Chapter Seven
At the first assembly that October, Miss Elizabeth Bennet stood in Meryton’s public hall with her mother and sisters, eagerly awaiting their first glimpse of the party from Netherfield Park.
Rumors had flown about the village of Meryton as to who the newest addition to their local society, Mr. Bingley, would bring.
Elizabeth had heard anything from five ladies to a dozen, but never reports of many gentlemen.
This last was a source of great consternation for the community, as Meryton already boasted far too many unwed misses and far too few gentlemen worth wedding.
Finally, at a fashionably late hour, a small group of strangers entered the hall.
Almost the entirety of the assembly paused to study them, Elizabeth and her clustered relations included.
She assumed Mr. Bingley to be the gentleman at the forefront, and the other four the guests he was known to have fetched from London.
As a group, the newcomers halted just inside the doorway, studying the people of Meryton in return.
Elizabeth’s lips quirked as she wondered how these Londoners judged their society.
For his part, Mr. Bingley was handsome enough, and the two women with him, relations by their features, quite fashionable. The younger of the two was very tall and, by Elizabeth’s estimation, likely unwed. The older was obviously married to the stout gentleman whose arm she adorned.
Behind them entered a middling sort of man.
Well formed, though not tall of stature, nor short.
His even, symmetrical features were pleasant enough.
The weather-worn lines of his face and the slightest trace of gray at his temples put him somewhere around his third decade, and he did not smile.
A smile would have rendered him far more attractive, but instead of issuing one, he angled his nose into the air and surveyed all before him with displeasure.
“I cannot see why you have brought me here, Bingley,” he said, his words cultured, clipped, and carrying to every corner of the hall.
The younger of the two women choked back a laugh and snapped open her fan to cover her face. Why she should find the man’s superciliousness so entertaining, Elizabeth couldn’t fathom, but her estimation of both lowered.
“Because, ah, Darcy, this is a lovely, lively assembly and I am desirous of dancing,” Mr. Bingley replied, his features pinched.
“Dancing? You know that I do not care to dance with partners with whom I am not already acquainted.”
Behind her fan, the younger woman snorted at Mr. Darcy’s words, while Elizabeth’s mama huffed. Beside Mrs. Bennet, Lydia leaned to whisper something to their sister Kitty. Elizabeth couldn’t hear what, but beyond them, Mary frowned.
Elizabeth frowned as well. If not to dance, why attend the assembly at all? And how did this Mr. Darcy mean to become acquainted with any women if he would not dance with them? He seemed to be relegating himself to very few partners for all perpetuity.
Mr. Bingley grimaced at his companions. “Yes, well, I will dance.” Plastering on a smile, he strode deeper into the room, angling for Sir William Lucas, the former mayor and unofficial spokesperson of Meryton. Local gossip held the two to be already acquainted.
Elizabeth turned to exchange a look with her older sister, wondering if she found the newcomers as strange, but Jane did not notice.
Her attention appeared fixed on Mr. Bingley.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at that, for Jane did not normally express an interest in any man.
Not that, in Meryton, they encountered many men worthy of such expression.
“Mr. Darcy, perhaps we should take a turn about the room?” the taller, younger of the two women said, snapping her fan closed.
“I suppose we must,” he replied, those four words infused with condemnation as his gaze traveled the hall. He offered his arm and the two angled to their right, moving into a gathering that parted before them.
Mrs. Bennet huffed again, and Elizabeth feared that soon her mother’s opinions on Mr. Darcy would be leaving her mouth in the form of words, rather than air. Beyond her, Lydia and Kitty giggled.
The older of Mr. Bingley’s sisters, as Elizabeth imagined her to be, watched the younger woman and Mr. Darcy walk away with twin lines creasing her brow.
“Oh, I do hope he is not raising Caroline’s hopes,” she said, her voice so quiet that Elizabeth had to rely somewhat on the shapes of the words on her lips to decipher them.
“Caroline knows what she is about, and so does Bingley, and he approves,” the man replied. “Come, let us find the punch table, and see if there is a card room.”
Though worry didn’t leave her features, the woman nodded.
Deeming Mr. Darcy and the younger woman, Miss Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth deduced, the more interesting pair, she turned her attention in the direction they’d gone, tracking their progress about the room.
She could no longer hear them, nor even attempt to read their lips in profile, but by the startled, indignant looks that blossomed in their wake, Mr. Darcy did not curb his tongue nor hide his feelings.
Feelings that so far appeared to spread only dislike.
“Girls, smile,” Mrs. Bennet hissed.
Elizabeth turned to find her mother heeding her own advice.
“Mr. Bingley is coming this way,” Mrs. Bennet continued through a smile that hardly moved as she spoke. “Jane, pinch your cheeks.”
“Why do I not need to pinch my cheeks, Mama?” Lydia asked, her words loud enough that Mr. Bingley’s eyes widened slightly where he approached them in the company of Sir William.
Sir William either had not heard or could no longer be disturbed by Lydia’s antics, for his pleased grin didn’t waver as he stopped before them to bow. “Mrs. Bennet, may I introduce Mr. Bingley, the gentleman who has leased Netherfield Park?”
Mrs. Bennet curtsied. “Oh, Mr. Bingley, it is so lovely to meet you at last. I was devastated that you could not come to dine with us yesterday eve. I had such a lovely dinner planned. No fewer than two partridges, I assure you.”
His expression affable, Mr. Bingley bowed. “Mrs. Bennet. It pained me to decline your generous invitation, but I was away in London fetching my sisters, my brother by marriage, and, ah, Mr. Darcy.” Mr. Bingley’s cheer faltered.
Elizabeth kept her visage smooth as she pondered Mr. Bingley’s hesitation, his slight grimace.
Did Mr. Bingley not care for Mr. Darcy? Her gaze strayed to where that gentleman still walked with Miss Bingley.
Was Mr. Darcy so wealthy that Mr. Bingley would endure him for the sake of his sister’s hope of a match?
“…and Elizabeth, my second eldest,” Mrs. Bennet was saying.
Elizabeth pulled her wandering thoughts back just in time to curtsy to Mr. Bingley.
“…Mary, my third, Kitty, my fourth, and Lydia, my fifth,” Mrs. Bennet concluded.
Mr. Bingley rocked back slightly. “My, what a great number of lovely daughters you have, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Does she not?” Sir William’s sweeping gesture encompassed them. “And each more charming than the last. The Bennet sisters are one of the delights of our community, sir.”
If they were each more charming than the last, that meant some of them must not be that charming at all, Elizabeth mused. Furthermore, that meant Sir William placed one of them last. She longed to tease him regarding which, but held her tongue. Her mother did not appreciate such remarks.
“Yes, and you must dance with them all,” Mrs. Bennet declared. “Beginning with Jane, of course, as she is by far the loveliest.”
“Mama,” Jane murmured, looking down, her cheeks glowing pink.
Mr. Bingley again appeared startled, but he turned a cheery look on Jane. “I would be honored for a set, Miss Bennet.”
“I believe a set is about to begin.” Mrs. Bennet caught Jane by the shoulders as she spoke, giving her a shove in Mr. Bingley’s direction.
Mortification filled Elizabeth now too, brought out by her mother’s lack of subtlety.
“Is it?” Mr. Bingley looked about, startled. “I have promised this set to Miss Lucas. May I have the next set, Miss Bennet?”
Jane, who had conquered her blush, nodded. “That would be most pleasant.”
Mr. Bingley bowed. “Until then.”
“If you will excuse me?” Sir William asked, then turned to follow Mr. Bingley back to where Charlotte Lucas, Elizabeth’s dear friend and Sir William’s eldest, stood with Lady Lucas.
“If your father had done his duty, you would be dancing with Mr. Bingley now, not Charlotte,” Mrs. Bennet muttered, her words aimed at Jane.
“It is only one set, Mama,” Elizabeth protested. “It is not as if Mr. Bingley will marry the first woman he dances with, or he would already be wed.”
Mrs. Bennet swung her glare to Elizabeth. “And you, Miss Lizzy, will not dance with him after Jane. I will secure that set for Lydia. If Mr. Bingley does not choose Jane, he will certainly choose her.”
Behind their mother, Lydia smirked at Elizabeth.
“Whatever you deem best, Mama,” Elizabeth replied, for she had no designs on the gentleman. Mr. Bingley seemed affable. He was not unattractive. Yet, he stirred nothing in her. Not even the dislike Mr. Darcy evoked.
Thinking of him, Elizabeth turned from her mother to the lines of dancers forming up for their set. Mr. Bingley and Charlotte were near the front of the hall, and none other than Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley joined them there.
“Miss Lydia?”
“Miss Kitty?”
Charlotte’s brothers, John and Paul Lucas, had arrived to claim sets with Elizabeth’s younger sisters.
“And where do you think you are going?” Mrs. Bennet demanded of Lydia. “You must be here when Mr. Bingley returns with Jane.”
“Oh, Mama.” Lydia placed her hand in Paul Lucas’s outstretched one. “That is not for two sets. Mr. Lucas and I will be back by then.”
“See that you are,” Mrs. Bennet snapped, eyeing Paul Lucas narrowly.