Chapter 10

Ten

The assembly two days later proved Elizabeth's first opportunity to again meet anyone in the Netherfield party. Heads turned quickly when the group entered the rooms, and Elizabeth saw at once that it was not the gowns and feathers—or proud frowns—worn by the Bingley sisters that drew their eyes, but the appearance of Mr Darcy in his finely fitted black coat and grey silk trousers. His tailoring alone would demand attention, but so would his height and his noble profile.

If the man himself felt the disdain and apprehension inspired by his presence, his stoic expression did not show it. He was, Elizabeth thought, almost the opposite of Mr Bingley, who laughed and grinned, his eyes always sparkling, and Mr Wickham, who smiled and smirked, his eyes always watchful. Mr Darcy is inscrutable, and his expression reflects none of the resentment he should feel from the scrutiny. It is quite admirable of him.

In the day and a half she had spent reflecting on their brief interaction at Longbourn, Elizabeth had decided that Mr Darcy was a man whose polite reserve allowed others to misunderstand him; certainly, he was not the ogre portrayed by Mr Wickham. Mr Darcy's conversation was undeniably preferable to that of Mr Wickham; he spoke little but his words were intelligent and serious, and he was honourable enough to leave his own estate to counsel his friend on his managing one.

Now, startled to feel Mr Darcy's eyes on her, Elizabeth managed a nod and the smallest of smiles; she remained too uneasy to do more. Although determined to apologise to him, she set aside such thoughts when the dancing began and she was kept busy by her partners. Halfway through the evening, she sat with Charlotte Lucas; their mothers were not far away, heedless of their tone or the volume of their voices, especially since a tasty punch had been liberally served to them. Their daughters were accustomed to such behaviour, but Elizabeth could not be comfortable knowing that Mr Darcy might hear, yet again, her family's horrid opinions of him—this time voiced loudly amongst their neighbours.

"Mr Darcy has such a fierce expression even amongst ladies and strangers," said Lady Lucas. "One can but imagine how much worse it may be for poor Mr Wickham."

"Indeed," said Mrs Bennet. "Mr Darcy would be a fine-looking man if his heart were kinder."

"Mama!" the two friends cried, as each turned to hush their mothers.

Charlotte sighed and bent her head to Elizabeth's. "My mother has no reason to dislike Mr Darcy, yet she believes it au courant to pity a gentleman so high above her. It appears his dining at Longbourn did not soften your mother's opinion of him."

"It did not, although she remains interested in spending his fortune." Elizabeth's eyes searched for the man they discussed. He stood alone by a pillar, as he had much of the assembly, abandoned by Mr Bingley while he lent a constant and merry presence to the dance floor. Much as she had tried to avoid giving him notice, she had seen Mr Darcy deign to dance with each of his hostesses; otherwise, he appeared aloof. Or perhaps, she wondered, he had overheard the whispers around him. Deserved or not, who would not be ill at ease amongst such society; had she not proved a poor example of cordiality? Much as she wished to approach him with her questions and her apology, being seen by her neighbours as friendly to the man so disparaged by her sister's betrothed was unthinkable.

And I thought myself brave.

She watched as he scrutinised Mr Bingley, chatting with Jane and Susannah Goulding; the cheerful man was, if not always standing with Jane, often near her. Not too near, but his attention to Jane was notable. Her sister seemed to glow in his company. Despite having received a letter from Mr Wickham, Jane had been downcast the past few days, and Elizabeth was glad to see her happy.

How vexing that Jane had not met Mr Bingley prior to meeting Mr Wickham! While Elizabeth could not judge either man's faithfulness, she could be confident in the character of Mr Bingley. He is friends with Mr Darcy and avows his good character. What does that reveal?

Fortunately, the pair had danced only once, and others of the neighbourhood took their turns. Elizabeth's usual partners were neither practised nor graceful in their steps; when she had found herself leading Robert Lucas—attending only his second assembly—through the steps of a Scottish air, she wondered whether Mr Darcy was smirking at the amusing spectacle.

"My brother is determined to ruin another pair of shoe-roses," said Charlotte drolly as they watched the young man's earnest pursuit of Kitty for the final set. Smiling, Elizabeth moved her skirt to inspect the condition of her own dancing slippers. A large pair of well-polished shoes appeared in front of hers, and she found herself addressed by Mr Darcy, who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without thinking, she smiled and accepted him. As he led her to the floor, she looked back and saw in Charlotte's expression that she shared her shock, if not her apprehension, at the turn of events.

This was her chance . I must speak, learn what is needed, and, perhaps, apologise for my lack of grace.

Five days spent dwelling amongst the inhabitants of this country town, and Darcy had found but a handful of people with any discernment or refined manners. Only Elizabeth Bennet displayed those as well as a lively humour and intelligence. If she had been discourteous at times, was she not only protecting her sister? Showing her concern? Darcy knew he had provoked her with his questions; he could not fault her for revealing her heart.

Watching her tonight, he saw that even without words, her sparkling eyes reflected those traits he admired. Equally admirable was the picture she made, in an ivory gown flocked with green flowers, a matching ribbon threaded in her hair. Simple and elegant on her slim, pleasing figure.

Despite startling her with his request for a set, he hoped she would help him better understand the engagement of her sister. Dancing with her, gaining information from her, would be the saving grace of this godforsaken assembly. The musicians' frenetic but floundering melodies kept the evening lively, and the punch was merely tolerable; still, he preferred passing an evening here than at Netherfield, listening to Miss Bingley dissect the ‘abhorrent manners of disgusting country folk'. Tonight's event would provide the lady with a week's worth of complaints; it certainly had delivered him more odd looks and whispered calumnies than he could recall suffering in a decade amongst the ton .

Paying no attention to the murmurs as he led Miss Elizabeth to the floor, he gave her a brief smile as they took their places in line. When the music began, her attention was fixed anywhere but him; he followed her gaze and saw her sister—Miss Catherine, he recalled—dancing with the young man Miss Elizabeth had recently endured. She had shown more patience with his clumsy steps than did her clearly mortified younger sister. The girl's weak smile could not hide her embarrassment, but it was still an improvement over the vulgar behaviour of the youngest, loudest sister, who had but once left the dance floor, and then only to drink punch and laugh loudly with a group of redcoats. Their mother was laughing just as loudly, gossiping with the other town matrons as they drank freely and set their eyes on making matches and mischief. Mr Bennet was nowhere to be seen, obviously preferring a quiet house to himself to exerting any supervision over the conduct of his family—or the men who beguiled them.

Of course, Wickham would feel at ease among such gullible, boisterous, unprotected young women; they were to his taste and entirely undeserving of his malevolence. Thinking of him at Longbourn made Darcy shudder.

"Has dancing always caused you pain, or is that affliction peculiar to Meryton?"

Miss Elizabeth was staring up at him, her eyebrows raised. Dash it, what a fine, provoking expression!

"Truly," she continued, "I shall understand if you wish to step away. My own toes are often sore by the end of an evening."

"No, no," he said, forcing a small smile. "I am well. Meryton does not afflict me with pain but instead impels some sort of wool-gathering. It is quite unlike me, I assure you."

His reply prompted a frown, but her eyes lit up with mischief—it was astonishingly becoming, especially when she said, "I am more often accused of exasperating others with my liveliness than sapping them of their clarity of mind."

"Liveliness is not in my nature, but I would not disparage it in others." Darcy grinned, overlooking the gasps from the group of dowagers sitting to his right. He realised he was enjoying himself; he was an excellent dancer, and Miss Elizabeth had a wonderful grace and agility to her movements. Despite her small stature, their steps were in total harmony, much like their repartee. As he mused on how well they moved together—how well he imagined they looked together—the lady in question spoke.

"Best hide your smile, Mr Darcy. I believe you are shocking the neighbours."

His true shock came from how warmly she said it. "No more than you, by deigning to dance with me," he replied. "We did not part as friends at Longbourn."

"We did not, and I hope you are willing to overlook the words we exchanged."

Relieved, he nodded.

Her lips quirked. "As for dancing, Mr Darcy, I enjoy it, and I have no cause to insult you. One should not judge a man or-or a hat or book simply on another's opinion."

"A hat?"

"Bonnets are the cause of many arguments at Longbourn."

The thought of that prompted him to smile again. "As befits a household of five daughters."

"Yes," she said as their hands joined again. "Five daughters. One soon to leave us, and I believe you know my future brother better than any of us can boast. Your acquaintance with him is of far longer duration."

The delicacy of her statement made him understand they had reached a truce, and he was careful to speak in a similar tone. "I have known him since I was a boy. He was raised on my father's estate, where his father was steward."

"He esteems your father and can speak only in his favour," Miss Elizabeth said as she dipped.

"Yet he tarnishes my father by the tales he spins of our acquaintance." He had tried not to growl his reply as she glided round him, but her answering frown made it clear she had heard.

"I do not disagree, sir. I live amongst twenty-four families who talk and marry and gossip," she said quietly. "His arrival, and his stories, provided entertainment for us all. You are as much—more—a stranger to us than he. Are we to trust your truthfulness over his or his over yours?"

"We are not to be compared." Darcy was pleased his anger showed only in his voice, not in his expression.

She blinked and seemed to acknowledge her own conclusion. "To think one could mistake blue sofas for red window-seats in a library."

Heartened by her perception, he said, "I assure you, George Wickham is not afflicted with colour blindness, merely a proclivity for exaggeration and untruth." Among other things.

At her nod, he replied to her previous question. "I am familiar with his complaints about me, and although I do not know all he has claimed to your family, his assertion of a fortune and estate are new and perhaps…"

She looked up sharply, her eyes wide with what looked like comprehension. Dash it, her eyes were striking. A man could be compelled to say anything to a woman with such beautiful eyes. By good fortune, he was saved from his own stupidity by Miss Elizabeth's urgent question.

"Sir, much as I wish to know whether Mr Wickham can support her, I must know whether he is genuine in his feelings for Jane, and whether he will care for her."

"Is—I wish to ensure…do they marry because they wish to, or because they must? I do not doubt your sister, but as for Wickham…"

It was painful to see understanding overspread her pretty face, and Darcy could see by her furrowed brow that he had angered her. "How dare— No, my sister is all that is good. She will marry for love and nothing else. Few men are worthy of her kind, gentle soul, and I fear she was besieged by a man well-practised in compliments and charming endearments."

"By that description, I surmise you have learnt his character."

"I have wondered, certainly. He was at Longbourn for a brief time, all gaiety and compliments but little intelligence on the future he promises. I suspect we were presented with only one side of Mr Wickham."

He considered how to proceed as he stepped forwards and back. "Wickham thrives where his lies go unchallenged. What I must tell you cannot be spoken of here, in company."

Pain swept briefly across her expression. "Sir," she said in a hushed voice, "if you have something to tell me of Mr Wickham that will open his character further, then you must do so immediately. You are our only source of such information. Sharing it with us would be the greatest act of friendship shown to my sister."

Grimacing, he began to speak, but paused and stared off to a point beyond her. It was impossible to talk of such awful things, to discuss a detestable man and the women he had ruined, when he was holding her hand, enjoying her company. Elizabeth Bennet had consumed too many of his thoughts since he arrived in Meryton, and now here she was, light and beautiful, her dark eyes sparkling up at him. He could scarcely recall the proper steps, let alone discuss and rebut Wickham's long list of grievances against him.

Tearing his eyes away, he watched Bingley talking eagerly to a trio of young ladies, including Miss Bennet and a redhead he understood to be Miss Mary King. The former's expression was, as ever, serene and pleasant; even at a distance, he could see the admiration in her gaze.

She was a friend to Georgiana and could be one again . She is kind-hearted. She likes Bingley. She deserves a man such as he.

"Sir?"

The pounding in his ears deafened him to the music and laughter swelling around them until the sharp edge in Miss Elizabeth's voice righted his thoughts.

"Mr Darcy? Is it so bad?"

Her eyes were alight, not with the lively mirth of which he had grown rather fond but with despondency. Stunned by how much he wished to fall into those depths, Darcy shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and in a low voice said, "If there is a shred of truth in what he has told you, I should give young Lucas there all my waistcoats."

She gasped. "How can you jest? There must be at least one truth—he must love my sister—else her pride and her reputation are lost."

He looked away from her, as eager to maintain a semblance of civility as to avoid what he assumed would be fury in her countenance. Leaning close to her ear, he assured her of his agreement. "True, he must love her, else this engagement makes no sense for a man such as he. We must speak privately. I shall tell you all I can of my history with Mr Wickham, and you can determine whether his character is worthy of your sister."

Darcy led Miss Elizabeth to Miss Lucas, bowed to her and gave her an earnest look, and disappeared into the crowd, desperate to find his hat, his carriage, and his peace of mind.