Chapter 21 Insulting
Fitzwilliam Darcy looked around the assembly room, feeling terribly exposed and uncomfortable as he did.
This would have been so much easier if Bingley or Richard were there to remind him to relax and smile.
It was not as if he was standing in a group entirely composed of strangers - these were his neighbors, after all - but he disliked being there all the same.
He could handle dinner parties. There were usually a limited number of guests, most known to him in advance, and almost a script to follow in the required social interactions.
He could stick to a few safe topics in discussion with the ladies, range a little farther and discuss estate management and a little bit of politics with the men and generally come off creditably.
Dances, whether private balls or public assemblies, were much harder to manage and predict - assemblies most particularly.
Between the larger number of guests and the more random nature of the interactions he often found himself at a disadvantage and likely to inadvertently insult someone. It was easier just to stay away.
Yet tonight, he could not.
Despite all his misgivings, Darcy was drawn to the assembly this night by hope and chance.
If all went well, by the end of this evening he would know the name of his mystery woman.
With luck, he would have danced with her and determined if she was eligible, available and all he hoped for. He was praying for luck.
He had already had some luck on the journey to Pemberley, although once again he had not been able to take full advantage of it.
If only he had been faster when the moment came or had gone into the coaching inn while his horses were cared for.
Still, he knew she was likely to be at this assembly, and that was more than he knew when he left London.
Darcy did not care if it was fate or chance that had led his driver to stop at an unfamiliar coaching inn when one of the horses got a rock in his shoe on the final day of the journey to Pemberley. What mattered was that he had stopped at that inn at that exact time.
Engrossed in his book, Darcy stayed in the carriage, largely unaware of the people coming and going around him.
The driver and footman tended to the horses, after assuring him they would be able to travel on with minimal delay.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn from the pages by the sound of laughter - a distinctive, memorable laugh.
The book fell from his hands to the floor as he peered through the windows, trying to find the source.
He spotted his mystery woman getting into a nearby carriage from which he heard the words "be at this month's assembly in Lambton" as she disappeared inside.
He tried to scramble out to stop her party from leaving, but he tripped over the book, falling and banging his head and shoulder against the door.
By the time he had sorted himself out, their carriage was already pulling out of the yard and onto the main road.
Even as he inwardly cursed his own clumsiness, Darcy checked with his men.
They were still hitching the horses back to the traces.
So, he went inside to see if the innkeeper could tell him more.
Either the man did not know the party to which Darcy referred, or he truly valued his customers' privacy.
Not even the offer of gold could loosen the man's tongue or pry a name and/or destination from him to help Darcy find the mystery woman.
Once his carriage was ready, he urged his driver to make all reasonable speed on the way.
Unfortunately, his attention had been on the laughing woman, and he had taken no particular notice of either the vehicle or the horses.
His book forgotten, Darcy did his best to peer into the windows of every carriage they passed on the remainder of the journey.
All his pains were to no avail. He saw no sign of the lovely young woman with the expressive eyes.
All he had were the words spoken by what he hoped was another member of her party.
So, crazy as it seemed, here he was, hoping to find his lady in the crowded assembly hall.
Someone passing by jostled Darcy. He realized he was standing in the way of those trying to move around the edges of the dance floor, so he moved a bit to the side. The hum of conversation was almost louder than the music. He had forgotten how very noisy this assembly hall could be.
Normally, when forced to attend a dance, Darcy would dance the minimum number of dances he could get away with, preferably with any female members of his party, the hostess or her daughter, assuming she had one, and one or two other women with whom he was already acquainted.
The rest of the time he would spend out of the way, almost trying to blend into the wallpaper as he counted the minutes until he could leave.
That strategy would not work here if he was to find the young lady.
The Lambton assembly hall had been built to accommodate more than just the dances scheduled every other month.
It acted as a hub for several of the local villages, providing meeting rooms where local landowners or merchants could discuss their business in privacy, a gathering place where the local women could meet and sew for themselves or charity in company, and even some storage when the need arose.
For the assemblies, most of these rooms, which ringed the large central room used for dancing, were opened up to give the participants room to mingle, set up card games and arrange refreshments away from the dance floor.
While that was convenient for the revelers, it made Darcy's task for this evening much more difficult.
He would have to decide on a strategy to help him find his mystery woman.
Spotting a familiar face, Darcy headed over to greet the man. He was glad of an excuse not to stand on the sidelines alone. It would also give him a new vantage point from which to search the room.
"Tavistock, good to see you," Darcy said, with a polite bow as the portly, sandy-haired man dressed like a town dandy turned to acknowledge him.
The son of a local landowner, his new conversational partner was older than Darcy by about eight years.
They had done business together over the years and were on friendly enough terms.
"Darcy! I am surprised to see you here. You do not often grace our little assemblies with your presence."
Darcy shifted uncomfortably on his feet but answered lightly, "Ah, well, I had the evening free and decided it might be a good way to spend the time."
Tavistock eyed him disbelievingly. Before the other man could say anything, Darcy spotted another familiar face he would not have expected to see there. "Is that Sir Barnaby Linton off to the far side of the room?" he asked. "I am surprised he came this far south just for an assembly."
"Your eyes do not deceive you. That is Sir Barnaby.
I had a chat with him earlier. He was making a short visit with local friends but decided to extend it for a bit longer, and for good reason.
See that luscious blonde to his left? He met her at a dinner party the other night and decided he wanted to see a little more of her. "
The man in question was standing with a small group and talking with two young women, both blondes, although the one who appeared younger tended to more reddish tones in her hair and was not nearly as pretty.
The one standing to Sir Barnaby's left deserved Tavistock's accolades, although she would not have been entirely to Darcy's taste even if he was not searching for his mystery woman.
There was something too bland about her despite the beauty of her face and form.
"Do you know who she is? I do not think I have seen her before," he asked.
"With a face like that, I am sure you would remember her if you had. Her name is Jane Bennet. She and her sister are guests of the Damasks. Great-nieces if I understand correctly. The family is having quite the house party to coincide with their visit."
So, that was the oldest Bennet girl. She looked different than Darcy would have expected from Lady Catherine's comments – more polished.
He supposed the younger girl must be Richard's "Lizzy" then.
She did not have quite the same elegance of movement or beauty as her sister.
Now that Tavistock had mentioned them, he did see Gerald Damask standing near the small group.
"Lady Catherine warned me the older Bennet sisters would be visiting with the Damasks," he said.
"There are more of them?" Tavistock asked.
"Five sisters if I remember correctly. My late uncle, Sir Lewis de Bourgh was godfather to the eldest and my aunt, Lady Catherine is godmother to the second sister, while Viscount Rand is godfather to the third.
I have heard much about them over the years, but I have never met any of the Bennets myself. "
"Even aside from the Damasks they are well-connected then. If they are so close to your family, why have you never met them?"
"Well, as you know, because of his illness my father did not travel very far in the last few decades of his life.
He played chess with Mr. Bennet by post for years, although they never met in person because Bennet would not visit.
My aunt says he is an indolent lump who cannot be bothered to stir from his own study, not even to attend the funeral of my uncle, who was supposed to have been his very close friend.
It was no great journey from his estate in Hertfordshire to Rosings Park in Kent.
After all, what is fifty miles of good road when it comes to honoring a friend? "
Tavistock peered over at Sir Barnaby and Miss Bennet. "Hmm, I see what you mean. That does not bode well for their dowries, although their connections are still good."