Chapter 10
Ten
June
ELIZABETH STUDIED HER REFLECTION as Hannah secured the final pin in her arrangement.
The modest country assembly could hardly compare to London’s grand entertainments, yet she looked forward to the evening with genuine pleasure.
Here in Derbyshire, among Darcy’s neighbors and tenants, she had begun to find her footing as mistress of Pemberley.
“The local families are eager to meet you, ma’am.” Hannah stepped back to survey her work. “Mrs. Harris at the milliner’s says there hasn’t been such excitement about an assembly since before the old master passed.”
“I hope I shall not disappoint them.” Elizabeth touched the simple pearl necklace at her throat—Darcy’s gift following Lady Catherine’s departure two weeks prior. The understated piece suited her better than the elaborate jewels in the Darcy collection.
“You look beautiful, ma’am. That green silk brings out your eyes something wonderful.”
A soft knock preceded Georgiana’s entrance. The younger girl wore pale blue that emphasized her delicate coloring, her hair arranged to make her appear older than sixteen.
“You look lovely. Are you certain you wish to attend? I know large gatherings are not your preference.”
“I am certain.” Georgiana’s voice held unusual firmness. “The Lambton assembly is not like London entertainments. There will be fewer strangers, and I wish to support you in your first public appearance here.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened at this declaration of solidarity. Since Lady Catherine’s visit, Georgiana had shown increasing determination to overcome her natural shyness, especially where Elizabeth’s acceptance in local society was concerned.
“Thank you. Your company will make the evening far more enjoyable.”
They descended to find Darcy awaiting them, his tall figure imposing in evening dress.
Elizabeth still found herself occasionally startled by how handsome her husband was when formally attired.
Tonight, the stark black and white emphasized the clean lines of his features and the breadth of his shoulders.
His expression warmed as he looked at her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” That now-familiar flutter moved through her midsection. “I hope I am appropriately dressed for a country assembly. I would not wish to appear either too grand or too simple.”
“You are precisely right.” He offered his arm. “The local families are less concerned with London fashion than genuine goodwill. They will appreciate your approachability more than elaborate style.”
The journey to Lambton took only twenty minutes. As they approached the assembly rooms, Elizabeth noted the modest but respectable building illuminated with extra candles. Nothing like the grand venues of London, but charming in its unpretentious way.
“Many of these families have known mine for generations.” Darcy’s voice took on an easier quality than she typically heard in public settings. “They will be curious about you, but not hostile. Your genuine interest in Pemberley and its surroundings will stand you in good stead.”
“As will your approval. They value your good opinion, I believe.”
“They respect the Darcy name. Though my own reserved manner has perhaps kept them at greater distance than my father managed. He was more naturally sociable.”
“Like Georgiana. She has his smile, I think, from the portraits I’ve seen.”
Darcy glanced at his sister with visible affection. “Yes, she does. Though the tendency toward shyness comes from our mother’s side.”
Their carriage stopped before the assembly rooms, where a small crowd had already gathered.
A murmur passed through the waiting locals as the Pemberley party descended.
Elizabeth felt numerous eyes upon her, assessing the new Mrs. Darcy with undisguised curiosity.
Drawing on the poise she had developed during her London stay, she smiled warmly as her husband led her forward.
“Mr. Ashford, Mrs. Ashford, may I present my wife?” Pride colored Darcy’s voice.
“Mrs. Darcy! How delightful to finally meet you.” Mrs. Ashford, a pleasant-faced woman of about fifty, took Elizabeth’s hands warmly. “We have heard such wonderful things about you from the Pemberley staff who come into the village.”
“All good things, I hope.”
“Indeed! Mrs. Reynolds tells us you have already made improvements to the tenant housing and taken particular interest in the village school.” Mr. Ashford, a distinguished gentleman with kind eyes, bowed over her hand. “Exactly what one would hope for in the mistress of Pemberley.”
A rush of pleasure moved through Elizabeth at this evidence that her efforts had been noted and approved. She had focused much of her attention on practical improvements during her first weeks at Pemberley, finding satisfaction in continuing Lady Anne’s charitable works.
As they entered the assembly room, the gathered company parted before them. The room, while modest compared to London ballrooms, had been decorated with fresh greenery and flowers. Local musicians tuned their instruments on a small platform at one end.
“Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy,” announced the elderly master of ceremonies with considerable pride.
For the next half hour, Elizabeth was introduced to a bewildering array of neighbors.
Throughout these introductions, she noted with interest how differently Darcy conducted himself compared to his behavior in Hertfordshire.
While still reserved by nature, he appeared more at ease among these people who had known him since childhood.
He inquired after family members by name, remembered details about their businesses or farms, and introduced Elizabeth with evident pride.
“The Pemberley estate flourishes under your management, Mr. Darcy,” observed Mr. Grey, a prosperous-looking gentleman of middle age. “The new drainage system you’ve implemented along the western fields has been much discussed.”
“The credit belongs primarily to my steward. Though Mrs. Darcy has contributed several valuable suggestions regarding the tenant housing that accompanies the project.”
Elizabeth glanced at him in surprise, not having expected this public acknowledgment.
“Merely practical observations about window placement and cooking areas. Any woman who has managed a household would have noted the same.”
“Not every woman would have spoken up.” Mrs. Grey’s approval was evident. “Or convinced her husband to alter plans already in progress.”
The easy acceptance of her role in estate improvements warmed Elizabeth toward these neighbors who valued practical contributions over fashionable accomplishments. As the evening progressed and dancing began, she found herself genuinely enjoying the company.
Darcy claimed her hand for the first dance, as was proper. As they took their places in the set, Elizabeth was conscious of many eyes upon them.
“They are eager to see if I can dance at all. Or perhaps to determine whether you made a dreadful mistake in your choice of wife.”
“They will be disappointed in the first hope and enlightened regarding the second. You dance beautifully, and my choice appears increasingly sound with each passing day.”
The quiet sincerity affected Elizabeth more than elaborate flattery might have done. “High praise from a man not known for bestowing it lightly.”
“I bestow it where it is merited.”
Before Elizabeth could respond to this surprising admission, the dance separated them. Yet the words lingered in her mind as the evening progressed.
Mr. Ashford requested her hand for the next set. As she danced with her host, Elizabeth became aware of a disturbance near the entrance. Several heads turned, and a murmur passed through the gathered company. Even the musicians faltered briefly before recovering.
“Is something amiss?”
“Merely a late arrival. Nothing to concern yourself with, Mrs. Darcy.”
The dance concluded shortly afterward. As Elizabeth returned to where Darcy stood conversing with the Greys, she became aware of him approaching from across the room, his expression unusually tense. Something in his bearing alerted her to trouble.
“Elizabeth.” He used her given name despite the public setting. “I believe it might be best if we departed somewhat earlier than planned.”
Surprise and concern mingled in her response. “Is something wrong? Is Georgiana unwell?”
“Georgiana is with Mrs. Grey and quite safe. But there has been an unexpected arrival that I would prefer to address another time.”
Before Elizabeth could inquire further, her attention was caught by a figure moving through the crowd toward them. A handsome man in a well-cut but not overly fashionable coat, with an easy smile and confident manner that seemed oddly familiar.
Recognition struck her. George Wickham. The militia officer who had briefly been stationed in Meryton during her acquaintance with Darcy. The man who had claimed to have been grievously wronged by the Darcy family.
She felt her husband stiffen beside her as Wickham approached, his face betraying nothing while his body radiated tension. The contrast between Darcy’s rigid formality and Wickham’s easy grace was striking—and suddenly suspicious to Elizabeth’s more experienced eyes.
“Mr. Darcy.” Wickham greeted them with a bow that somehow managed to be both correct and faintly mocking.
“What an unexpected pleasure to encounter you in such a public setting. And Mrs. Darcy, I believe?” His gaze moved to Elizabeth with exaggerated surprise.
“Why, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as I live and breathe! Or rather, Mrs. Darcy now, I hear. Felicitations on your advantageous match.”
The deliberate emphasis on “advantageous” was unmistakable. Before Elizabeth could respond, Darcy spoke, his voice controlled but cold.
“Mr. Wickham. I was not aware you had business in Derbyshire.”