Chapter Fifteen
Meryton Assembly
Elizabeth
It was Meryton’s custom to hold an assembly in October, when those newly arrived in the neighbourhood might be introduced more generally into its society.
This year there were enough new faces to give the occasion rather more interest than usual, though Elizabeth remained near the edge of the room with Charlotte Lucas, listening with only half her attention as Charlotte pointed out those she recognised from their earlier visits to her father.
The other half of Elizabeth’s thoughts had wandered to Julia.
She remembered the assembly of the previous year and how Julia had contrived to make even its dullest portions amusing.
Elizabeth had laughed enough that evening to forgive the heat, the crowd, and several indifferent dances.
Julia would have enjoyed this one particularly, with so many strangers arriving at once and so many new characters upon whom to form an opinion.
A sudden increase of whispers recalled Elizabeth to the present. Heads turned towards the entrance, and across the room Mrs. Bennet caught her eye and gestured so urgently towards the door that Elizabeth could hardly mistake her meaning.
She turned.
The gentleman whose arrival had occupied Meryton for the better part of a week had at last appeared.
Mr. Bingley’s taking of Netherfield Park had provided the neighbourhood with an inexhaustible subject ever since the news became known.
The estate had stood without a tenant for more than three years, and its being let at last would have excited sufficient interest by itself.
That the new tenant was young, unmarried, and reputed to possess nearly five thousand a year had ensured that his arrival was discussed from Longbourn to the boarder of Hertfordshire and everywhere between.
Mrs. Bennet, naturally, had spoken of little else. By the evening of the assembly, Elizabeth believed herself acquainted with Mr. Bingley’s age, fortune, connections, disposition, and prospects of matrimony without ever having exchanged a word with the gentleman.
“That is Mr. Bingley,” Charlotte whispered, leaning a little to obtain a better view as the party entered. “And those are his sisters.”
Elizabeth regarded the two ladies with some curiosity. Their dress was elegant, their manner assured, and there was an air about them which suggested that assemblies such as Meryton’s were by no means the grandest society to which they were accustomed. Each entered upon the arm of a gentleman.
“That is Mrs. Hurst with her husband,” Charlotte continued, indicating the elder of the two ladies. Her attention then shifted to the remaining pair. “And that is Miss Bingley. The gentleman with her is most likely Mr. Darcy.”
“Most likely?” Elizabeth turned to her.
Her father, Mr. Bennet, had resisted every entreaty from his wife to call at Netherfield, and as Mr. Bingley’s party had not yet visited Longbourn, Elizabeth possessed no acquaintance amongst them from which to correct Charlotte’s uncertainty.
“Papa said Mr. Bingley spoke of a friend who was expected to join him, a Mr. Darcy.” Charlotte tucked a loose curl behind her ear as she considered the gentleman in question. “He resides in Derbyshire, I believe, and has a large estate there called Pemberley.”
Elizabeth looked again towards the stranger.
Sir William's years in trade and his fondness for society had given him a tolerable acquaintance with names and families beyond their immediate neighbourhood.
If even he had thought Mr. Darcy's situation worth repeating, the gentleman was evidently of some consequence.
“Papa also heard that he has ten thousand a year,” Charlotte added.
Elizabeth's brows rose. “Do not repeat that within Mama's hearing. She will abandon Mr. Bingley's claims before the evening is half over and station Jane beside Mr. Darcy instead.”
Charlotte smiled. “I thought Mrs. Bennet had already determined that Mr. Bingley was to fall in love with Jane.”
Before Elizabeth could answer, Lady Lucas began beckoning urgently to her daughter. Sir William, in his capacity as master of ceremonies, had undertaken the introduction of the Netherfield party to his family, and Charlotte excused herself to join them.
Elizabeth watched her go with a smile. Charlotte was right.
Mrs. Bennet had spent the better part of the week predicting Mr. Bingley's inevitable surrender to Jane's beauty, not merely at Longbourn but to every neighbour unfortunate enough to enquire after Netherfield.
According to her mother, a young gentleman with five thousand a year could scarcely enter Hertfordshire without choosing a wife, and Jane, being the handsomest girl in the neighbourhood, was naturally to be that wife.
Elizabeth could hardly quarrel with the latter judgement.
Jane was beautiful, and her sweetness deserved every admiration it received.
What Elizabeth objected to was her mother's determination to speak as though Jane's beauty and Mr. Bingley's fortune had already settled a question in which neither of the persons principally concerned had yet been consulted.
Her eyes strayed once more towards the newly arrived party.
She wondered what her father would have made of them had he troubled himself to attend. More particularly, she wondered what he would say when he learnt that Mr. Bingley's celebrated five thousand a year had entered the assembly accompanied by a gentleman possessed of twice as much.
Elizabeth smiled to herself. Mama’s devotion to Mr. Bingley might be about to undergo a severe trial.
“Lizzy, do not stand there looking so solemn.”
Mrs. Bennet’s voice sounded so close upon Elizabeth’s ear that, for an instant, she almost supposed her own reflections had conjured it. She turned to discover her mother already beside her, regarding her posture with dissatisfaction.
“Mama,” Elizabeth protested as Mrs. Bennet placed one hand upon her shoulder and another briefly against her back, compelling her to stand straighter.
“Your father may choose to remain at home because he cannot be prevailed upon to enjoy anything of this sort, but that does not excuse the rest of us from making a proper appearance.” Mrs. Bennet glanced anxiously towards her other daughters wherever she could find them and beckoned them nearer.
“Come, Jane, Kitty. Lydia, do stand properly. Mary, pray do not look as though you have been brought here against your will. Sir William will bring Mr. Bingley and his party this way presently.”
Her voice dropped, though not nearly enough to prevent anyone standing close by from hearing. “And Mrs. Long tells me Mr. Darcy has ten thousand a year. Ten thousand! Between him and Mr. Bingley, surely neither gentleman can be so blind as to overlook my Jane.”
Elizabeth lowered her eyes to conceal her amusement. Her prediction concerning her mother’s constancy had survived scarcely a minute.
Her sisters soon gathered around them, Jane bearing the arrangements with her customary serenity, while Lydia whispered something to Kitty which sent them both into poorly suppressed laughter.
Before Mrs. Bennet could correct either of them, Sir William finished presenting the Netherfield party to the Gouldings and began conducting them across the room.
“Mrs. Bennet,” he said with a bow, evidently delighted by the importance of his office, “allow me to present Mr. Bingley of Netherfield Park, his sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, and his particular friend, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire.”
At closer quarters, Elizabeth was able to form a better judgement of them.
Mr. Hurst was a heavy-looking gentleman whose chief interest in the evening appeared, from the glass already in his hand, unlikely to be dancing.
His wife and Miss Bingley were both handsome and exceedingly fashionable, though there was something in the manner of their surveying the room which suggested that Meryton had not yet risen very high in their estimation.
Mr. Bingley produced a more favourable impression.
He was handsome, with an open countenance and an ease of manner which appeared entirely unaffected.
His smile came readily as Sir William performed the introductions, and when Jane was presented, its warmth increased so perceptibly that Elizabeth needed only one glance at her mother to know the circumstance had not escaped her.
Then Sir William spoke Elizabeth’s name.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”
The effect upon Mr. Darcy was immediate.
Elizabeth had already thought him the handsomer of the two gentlemen, though his height and grave expression gave him a manner very different from his friend’s.
Now, however, the composure of that expression altered.
His eyes fixed upon her with such unmistakable surprise that Elizabeth wondered whether Sir William had somehow given the wrong name.
Darcy said nothing.
He merely stared.
Elizabeth waited, increasingly conscious of the oddity of it.
Had they met before? She was certain they had not.
A gentleman of his appearance would hardly have escaped her recollection, and yet he regarded her as though her face, or perhaps her name, had confirmed something he had not expected to find.
Fortunately, Bingley rescued the introduction from becoming truly awkward.
“Miss Bennet,” he said to Jane, “I hope I am not too late to solicit the honour of the first dance. Are you already engaged?”
Jane coloured slightly. “I am not, sir.”
“Then may I have that honour?”
“With pleasure.”
Mrs. Bennet’s delight required no words. Elizabeth saw it plainly enough in the brightness of her expression, though Sir William mercifully began speaking of introducing the party to several other families before she could contribute anything to the exchange.
The Netherfield party moved on.
Elizabeth watched them go, still puzzled by Mr. Darcy’s extraordinary behaviour.
Just before he reached the Kings, he looked back.
Directly at her.
Elizabeth’s brows rose.
Whatever Mr. Darcy of Pemberley found so remarkable about her, she hoped he would eventually remember enough of his manners to explain it.
She had little opportunity to consider him further.
Soon, the musicians were preparing for the first set, and the room had begun to shift as gentlemen sought their partners and ladies moved towards the floor.
Jane had already been claimed by Mr. Bingley, much to Mrs. Bennet's poorly concealed delight, while Kitty and Lydia appeared to have secured officers for themselves.
Elizabeth was looking about for Charlotte when she saw Mr. Sotherton approaching, and immediately wished she had found her sooner.
His course across the room was too direct to leave any doubt that she was his object, and after his increasing attentions over the past month, she could guess what he intended before he reached her.
“Miss Bennet.” Mr. Sotherton bowed. “I had hoped I might find you disengaged for the first dance.”
Elizabeth's heart sank a little. She had discouraged him as much as civility allowed, yet nothing seemed sufficient to persuade him that his attentions were unwelcome.
Indeed, she had lately begun to fear that unless she made herself unmistakably clear, he might carry his intentions still further, and she had no desire to receive an offer merely for the unpleasantness of refusing it.
“You are very kind, Mr. Sotherton, but I...” Elizabeth faltered.
He knew she was not engaged, and refusing him only to accept another gentleman would be discourteous enough to invite notice.
Yet to dance with him when she already suspected the direction of his hopes seemed worse.
How was one to discourage a man who appeared determined to mistake every civility for encouragement?
“Miss Bennet, shall we join the dancers for the first set?”
Elizabeth turned sharply at the familiar name and unfamiliar voice beside her.
Mr. Darcy stood there, his expression composed despite the extraordinary stare with which he had regarded her only minutes earlier.
One of his hands was extended towards her as though there could be nothing unusual in the request.
Mr. Sotherton looked between them, then smiled with evident understanding. “I beg your pardon. I did not know you were already engaged for the first dance, Miss Bennet.”
Elizabeth looked at Darcy's waiting hand.
She ought to correct the misunderstanding, particularly since she had exchanged scarcely a dozen words with the gentleman and certainly had not promised him a dance.
Then she glanced at Mr. Sotherton and decided that honesty, admirable as it generally was, might on this occasion be permitted to wait.
“Yes,” she said, placing her hand in Darcy's. “I am engaged.”