathering.