Chapter 6
Elizabeth moved through the crowded assembly, a smile pasted on her face.
Why Papa had insisted she must attend when he remained at Longbourn, she did not attempt to justify.
He would have an evening of peace, while she bore the burden of ensuring her mother and sisters suspected nothing and enjoyed themselves.
It was an obligation designed to ensure her a wretched evening.
No matter how much she resented George Darcy for imposing his will upon the trajectory of her life, it felt wrong to dance and laugh knowing he had died.
Worse still was keeping such momentous news from her sisters when she treasured honesty above all virtues—especially with those she loved most deeply.
And she did love her sisters. Otherwise, she might live as she pleased and fall in love with a gentleman of her own choosing.
Seeking refuge in a quiet corner where a pair of empty chairs offered respite from observation, Elizabeth saw a flurry of movement rushing toward her a heartbeat before something solid collided with her slippered toes. “Oh!” she yelped, lifting her foot and struggling to maintain her balance.
A soft arm looped through hers, and Charlotte's familiar voice reached her ear. “You did not cry out loudly enough. You shall have to exaggerate your limp.”
Elizabeth scowled at her dearest friend. “You did that deliberately!”
“Hush! Reach down to your ankle and wince. Quickly, before they look away.”
Following Charlotte's direction, Elizabeth winced and rubbed her throbbing toes until her friend guided her toward the chairs with a satisfied smile.
“My apologies, Lizzy, but your sisters noticed you have not danced this evening, and your mother was approaching with every intention of remedying that situation.”
Elizabeth sank gratefully into her seat. “You are indeed a true friend.”
“Yes, I am aware.” Charlotte's sheepish grin faded to concern. “I did not injure you overmuch, did I?”
“No, though I shall struggle to remember I must maintain this limp throughout the evening. You know Mama will not countenance my departing before Mr. Bingley arrives. She heard he has several gentlemen staying with him as guests, and she is convinced that at least one of them is a duke.”
“Yes, I have heard that dukes are commonly found at country assemblies these days.”
“Apparently they grow on trees.”
“At Hyde Park?”
“Where else?”
Charlotte leaned against her. “At least you now possess an excuse to avoid dancing.” Her brow furrowed. “How are you managing, truly?”
“Poorly, if you felt compelled to assault my toes. I cannot feign happiness when my heart is heavy.”
“Your countenance has always been too honest for deception.”
Elizabeth sighed, her gaze drifting across the familiar faces of her neighbors—Lady Lucas arranging garlands with careful precision, Sir William entertaining a group of men with another story about his brush with royalty at St. James’s, Mr. Higden present despite his recent illness after the loss of his mother.
“I cannot help but wonder how this tragedy will affect the son,” she murmured.
“Your betrothed?” Charlotte's voice carried gentle warning. “Oh, Lizzy, do not make that face! Like it or not, he is your intended. You might even discover you like him, if you would but give him a chance.”
Charlotte's perpetual practicality regarding the arrangement had become both a comfort and a torment. Still, she was a good listener and a safer confidante than a diary that could be read by a curious little sister.
“It must be difficult to mourn a father from whom he has been estranged these many years. Has bitterness consumed him so thoroughly that he might forsake his inheritance?” Elizabeth hoped he might. What an ungrateful thought!
“I should doubt that! He would be a fool, and even I would support your decision not to marry him then. You cannot wed a foolish man.”
“For all I know, Fitzwilliam Darcy has married a beautiful Italian contessa and never wastes a moment thinking of me.”
Charlotte's countenance brightened suddenly, her hand clutching the fichu at her throat. “Speaking of foreigners…”
She tilted her head toward the entrance, where the dark, handsome gentleman Elizabeth had encountered at the market the previous day stood head and shoulders above the other men present.
It was impossible not to remember the encounter.
Elizabeth had never seen such a fine, imposing figure.
Her stomach had fluttered, and when his eyes had met hers, she felt she had been struck by lightning.
She had nearly forgotten how to breathe.
Thank goodness Charlotte arrived when she did before Elizabeth made a fool of herself in front of the stranger.
She might or might not have dreamed of his beard last night. Was it soft?
“Perhaps he is the long-lost prodigal son, come to the Meryton Assembly to claim his bride?” Charlotte suggested with pragmatic mirth.
His sun-weathered complexion and broad shoulders suggested a man unafraid of honest labor. Elizabeth scoffed, “He does not look like a spoiled heir.”
“No, he certainly does not. I would wager there is a firm jaw under that beard,” Charlotte added appreciatively.
“Charlotte!”
“What? I am not romantic, but that does not mean I cannot observe a man’s finer features.”
“What would your mother say?”
Her expression sobered slightly. “She is mere weeks from abandoning all hope for me. I shall have to go to Hyde Park and see if there are any earls remaining to pluck off a tree.”
“I should not tease you about such matters—”
Charlotte clasped her hands. “I would trade places with you without hesitation if it were possible. Any lady would. However, the fact remains that Mr. Darcy saw something worthy in you, something he desired for his son. I know you disagree, but I urge you to act prudently and give his heir a fair chance. Promise me this, and I shall speak no more on the subject.”
Elizabeth adjusted her position and rubbed her foot, though the pain had subsided.
“Please, Lizzy, as a favor to your aging friend who has no prospects and shall soon be a burden to her family, will you do this one reasonable thing?”
“For you, I will, Charlotte, but do not ask me to be reasonable for anybody else. It is terribly taxing.”
They fell into thoughtful silence, watching the newcomer bow as Uncle Philips rushed to his side and they greeted each other like old acquaintances.
“Your uncle knows the handsome stranger?”
Elizabeth shrugged, trying not to be too interested in the gentleman when she must reserve her attention for a man who likely had soft shoulders and no chin. “Apparently.”
Rising from her chair, Charlotte extended an arm to Elizabeth. “How convenient. Let me help you hobble across the room for introductions.”
Hesitantly, Elizabeth leaned on her friend and limped over to her uncle in pretended pain. At least she could appease her curiosity. There was no harm in that.
“Lizzy, there you are! Good evening, Miss Lucas.” Uncle gestured expansively. “Allow me to present a new acquaintance who recently arrived from the continent.”
Charlotte’s gaze flickered to her. From the continent, she seemed to say.
“Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Miss Lucas—Mr. Daniel Robinson.”
Robinson, not Darcy, Elizabeth flickered back to Charlotte.
“Mr. Robinson, my niece and her dear friend Miss Charlotte Lucas, whose father, Sir William Lucas, serves as our Master of Ceremonies.”
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Mr. Robinson replied in a butter-smooth baritone. His bow displayed impeccable manners. When he stood again, Elizabeth was grateful he had fixed his look on her uncle and thus did not catch her gawking at him.
“Sir William will wish to make your acquaintance immediately,” Uncle Philips continued. “If you ladies will excuse us…”
As the gentlemen departed, Charlotte leaned close, fanning her face. “I could listen to such a voice all day, every day, indefinitely.”
Sticking firmly to her resolve not to dwell on the devastatingly handsome gentleman’s merits, Elizabeth commented, “I wonder how many languages he speaks and how many places he has visited.” Longing stirred in her breast tinged with envy for freedoms she would never possess.
“Let us take a seat before your mother suspects your fake injury.” Charlotte guided her to the edge of the crowd where they could more easily observe the newcomers to the assembly.
Elizabeth watched Mr. Robinson bow repeatedly, exchanging pleasantries with the multiplying crowd gathering near Sir William in hopes of an introduction.
To the gentlemen, he was amiable and respectful; to the ladies, he was courteous.
His clothing was simple but of the highest quality.
His manners were that of a gentleman in every way, but there was a humility about him which suggested that he valued people over position.
Before Elizabeth could suggest that they move within eavesdropping distance to Mr. Robinson, a hush fell over the assembly. Charlotte elbowed her gently and whispered, “The Bingleys.”