An Assembly Such as This

Bingley raced down the stairs and leapt into the carriage with Darcy on his heels. “Drive on!” Bingley shouted, pulling the carriage door out of the servant’s grip. He shut it with a bang and then collapsed on the seat opposite his friend.

“Miss Bingley will not thank you for leaving her to travel with the Hursts,” observed Darcy as the carriage pulled smartly away.

“True,” responded Bingley, settling back into the cushions. “Just as I shall not thank her for inviting Miss Bennet to dine at Netherfield on a night when I was sure to be absent! You remember why I was late to the stable this morning? Well, Miss Bennet was the guest my sister did not want to ‘inconvenience’ me with entertaining. Had I not discovered the truth by pure chance, Miss Bennet would have come and gone leaving me none the wiser!”

“Perhaps your sister merely wishes to strike up a friendship with Miss Bennet independent of your regard,” offered Darcy, schooling his face so as not to betray his doubt of any such purpose. Bingley merely returned him a skeptical eye.

The remainder of the drive passed pleasantly in recollection of their tour of Netherfield that morning. They talked of plans, with fields planted and harvested, ditches cleared, ponds stocked, fences mended, and livestock added until the estate had fair become Paradise by the time they reached the gates of Lucas Lodge. As the carriage swept past the stone pillars, their conversation dwindled, and both men felt descend upon them an awkward silence, which deepened the closer they drew to their destination.

Sir William’s effusive welcome was accepted by the two gentlemen with aplomb. Darcy allowed Bingley to say all that was correct for both of them while he covertly surveyed the drawing room. Their formal greeting delivered, he accompanied Bingley into the room but abruptly changed course when he saw his friend’s destination was a table in an alcove adjoining the drawing room. There the two eldest Bennet sisters and a number of other young ladies were gathered around Miss Lucas as she demonstrated techniques in the painting of china, a rage that had swept higher Society a year ago, Darcy recalled, but was now considered passe in London. Before Bingley could make his bow to them, he was enveloped in a rainbow of muslin. Darcy looked away, cringing at his near escape from the crowd of females who were now demanding Bingley’s opinion of Miss Lucas’s art. He availed himself, for some minutes, of a nearby window offering an excellent view of the lodge’s park before conscience prodded him to look back at his beleaguered friend, only to behold Bingley wearing a beatific smile and with the situation well in hand.

A rustling among the ladies put a period to his meditation on Bingley’s remarkable ability and drew his attention to one particular lady. Her eyes crinkled in merry good nature, Miss Elizabeth had taken a seat at her friend’s elbow. Captivated, Darcy watched as she chose a small piece of china, lifted it appraisingly, and then, with a mischievous grin, dipped her brush into paint and applied several bold strokes. The first brush was summarily abandoned for another. Down it was plunged into another color and applied as boldly as the first. Gasps and laughter erupted all round as she set down the piece for the group’s inspection.

“There, Charlotte, I have exhausted my talent at china painting. You may fire it or dispose of it as you wish. Who is next?” Elizabeth handed her brush to an eager young gentleman, vacated her chair, and sketched a quick curtsy to the group. “If you will please excuse me.” She smiled at them and faced in Darcy’s direction. Immediately, he turned his head away from her, feigning indifference to her approach.

Darcy sensed rather than beheld her step past him. A curious but delicious tingling sensation swept through him in response to her brief closeness, the warmth of her seeming to drift around him caressingly as she passed. Mesmerized, he looked after her, his stomach knotting as she paused only a few feet away in contemplation of the company scattered before her.

He must have moved, however involuntarily, for Elizabeth suddenly turned back to him, her countenance exhibiting a startled air, which told him that she had not noticed him.

Before he could adequately appreciate the blush that colored her cheeks, she curtsied deeply to him. “Mr. Darcy! Pray, pardon me.”

“Miss Bennet.” He favored her with a clipped bow and hastily moved away, almost treading on Miss Bingley as she entered the room.

“Mr. Darcy!” she purred. “Pray, tell me you are not leaving! I depend upon you, sir, to rescue me from the stifling boredom that is sure to descend any moment, if it has not done so already.” She took possession of his unoffered arm and demanded a promenade about the perimeter of the room. “How wicked of you and my brother to hie off by yourselves! I was quite desolate.” She pouted prettily as they made their way.

Miss Bingley set a leisurely pace, but all too soon they drew near to the group in the alcove. “Oh, look, Darcy, they are painting china! How gauche!” She sniggered, not bothering to lower her voice. “No one paints china anymore. No one in London would admit to such a thing!” Darcy found that, although he was forced to acknowledge the truth of her observation, he could not join in her amusement and wished his companion had not exhibited her disdain in such a public manner.

Thankful that they had at last completed the circuit of the room, Darcy handed Miss Bingley over to the solicitude of their host. Seeing that a pot of strong, hot coffee had been added to the tables, he accepted a cup and took himself to the large fireplace whose finely carved mantel dominated the room. Leaning against it, he attempted to ameliorate the tension he felt by putting names to the faces around him but found that he was unable to prevent his eyes from searching out Elizabeth Bennet.

There! Surrounded by a group of officers. Darcy felt the tension in his chest ratchet upward. Now, she has broken away and goes in search of?…Ah, yes, the invaluable Miss Lucas. He had cause to think well of Miss Lucas, Elizabeth’s friend and confidante. Her conversations with Miss Bennet had naturally been the most instructive as to the latter’s character and interests, making them the most worth overhearing. He had gathered every bit with growing interest as accumulating pieces of the mystery of his fascination for her.

The ladies were engaged in a lively conversation with Colonel Forster, who seemed quite at ease with them both. Darcy put down his cup and set himself unobtrusively in the way of catching their discourse. Its content this time was of a disappointing sort, a campaign for a military ball that any female in the room might be capable of launching. The colonel graciously capitulated, the ladies curtsied their thanks and moved on, their heads quite close in shared confidences.

Suddenly, Elizabeth laid a hand on her friend’s arm and, with a pleased manner, directed her attention across the room. Darcy followed their gaze and with much less pleasure saw Bingley and the eldest Miss Bennet conversing in low tones in a secluded alcove. They were not unobserved by still others. Darcy could see Miss Bingley watching her brother with displeasure and then cast at himself a look that demanded he do something. With great reluctance, Darcy started across the room.

“Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, that I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I was teasing Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?” Darcy stopped short in astonishment as Elizabeth Bennet turned and tossed him a saucy smile with her impertinent question.

For a few eternal seconds, he despaired of retrieving the use of his faculties. He stood transfixed, his mind desperate to form the sort of riposte that such a query required but failing him utterly. “With great energy; but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic,” he replied with a coolness that was the antithesis of the riot of emotions in his breast.

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed at his answer, and her chin lifted slightly. “You are severe on us.” The accusation hung in the air, electrifying the distance between them in a manner that was at once alarming and intoxicating. Darcy knew immediately that she was referring to more than his innocuous observation. His words at their first meeting had not been forgotten. It was time to apologize. He took a quick, steadying breath.

“It will be her turn soon to be teased,” intervened Miss Lucas apprehensively, attempting to dispel the antagonism between her friend and her father’s distinguished guest. “I am going to open the instrument, Eliza, and you know what follows.” The light of challenge in Elizabeth’s eyes dimmed into that of a genuine chagrin in which she seemed to invite Darcy to participate as she acceded to her friend’s unspoken warning.

“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend! Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! If my vanity had taken a musical turn, you would have been invaluable.” She paused and turned to Darcy. “But as it is, I would really rather not sit down before those who must be in the habit of hearing the very best performers.”