An Assembly Such as This

on the comical. The look of unabashed adoration he lifted to Darcy plainly battled with the sheer joy he was experiencing to be, at last, out in the fields. Darcy laughed softly as he watched the struggle between obedience and impulse cause the dog to quiver with suppressed excitement. The bundle of confliction finally cast him a look filled with such pleading that he would have had to have been made of stone to resist it even if he had not suddenly felt an echo of the same struggle within himself. He gave the beast a brisk caress and, snatching a good-sized stick from the ground, stood up again to his full height and looked down on the animal in stern command. Hound and master eyed each other, each watching closely for any blink of movement on the other’s part that would indicate a weakening of resolve. Darcy allowed the tension between them to mount until, with a great heave, he flung the stick and shouted out the most beautiful word for which a dog might hope. “Fetch!”

Like a tightly coiled spring suddenly released, the hound leapt forward in silent, total concentration on its quarry. In a matter of seconds, sounds of scuffling indicated that he was searching for his prize in the high, dry grass. Darcy sauntered in the direction the hunting party had taken, confident that the dog’s enthusiasm for the game would shortly bring him to heel. He was not disappointed. Wresting the stick from him, he flung it again but gave no command. The hound sat directly before him, blocking his way, a question in his large, young eyes. Darcy waited. A small, impatient whine escaped his muzzle and ended with a sharp bark.

“Fetch!” The command almost caught the hound unprepared. Off he bounded, and Darcy continued on his way, quickening his pace. He caught up with the others just as the hound returned, proudly bearing his treasure securely in his jaws.

“I say, Darcy, your dog must be of extraordinary use to you. Mine will retrieve only game, while yours provides for the fire to cook it as well!” quipped one of the gentlemen standing with Bingley. The group laughed genially, Darcy joining them.

“Gentlemen, this has been a most agreeable morning’s work,” said Bingley, pausing with pleasure as he was interrupted by several hear, hears. “Thank you…my pleasure.” He nodded back, acknowledging their accolades. “I, for one, have found it to have worked up a considerable appetite. Shall we turn back and see what my cook has deemed appropriate provender for gentlemen returned from a successful morning’s hunt?”

Hefting his weapon over his shoulder, Darcy recalled his dog from his intense perusal of the prized stick and turned back toward Netherfield. A clap on his other shoulder brought his head around sharply, but he relaxed immediately when he realized it was Bingley coming up behind him.

“What do you think?” his friend asked in a whisper as they tarried behind the others. “May I report my mission accomplished to my sisters?”

“Without question,” Darcy assured him, and added with a wry smile, “Take care you do not stand for a seat in Parliament next election, for you will surely win if you continue as you have begun!”

Bingley laughed heartily, then leaned toward Darcy conspiratorially. “I have it on reliable authority that the family of a certain young woman has also accepted an invitation to dine at the squire’s tomorrow evening. And,” he continued, blind to the martial light that appeared in Darcy’s eyes in response to his news, “while it is likely that we may find them at the Kings’, it is certain that they will be at the colonel’s, for the youngest daughter, I have learned, is a particular friend of the colonel’s wife.”

“You have neglected to mention the assembly at Sir William’s. Why is that, I wonder?” Darcy decided that Bingley’s ballooning exuberance could stand a judiciously delivered pricking.

“Oh, I knew that they would be included at the assembly,” Bingley replied, oblivious to the intent of the question. “I wonder you did not notice that Miss Elizabeth Bennet and Miss Lucas are fast friends! They are often in each other’s company.” Bingley shook his head incredulously at Darcy. “Really, Darcy, you are usually more observant!”

Darcy snorted at Bingley’s naivete but forbore to correct his misapprehension. So, Miss Elizabeth, we are to be continually thrown into each other’s society? he thought. What will be your next tack, I wonder. Bingley moved away to rejoin the other gentlemen, leaving Darcy to contemplate what forces he would need to marshal for tomorrow night’s engagement.

By the end of the evening at Squire Justin’s, Darcy knew himself to be thoroughly routed. Nothing had gone as he expected. Eschewing any form of strong drink that day to ensure himself a clear head, he had come prepared to parry wit and grace with his disturbing adversary. If the opportunity arose and all went well, he also intended to offer her his apology. Neither was to be.

Looking back, he realized he should have known that an evening beginning as inauspiciously as this one had could never, once in motion, be recouped. They had arrived at the squire’s more than fashionably late due to some detail of Miss Bingley’s dress that displeased her at the very last moment. They were further encumbered by the unfortunate throwing of a horseshoe by the carriage’s team leader, necessitating a slower than usual passage through the countryside. The muskiness of Mrs. Hurst’s perfume, which seemed to pervade the carriage, was nigh on giving him a headache, so that by the time they had finally gained their host’s drawing room, Darcy was hard- pressed to maintain an even temper.

Insisting that he be the last of the party to make his bow to their host, Darcy paused a moment just within the door to clear his head and regain his equilibrium. Miss Bingley was heartily welcomed by the squire and then handed ceremoniously on to his wife, who, with the daughters of the house, returned her curtsy in awed silence. Visibly pleased with the effect of her entrance, Miss Bingley condescended to inquire after their health and soon thereafter was gratified to be the center of attention, consisting of clothes envy on the part of most of the ladies and appreciation for the drape of those clothes on the part of the gentlemen. The Hursts followed, and then Bingley made his bow, receiving also a great shaking of his hand as the squire apologized for the pressing nature of his duties, the urgency of which had denied him the pleasure of joining the previous day’s hunting at Netherfield. “You must tell me how you like your new weapon, Mr. Bingley. I have been considering the purchase of just such a model.”

“I would be delighted, sir, to tell you all, but would not a demonstration be worth a thousand words? You must come to Netherfield at your earliest convenience and try it for yourself,” Bingley generously proposed, the invitation further cementing his approval among the denizens of Hertfordshire. He moved on to make his bow to the squire’s lady and was received with much apparent pleasure by the good woman and her daughters.

Darcy then presented himself to his host. “Mr. Darcy, sir,” began the squire, “I hear you have a most accomplished hound. The word is that after it has presented you with your trophy, it gathers wood for a fire, unpacks your hunt bag, and prepares the game in the Italian style for your dinner!” The small group of gentlemen in their vicinity laughed appreciatively. “Sir, name your price! I must have this wonder.”

“My apologies, Squire, for you have been seriously misled,” Darcy replied. His lower lip twitched slightly but he did not cease his sober regard of his host. “The hound is but young and still in much need of training. I regret to say that the Italian style is quite beyond its capabilities, but as the hound insists on putting garlic in everything, your informant’s mistake is understandable.” Darcy’s understated humor was greeted with dead silence for a moment, then the squire roared with laughter and the others joined him.

“Well done, Mr. Darcy! I see more goes on in that brain-box than your face betrays. May I present my wife?” The squire did the necessary, and Darcy soon found himself free to join whatever knot of fellow guests he might choose. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were well occupied with admirers. Mr. Hurst was arguing the merits of Gentleman’s Pride against Gray Shadow in their last race. Bingley was ensnared in a hunting conversation that Darcy could plainly see he wished to escape, as every few sentences he craned his head around, looking about the long room.

Yes, where are the Bennet sisters? Darcy began to search himself. Dismissing the group around Miss Bingley, he began a perambulation of the room. He was about to move past some people gathered around a settee when the gentleman in front of him stepped back, nearly colliding with him. Sidestepping in time not to be trod upon, he suddenly found himself face-to-face with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

“May I wish you good evening, Miss Bennet?” he began quickly, his bow to her as elegantly correct as if he were under the eyes of the queens of London Society. Her curtsy was his equal in correctness.

“You may, sir,” she said, paused, and then added somewhat distractedly as she looked up at him, “though whether it be good will depend upon ourselves, will it not?” Her lips curved into a perfunctory smile that appeared and then vanished in a moment, but not before Darcy was captivated by the sparkle that even such a slight smile