Bonus Chapter
Fitzwilliam Darcy had attended precisely forty-seven public assemblies in his life. He had hated every single one of them. Assembly number forty-eight, in the market town of Meryton, Hertfordshire, was shaping up to be no exception.
He was forced by Bingley's persistence to attend.
He had conceded, eventually, even though all he wanted was to sit in Netherfield's study, nurse a brandy or more, lick his wounds and contemplate his endless stupidity.
God, what an idiot he was. He believed that a man like Wickham would have learnt a lesson by spending a night inside a coal cellar and a fake duel.
How wrong he was. He shook his head at his own gullibility.
Never again, he thought. I shall be the Mask. Trust no one. Deceit is my abhorrence.
"Come, Darcy," Charles Bingley was saying, his face alight with the sort of guileless joy that made Darcy feel ancient at eight-and-twenty. "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by this column in such a stupid manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not." Darcy surveyed the crowded room frowning.
"You know how I detest it, unless I am acquainted with my partner.
At such an assembly as this it would be insupportable.
Your sisters are engaged, and there is not another woman in the room whom it would not be a punishment to stand up with. "
This was not strictly true. There were at least three women present who would not constitute active torture.
But Darcy had a bad temper these days, and a reputation to maintain.
That reputation was 'disagreeable man who loathes country assemblies.
' He had worked hard to cultivate it, to keep them at arm's length, possibly a mile's length.
"I would not be so fastidious as you are for a kingdom!" Bingley protested. "Upon my honour, I never met with so many pleasant girls in my life as I have this evening, and there are several of them uncommonly pretty."
"You are dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," Darcy said flatly, not wanting to betray the deeper reasons to his friend.
"Oh! She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld!
" Bingley's face took on the expression of a man who had just discovered religion.
Or possibly the gout cure. With Bingley, it was hard to tell.
"But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable.
Do let me ask my partner to introduce you. "
Darcy turned, prepared to deliver a cutting remark that would end this conversation and return to his column, his natural habitat.
He never got the chance.
Because the moment he laid eyes on Elizabeth Bennet, every coherent thought in his head simply stopped.
She was sitting on a chair near the wall, her dark curls escaping their pins in a way that should have looked untidy but instead looked artfully dishevelled. She was laughing with her companion, her eyes bright with mirth, her whole face transformed by genuine amusement.
And when she laughed, Darcy felt a shift in his chest, as if his heart attempted to relocate itself. He forgot everything instantly. Ramsgate, Wickham, Georgiana, his middle name.
Oh no, he thought distantly. Oh, this is bad.
"Which do you mean?" he asked, his voice sounding odd to his own ears.
Bingley, bless him, pointed directly at her.
Darcy stared. He was aware he was staring. He was aware he should stop staring. His brain was sending urgent messages to his face: Stop looking like you have been hit with a brick over the head. Say something. Anything. Preferably something that does not make you sound like a complete simpleton.
His mouth, unfortunately, was no longer accepting instructions from his brain.
"She is..." he began.
Beautiful. Captivating. The most magnificent woman I have ever seen. I would very much like to marry her immediately. Tonight, if possible. I am willing to forgo a special licence and simply elope to Scotland.
"...tolerable, I suppose," his mouth finished.
His brain screamed.
"But not handsome enough to tempt me," his mouth continued, apparently determined to ruin his entire life in one conversation. "I am in no humour at present to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men."
WHAT ARE YOU DOING? his brain shrieked.
"You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles," his mouth concluded cheerfully, "for you are wasting your time with me."
Bingley, looking bewildered, wandered off.
Darcy remained by his column, frozen in absolute horror at what had just emerged from his face.
He had insulted the only woman he ever considered marrying.
Worse, he had insulted her within earshot of said woman.
Because Elizabeth Bennet had stopped laughing. She had, in fact, gone very still. And then, slowly, deliberately, she turned her head to look directly at him.
Their eyes met.
Darcy felt his soul leave his body.
Her gaze was not angry. It was not hurt. It was assessing. Thoughtful. As if she were looking at a mildly interesting specimen in a museum. A beetle, possibly. Or a particularly ugly rock.
Then, just as deliberately, she turned away and resumed her conversation.
He had been dismissed.
Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, nephew to an Earl, possessor of ten thousand a year, had been weighed, measured, found wanting, and dismissed by a country gentleman's daughter.
Well, he thought faintly. That could have gone better.
He spent the rest of the evening lurking behind various architectural features, watching her.
He could not help it. She was magnetic. She danced with several partners (not slighted at all), laughed frequently, and appeared to be enjoying herself immensely.
She never once looked in his direction again.
By the time the assembly ended, Darcy had formed several conclusions:
One: He was completely besotted with Elizabeth Bennet.
Two: She thought he was an arse.
Three: She was not wrong.
Four: He had approximately six weeks to rectify this situation before he returned to London or went mad (whichever came first).
Five: He was doomed.
The ride back to Netherfield Park was torture. Darcy and Bingley were blissfully travelling alone in the first carriage, while Bingley's sisters and Mr Hurst rode the second.
"What a delightful evening!" Bingley exclaimed. "Miss Bennet is an angel. An absolute angel! Did you see how she smiled? Darcy, you must have noticed. Tell me you noticed."
"I noticed," Darcy said quietly.
"And her sisters! All so pleasant and lively.
Well, except for the middle one. Miss Mary seemed rather intense.
But the younger girls were charming, and Miss Elizabeth was quite witty.
Several people remarked on it. I thought you might find her interesting, actually.
She seems the sort of woman who would enjoy a good debate. "
She seems the sort of woman I would very much like to kiss, Darcy thought. Also marry. Also spend the rest of my life annoying and being annoyed by in turn.
"She seemed tolerable," he blurted aloud.
Bingley gave him an odd look. "You said that already. At the assembly."
"Did I?" Darcy adjusted his cuffs, trying to appear ignorant.
"Yes. And she heard you."
Darcy closed his eyes. "She did?"
"Oh, definitely. She was sitting right there. I saw her expression change. I think you may have offended her."
Excellent, Darcy thought. Splendid. Perfect. Even Bingley noticed. Could this evening possibly get worse?
"Though honestly," Bingley continued, oblivious to Darcy's internal anguish, "I think she found it more amusing than anything else. She made some comment to her friend afterward about 'proud London gentlemen' and they both laughed."
She had laughed. At him.
Darcy was not accustomed to being laughed at. People generally found him intimidating, or dull, or excessively proud. They did not find him amusing. He had worked hard to achieve it.
He discovered, to his surprise, that he rather liked the idea of Elizabeth Bennet finding him amusing. It was better than her finding him insignificant. Though it would be substantially better if she found him attractive, charming, and worthy of her hand in marriage.
"Caroline seemed less impressed with the company," Bingley added. "She spent most of the evening criticizing the local fashions. And Louisa complained about the musicians. But I thought it was all perfectly pleasant."
"It was pleasant," Darcy agreed. This was a lie. The assembly had been a special circle of hell designed specifically to torture him. But Bingley was happy, and Darcy was not about to ruin that.
Caroline Bingley, however, had no such compunctions.
"What a ghastly evening," she announced the moment they entered Netherfield's drawing room.
"I have never encountered such a collection of provincial mediocrity in my life.
The fashions! The conversation! That dreadful Mrs Bennet with her loud voice and her vulgar manner.
I cannot believe Charles danced with her daughter twice. "
"Miss Bennet is lovely," Bingley said firmly.
"She is pretty enough, I suppose," Miss Bingley conceded. "Though her smile is rather excessive. And did you notice her younger sisters? Absolutely wild. That youngest one was practically throwing herself at the officers. Most inappropriate."
Darcy did not speak. He was thinking about Elizabeth's eyes. They were brown, he had noticed. But not merely brown. They were the colour of amber in firelight, with flecks of gold that caught the candlelight when she turned her head.
"Mr Darcy agrees with me, I am sure," Miss Bingley continued. "You were certainly not impressed with the local society. I saw you hiding behind the columns all evening."
"I was not hiding," Darcy said. "I was observing."
"And what did you observe?"
That I am a fool. That I have insulted the only woman who has ever made my heart forget how to beat properly. That I would very much like to travel back in time and throttle my past self.
"That it was a perfectly adequate assembly," he managed. "The company was acceptable."
Miss Bingley's eyes narrowed. She knew him too well. "You are being diplomatic. That is not like you, sir."
"I am turning over a new leaf."
"How alarming."
Bingley, sensing tension, jumped in. "I think we should call on the Bennets soon. To pay our respects. It is only proper, since Miss Bennet is clearly the belle of the neighbourhood."
"Excellent idea," Darcy heard himself say.
Everyone stared at him, discombobulated.
"You want to call on the Bennets?" Miss Bingley asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.
"I think it would be the courteous thing to do," Darcy said carefully. "As Bingley's friend and guest, I should support his social obligations."
This was an absolutely transparent excuse, and everyone in the room knew it. But Bingley was too delighted to question it, and Miss Bingley was too shocked to formulate a proper objection.
"Splendid!" Bingley beamed. "We shall go tomorrow afternoon. Or perhaps the day after. I do not want to seem too eager. Though I am eager. Very eager. Do you think two days is too long? Would three days seem indifferent?"
As Bingley spiralled into an anxiety about social timing, Darcy excused himself and retreated to his chambers. He had work to do. He had to shake himself sufficiently enough, and ignore the idiotic flutters inside his chest. He had to wear the Mask and commit.
How hard could it be to remain completely indifferent to the woman I just accidentally proposed to in my head?
*
The End