The Quarterly Assembly #2
Fitzwilliam’s smile reached his eyes.
“Do not be clever,” Fitzwilliam murmured. “Be dull. Dull men are never remembered accurately.”
“You recommend what you have never practised.”
“Just so. Learn from my deficiencies.”
Georgiana squeezed his arm and looked up at him. “Brother?”
Darcy covered her gloved hand with his own and patted it once. “Are you well?”
“Quite well.” Her eyes moved about the room with shy delight. “It is only that I am pleased to be here—with you and Richard.”
Fitzwilliam bowed over her hand with exaggerated gravity. “Miss Darcy, you honour the regiment.”
She smiled, and Darcy felt something in his chest ease.
“And you?” she asked softly.
Darcy looked down at her. Georgiana’s question held no fear, only the anxious loyalty she tried so hard to hide beneath new composure.
“I am very well.”
Her brows lifted a fraction.
“Well enough,” he amended.
“That is nearer truth.”
Fitzwilliam gave a low sound that might have been amusement. “Miss Darcy grows formidable.”
“She has had excellent examples of stubbornness,” Darcy said.
Georgiana’s colour rose, but she did not look down. That, too, pleased him.
Bingley, meanwhile, had fixed upon the Bennet party with a look of such frank admiration that concealment became unnecessary. Any eye in the room would assign their approach to him.
“Darcy,” he said under his breath, “that must be Mr Bennet of Longbourn. Gardiner spoke of him. And that lady—surely that is Miss Bennet.”
“Very likely.”
“Very likely? You are a cold creature. She is an angel.”
Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “Already?”
Bingley ignored him. “Come, Darcy. We must be introduced before half the county gets there first.”
Miss Bingley’s eyes followed his. “Charles, pray recollect that admiration across a room is not an introduction.”
“Then let us repair the defect,” Bingley said cheerfully.
Darcy almost smiled. Bingley’s ardour would do them a service no strategy could improve. Bennet had seen him; of that there could be no doubt. No recognition beyond what a civil acquaintance might permit.
His eyes passed over Darcy as though measuring a stranger’s coat, then settled upon Bingley with mild interest.
Fitzwilliam shifted behind him, the movement slight enough to escape notice. “Bennet understands his part.”
“Then I shall do the courtesy of not improving upon it.”
Darcy offered Georgiana his arm more securely. They crossed the room under the full attention of Hertfordshire.
* * *
Bennet watched the Netherfield party cross the room and took the measure of them before they had come ten paces.
Bingley came first, all brightness and expectation, a young man determined to be pleased and therefore certain to please in return.
Behind him moved his sisters and Mr Hurst, arranged with the practised ease of those accustomed to being observed.
Miss Darcy kept close to her brother’s arm, shy but not timid.
Colonel Fitzwilliam followed a little behind, his gaze moving once over doorways, windows, musicians, servants, exits.
A soldier, then, even in a ballroom.
Darcy’s eyes met his.
Bennet allowed no more than the faintest inclination of his head.
Good. We are strangers enough.
Sir William Lucas arrived half a step before the party did, flushed with triumph at having secured such prey for introduction. “Mr Bennet, my dear sir, allow me the honour—Mr Bingley, lately come to Netherfield Park.”
Bingley bowed with cheerful eagerness. “Mr Bennet, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. I have the honour of knowing your relation, Mr Gardiner of Gracechurch Street.”
“My brother Gardiner chooses his acquaintances well,” Bennet said. “I am therefore disposed to receive you kindly until you prove him mistaken.”
Bingley laughed at once. “Then I shall endeavour to preserve his credit, sir.”
“A noble beginning.”
Sir William beamed. “And Mr Darcy of Pemberley.”
Darcy bowed. “Mr Bennet.”
“Mr Darcy.”
Nothing more. Not one syllable more. Mr Bennet felt Elizabeth somewhere to his left, felt rather than saw the stillness in her, and did not turn his head.
Sir William continued, “Miss Bingley, Mrs Hurst, Mr Hurst, Miss Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
He turned with evident satisfaction. “And my eldest daughter, Miss Lucas.”
Mrs Bennet stepped forward with admirable composure. “You are all very welcome to Hertfordshire. Mr Bingley, Netherfield has been too long empty. We must hope you mean to improve it by remaining long enough to be liked.”
“Madam,” Bingley said, bowing over her hand, “if Hertfordshire will give me leave, I mean to be liked immediately.”
“That is a bold ambition,” Bennet said. “Most men prefer to be disliked by degrees.”
Miss Bingley smiled with polished superiority. “My brother has never had patience for degrees, sir. He enters a room and believes the whole company his friends.”
“A dangerous habit,” Bennet said. “But a useful one in a county fond of novelty.”
Bingley turned, and his eyes found Jane.
For once, Bennet had no need of wit. The young man’s face did the work of a full chapter.
“Permit me to introduce my family,” Mr Bennet said. “Mrs Bennet you have met. My eldest daughter, Miss Bennet.”
Jane curtsied. “Mr Bingley.”
“Miss Bennet.” He bowed as though the room had suddenly improved beyond calculation.
“My second daughter, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth made her curtsey with perfect steadiness. “Mr Bingley.”
Bingley smiled. “Miss Elizabeth.”
Bennet did not look at Darcy.
Mrs Bennet turned with gentle tact towards the young lady beside Darcy. “Miss Darcy, I hope Hertfordshire does not overwhelm you at first sight.”
Georgiana coloured. “No, madam. It is very bright—and very welcoming.”
“Brightness may be survived,” Mrs Bennet said. “As for welcome, we make a virtue of necessity. A neighbourhood must receive its neighbours, or else live upon itself and grow dull.”
Miss Darcy smiled, and Bennet saw Darcy’s hand relax where it rested near his sister’s.
Miss Bingley’s gaze swept Jane, Elizabeth, then returned to Mrs Bennet. “You have a charming family, Mrs Bennet.”
“I have always thought so,” Mrs Bennet replied, without the least flutter. “It is agreeable to hear the opinion seconded.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam bowed to Mrs Bennet, then to the daughters. “Ladies.”
“And do you make a long stay in Hertfordshire, Colonel?” Bennet asked.
“Only a brief one, sir.”
“Then Hertfordshire has cause to value discretion as highly as valour.”
“They are sometimes the same thing, sir.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam inclined his head by a degree. No smile betrayed him.
Bennet liked him the better for it.
The first dance had begun.
Bingley looked towards the floor and back to Jane. “Miss Bennet, I am undone. The first dance has escaped me before I had the honour of asking for it.”
Bennet followed his glance. “A grave misfortune, Mr Bingley. Hertfordshire may recover by supper.”
Bingley laughed. “Then may I hope to repair myself with the second?”
Jane looked briefly towards her mother. Mrs Bennet’s expression held only serene encouragement. Bennet lifted his brows as if the fate of nations did not hang upon a country dance.
Jane smiled. “Gladly, Mr Bingley.”
Darcy remained where he stood, composed to any stranger’s eye. He bowed to Mrs Bennet first. “Madam, with your permission.”
Mrs Bennet inclined her head. “Mr Darcy.”
Then he turned to Bennet. “Sir.”
Bennet let a fractional pause stand between them. “Mr Darcy.”
Darcy’s gaze moved at last to Elizabeth.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice perfectly even, “may I have the honour of the second set?”
Elizabeth hesitated for a single beat. “You may, sir.”
Bennet kept his face mild, his hands folded over his cane, while his heart behaved very badly indeed.
Darcy offered his hand. Elizabeth placed hers in his.
He led her away.