Chapter 13
The assembly rooms were already full when Elizabeth arrived with her family, and the familiar warmth, noise, and candlelight wrapped around her like an old shawl.
There was comfort in it, even when her mother’s voice carried too far, Kitty and Lydia whispered too loudly over the young men present, and Mary positioned herself near the instrument as though waiting to be discovered by a grateful nation.
Meryton assemblies were never elegant, but they were cheerful, and cheerfulness had become no small virtue in Elizabeth’s estimation.
She had dressed as she usually did for such occasions, neatly but without extravagance.
Her gown was becoming enough, she supposed, though it had been made over from one Jane had outgrown, and the trimming upon it was more the product of ingenuity than expense.
Two years ago, such economy had been necessity.
Now it was discretion. A lady who wished to keep Netherfield Park and ten thousand pounds a secret could hardly arrive at assemblies glittering with new silk and costly lace.
Charlotte Lucas found her almost at once and drew her a little away from Mrs. Bennet’s speculations over whether the Netherfield party would attend.
“Mama says Sir William has been watching the door since we arrived,” Charlotte said, smiling.
“If Mr. Bingley enters, I expect my father will receive him as though he were a foreign ambassador.”
“Then we must hope Mr. Bingley has brought credentials.”
“Oh, five thousand a year is credential enough for Meryton.”
Elizabeth laughed, but before she could answer, Mr. Goulding approached to claim her hand for the first set.
Mr. Goulding was nearer her father’s age than her own, round-faced, cheerful, and possessed of the rare masculine virtue of actually enjoying dancing.
His wife, who tired too easily to stand up more than once in an evening, sat near the wall and watched him with fond amusement, as though each country dance were a private entertainment arranged for her benefit.
Gentlemen were scarce enough now, thanks to France and Bonaparte, that Mr. and Mrs. Goulding had taken it upon themselves to ensure no young lady who wished to dance was left sitting merely for want of a partner.
He knew all the newer dances, too, and performed them with such good humor that Elizabeth always enjoyed standing up with him.
“Young ladies think gentlemen of my age cannot keep up,” Mr. Goulding said as they moved through the figure.
“I would never accuse you of such a thing, sir. You are the terror of every lazy young man in the room.”
“Ha! I shall tell Mrs. Goulding you said so. She claims my left foot grew stubborn sometime after our third child.”
“Then your left foot is to be praised for long service.”
He laughed aloud, and Elizabeth was smiling as the second dance of the set ended and he offered his arm to escort her toward his wife.
They had gone only a few steps when the doors opened.
A ripple moved through the room before anyone spoke, the particular ripple that only new arrivals of wealth and uncertainty could create. Elizabeth turned with everyone else.
The gentleman who entered first could only be Mr. Bingley.
He was young, fair in complexion, with reddish hair and a countenance so open and delighted that Elizabeth felt immediately inclined to like him.
He looked about the room as though an assembly in Meryton were precisely the entertainment he had desired above all others, and his smile was so unaffected that even Mrs. Bennet, across the room, seemed to brighten beneath its influence.
Upon his arm was a tall woman dressed in orange silk.
It was an unfortunate choice. Her hair, nearly as red as her brother’s, did not bear competition well, and the color made her complexion appear sharper than nature perhaps intended.
Behind her came another lady, handsomely dressed and wearing a cap, upon the arm of a fashionable gentleman whose expression suggested mild resignation to whatever amusements the evening might provide.
And behind them—
Elizabeth stopped breathing.
Colonel Darcy.
No. Not Colonel Darcy, perhaps. He was not in uniform.
He wore evening dress like any other gentleman, severe, dark, and perfectly fitted, with no scarlet coat, no sword, no visible sign of the militia at all.
Yet she knew him at once. The set of his shoulders, the grave turn of his head, the dark hair, the quiet command in his bearing—two years vanished as though they had never been.
She was again in a cellar in Gracechurch Street, rising from the floor with a Roman coin in her hand and mud upon her cheek.
A small sound escaped her before she could stop it.
Mr. Goulding looked down at her in alarm. “Miss Elizabeth? Are you well?”
“Yes.” She forced herself to smile. “Quite well. I merely almost lost my footing.”
Mr. Goulding’s eyes twinkled as he glanced toward the newcomers. “Ah, I see. New gentlemen enter the room, and all the young ladies begin swooning. Should I call for smelling salts, or is the danger past?”
Elizabeth’s cheeks warmed, but she lifted her chin. “Indeed no, sir. It was dancing with such a fine partner as yourself that took my breath away. The new gentlemen had nothing to do with it.”
Mr. Goulding laughed so loudly that several people nearby turned to look. “Mrs. Goulding must hear this. Come, come, I have been properly appreciated at last.”
He repeated her compliment to his wife with such satisfaction that Mrs. Goulding patted his hand and said she had always known him irresistible.
Elizabeth smiled, curtsied, and would have gladly remained with them another moment had she not caught sight of her mother beckoning with alarming urgency from across the room.
“There you are, Lizzy!” Mrs. Bennet cried as soon as Elizabeth reached her and Jane.
“Make haste and look. That is Mr. Bingley, and I am told he has five thousand a year. Five thousand! Oh, if only your father had come. He has called, you know, but would he tell me? No. He must tease and torment me, though he knew very well I wished to know. Now we must wait for Sir William to introduce us, and I am sure half the room will be before us.”
“He looks very amiable,” Jane said softly.
“Of course he does. A young man with five thousand a year has every reason to be amiable.” Mrs. Bennet fluttered her fan, her eyes fixed upon Mr. Bingley with maternal determination.
“And he has sisters, which may be useful, though the tall one looks very high in the instep. Still, sisters may be managed if the brother is agreeable.”
Elizabeth tried not to look again at Mr. Darcy and failed. “Do you know anything of the rest of the party?”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Bennet whispered, with the delighted importance of one possessing intelligence not yet generally distributed.
“Two sisters, one sister’s husband, and a friend who was lately a colonel in the militia.
He has an estate in the north, though I do not know how large.
But, Lizzy—” She leaned closer. “I am told his father left tremendous debts, and he paid them all off. Very noble, I am sure, but it means he is most likely looking for an heiress to refill his coffers.”
Elizabeth stared at her mother. “How did you learn all of that so quickly?”
Mrs. Bennet looked offended by the question. “My dear, I am not without resources. Mrs. Philips’s housekeeper heard it from one of the Netherfield maids, who came from London a few days ago to help prepare the house. Servants always know things before their masters do.”
Elizabeth could not dispute that. In her experience, servants usually knew everything before anyone else admitted it was happening.
Before she could ask more, Sir William Lucas approached, leading the Netherfield party in triumph. His manner was all ceremonious delight, his bows multiplying with every step.
“Mrs. Bennet! Miss Bennet! Miss Elizabeth! Permit me the honor of presenting Mr. Bingley, the new tenant of Netherfield Park.”
Mr. Bingley bowed with cheerful eagerness. His eyes rested upon Jane and seemed, at once, to forget the rest of the room. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Jane curtsied, her color gently rising. “You are very welcome to Hertfordshire, sir.”
Mr. Bingley smiled as though Hertfordshire had personally bestowed upon him some great favor. After introductions to his sisters, Mr. Hurst, and Mr. Darcy were completed, he turned back to Jane almost immediately. “Miss Bennet, may I hope you are not engaged for the next set?”
Jane’s blush deepened. “I believe I am free, sir.”
“Then I should be very honored.”
Mrs. Bennet looked as though she might burst from satisfaction. She made a valiant attempt to include Mr. Darcy in her pleasure, turning upon him with her brightest maternal smile. “And you, Mr. Darcy, are you fond of dancing?”
He bowed slightly. “Not very much, madam.”
It was politely said. Quietly said. Not cold, exactly, but distant enough that Mrs. Bennet’s interest in him lessened at once.
A gentleman who did not care to dance, had only uncertain fortune, and perhaps required an heiress to mend his circumstances was not worth nearly so much exertion as Mr. Bingley, who admired Jane and possessed five thousand a year.
Within moments, Mrs. Bennet was addressing all her remarks to the new tenant, while Mr. Darcy stood with composed silence beside his party.
Elizabeth watched him.
She could not help herself.