Chapter Two
Darcy
Darcy stood at the edge of Almack’s principal assembly room with a glass of orgeat he barely drank, watching dozens of people navigate one another in elaborate social activity.
He was present on the insistence of his cousin, the Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.
The Colonel had, over the course of their bond, deployed many stratagems to include Darcy in whatever space he had chosen to occupy.
He often cited duty, obligation, the improvement of spirits, and, once, the suggestion that prolonged solitude was injurious to the constitution.
A few days earlier, he had simply pointed out that Darcy had been in London since the very start of January and was yet to present himself anywhere of consequence.
Darcy had objected, stating that he spent more time on correspondence than the average person and could not be said to be solitary. But the Colonel had remained unconvinced and had informed Darcy he would only change his mind if his invitation to Almack’s was honoured.
Darcy was not, by temperament, opposed to society. But he was sceptical of the constant assessing glances and how a gentleman’s consequence was silently calculated before he exchanged words with anyone.
Richard, for his part, was across the room and already at the centre of a laughing circle.
He had returned from the Continent three weeks prior, his high spirits suggesting that the sojourn had agreed with him.
His belief that the world would always be worth engaging with, was one of his defining characteristics.
As Darcy watched his cousin elicit general laughter with a well-placed remark, he thought, not for the first time, that it must be rather restful to find people as straightforwardly interesting as his cousin did.
Bingley appeared next to him.
"Splendid evening, is it not?"
Bingley’s capacity for exuberance was a well-known trait, but it seemed more pronounced that evening. Something specific must have occurred to put him in a vibrant mood.
"Have you been dancing?"
"Only the first set. With a Miss Bennet. She is from Hertfordshire and new to Town."
"And?"
"She is very amiable. I don’t know that I have ever met a more delightful lady. Her family’s staying in Portman Square, which, as you well know, has the finest houses around."
Darcy’s attention had already shifted elsewhere, not from any lack of interest in Bingley’s affairs, but because there was, only a short distance away, a scene that intrigued him against his will.
A young, dark-haired woman was engaged in conversation with Mrs Somebody-or-other whose name he could not immediately recall.
The older woman appeared to have delivered a pronouncement she considered final.
The younger one seemed to be about to demonstrate, at some length, why it was not.
Mrs Seton—he could recall her name now—said something further.
The young woman listened and then replied.
Mrs Seton blinked, rallied briefly, and then redirected her attention to the room at large, having decided that the conversational avenue was not worth pursuing.
The young woman returned to her previous occupation, which appeared to have been watching the orchestra.
"Who is that?"
Bingley turned to look." Ah. That is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Bennet's sister."
"I see."
"I understand that Miss Elizabeth is considered rather clever. What do you think?"
"What do I think? That they seem to be a comfortable family, much like everyone else." Darcy said dismissively, peering into the glass of orgeat.
He did not intend to be introduced.
This was the last coherent intention in his mind before Richard materialised, accompanied by their hostess for the evening, Lady Elkins, a lady who exercised social functions assigned to her with benevolent authority.
"Darcy, here is Mrs Elkins, who has very kindly offered to make introductions. I told her you would be willing to meet the unmarried ladies in attendance, starting with the one over there." He gestured to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Darcy’s exasperated sigh was met with a look of complete innocence by Richard, long polished by years of practice.
Mrs Elkins nodded. "Colonel Fitzwilliam tells me you are not yet acquainted with the Bennet girls. They are quite charming and new to society. I am very happy to introduce you."
There was no graceful avenue of refusal as their hostess was already leading the way.
Darcy had a few seconds to consider his position and established, in that interval, that Richard was up to yet another of his matchmaking attempts.
And the lady on the other end this time, in addition to Darcy, was Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
The remaining question was whether to publicly acknowledge this. He decided not to, on the grounds that doing so would please his cousin more than was warranted.
As he drew closer, more of Elizabeth Bennet’s features grew into focus. Her eyes were a bright brown, lively and full of energy. And an oval face framed her straight nose and bow-tipped lips.
She was beauty itself.
"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Mrs Elkins said, "may I present Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Gentlemen, Miss Elizabeth Bennet."
Darcy bowed, recovering quickly from the weakness that swept through him at the sight of her. So did Richard. Miss Elizabeth Bennet repeated their names, curtseyed, and acknowledged them with a look of curiosity.
"Miss Elizabeth." Richard began. "I understand you have been in London for only a very short while. I hope the city has been welcoming."
"It has been a lot of things. I am still forming my opinion of it."
Richard’s grin grew wider. "My cousin Darcy was hoping, I believe, for the chance of a dance. Were you not?"
"I—"
"Splendid." Richard was already half-turned away. "I shall leave you to it."
With that, he was gone. Mrs Elkins, her duty discharged, had melted into the general company. Darcy was left standing opposite Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who was looking at him with an expression that contained some amount of amusement.
There was a set forming, which provided no graceful retreat. "Would you do me the honour, Miss Bennet?"
"I would," she said, taking his offered hand.
The dance was a country dance, which meant intervals of proximity and intervals of separation. Conversation was easier in the former and less so in the latter, which was a fine balance.
"I could not help but notice that you seemed to be in a debate with Mrs Seton."
"I was correcting an error of attribution. Mrs Seton believed the melody being played previously was composed by Gluck. I believed it belonged to Arne. In the end, we established what the correct perspective was."
They separated briefly before rejoining each other. "Which was it?"
"Arne."
"Then you were right to be confident."
"Only because I was correct. Confidence follows from that, rather than the reverse. Do you hold opinions on the matter? Gluck and Arne are not equally well known in every quarter."
"I know both incredibly well."
"Then you have an advantage over Mrs Seton in that regard."
It was not the kind of reply Darcy generally received a couple of minutes following an introduction. It was not impertinent, precisely, but it was a blunt conversational style most ladies in venues such as this one, took considerable pains to avoid.
"Have you been in London long?"
"Just three days thus far."
"And yet, you have already begun attending to the musical controversies of the assembly rooms."
He was aware, as he spoke, of his words coming across as accusatory in place of the teasing tone he had intended. But it was far too late to remedy it.
She stiffened visibly. "The musical controversies found me. I was merely attempting to enjoy the overture."
"And I hear you are from Hertfordshire. Would you share your impressions with me? I have never been."
"I see you have been making enquiries."
"Not particularly. I received the information from my good friend, Mr Charles Bingley."
"That may as well be the same as asking questions, depending on the context. Without further prompting, a quick exchange is unlikely to have revealed anything that required effort to discover."
This was so sufficiently stated that Darcy did not answer it immediately. She waited for his response without any appearance of discomfort.
He decided to change the topic, in the hope of preventing further awkwardness.
"I’m from Derbyshire. It’s a wonderful sight to see throughout the year, especially in the winter."
"And what would you say about it in comparison to being in Town?"
"Derbyshire offers a wonderful break from the relentless socialising that occurs in London. That, and the Darcys have a grand estate that makes being in the countryside enjoyable. But being in Town is a different experience. More tasks are accomplished here, if you’re an ambitious fellow, and there are plenty of connections to be made. "
"And do you find Town agreeable, after Derbyshire?"
"I find it necessary. It serves well as a second-choice location."
"The theatre options here are excellent."
"High praise."
"It is the only praise I can offer with veracity. I make a point of not indulging in the other kind."
It occurred to him that she was likely testing him, with a combination of blunt statements and dry humour, and it was difficult to tell if he was succeeding or failing. Or perhaps she spoke this way to everyone, in which case her evenings were likely to prove eventful.
"Pray, where do you stay while in London?" He asked. He already knew, of course, but he did not wish to be accused of having made inquiries again.
"At Portman Square, do you know it?"
"Indeed." He found himself saying, "Portman Square is a popular location at present, but in the past, it used to be described solely as tolerable."
She looked surprised. "Tolerable?"
"The shape of the area was the point of contention. It was not thought to be very appealing."
"By whom?"
"Society. A few acquaintances as well."
"They were wrong. Tolerable suggests the barest sufficiency. The square is, in fact, very lovely. If your sources lacked the vocabulary for finer distinction, I should not recommend you cite them on architectural matters."
She had taken the word and handed it back to him with the implication that he had been inexact, which he doubted was the case, but the argument was organised well enough that pointing this out would require considerable effort.
"I stand corrected."
She smiled vaguely. "We are, then, in agreement on the most essential point."
The dance concluded and they came to a halt.
"Miss Bennet," he said. "I hope you enjoy the remainder of the evening."
"I expect I shall. I hope the same for you."
They separated, moving to opposite sides of the assembly room.
Bingley appeared from the direction of the dance floor, looking beyond pleased.
"I danced with Miss Bennet a second time, confirming what I had already suspected from the first. We are incredibly well-matched. Simply first-rate! She is a true diamond of the first water."
Darcy’s mind turned to the subject of his own recently concluded dance.
He was not sure of how to interpret the conversation with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.
Many of the statements she uttered were not said with spite.
There had been nothing in it of the malice that passed for wit in certain environments, the kind designed to cut rather than to illuminate.
However, her words had been delivered with gravity, which meant they could be received as either true observation or a source of amusement at his expense.
He could not determine which was the case. Thus, he was unsure whether to resent their encounter completely.