An Assembly Such as This

“Lizzy!” exclaimed Miss Lucas, her voice edged with agitation. “Do oblige me!”

“Very well.” Elizabeth sighed with charming reticence. “If it must be so, it must.” She lifted a grave aspect to Darcy’s intense regard. “There is a very fine old saying, which everybody here is of course familiar with — ‘Keep your breath to cool your porridge’ — and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

She turned away in the company of her much-relieved friend, who as threatened, opened up the pianoforte that stood before the great window. The instrument glowed in candlelight as Elizabeth took her place before it. The other guests crowded toward the instrument, but Darcy stepped behind them, seeking some privacy in which to compose himself and evaluate what had passed between himself and the bewitching Elizabeth Bennet.

Undoubtedly, there had been some tension, he admitted, but surely her words at the last had been provocative. He warmed to the thought. She desired an apology, that was certain. But was he deceived in believing that she would be open to more once it was offered?

The first notes of a popular air interrupted his thoughts, vibrating delicately through the drawing room. Darcy recognized it at once as a piece that his sister had been working on before the fateful incident of the summer past. His familiarity with it excited his curiosity and drew him forward to seek a place from which to observe the lady without notice. Discovering a suitable vantage point that gave him an unobstructed view of her profile, he quietly sat down.

Technically, her performance was not the finest, but the lightness and emotion her fingering conveyed were arresting. Then, when she joined voice to music, Darcy learned enchantment. With growing pleasure, he surrendered to her rich timbre as it washed over his senses. The plaintive entreaty of the song and the tender expression that graced Elizabeth’s features as she sang gave rise to a resonance in unexplored depths within him that spread rapidly throughout his being. Darcy leaned forward, unwilling to miss any nuance, and tightly gripped the armrests of his chair. It was all he could do to stay in his seat, so strong was the urge to draw closer. He imagined leaning over her, reaching past her to turn the score’s pages…her warmth, the scent of lavender.

He could not say when she struck the air’s last note, lost as he was in the spell her song and his fancy had conspired to weave. Applause circled the room, recalling him, but it quieted before he could add his own. Cries of “Another, Miss Eliza!” were insistent enough to give the lady pause as she rose from the instrument. A beguiling smile revealed a sweetly positioned dimple as she graciously acceded to the general demand and resumed her place. Darcy could not prevent his sigh of satisfaction when she placed her fingers once more upon the keys.

Her second selection was as the first — elegant in its simplicity — but possessed of a joy of life and love that contrasted happily with its predecessor. Darcy felt a smile spread across his face that he would not have wished to account for had he been observed, its origin so private that he himself was not sure of its meaning. This time he kept his wits about him and joined in the appreciative applause at the end. Elizabeth rose again from the pianoforte and would not be persuaded to return. Swiftly, she made way for another to take her place and stepped lightly through the audience, accepting the praise of her friends and neighbors with what seemed to Darcy a most becoming absence of self-consciousness.

A concerto followed Elizabeth’s performance, played flawlessly by another Bennet girl but lacking the ease or inspiration found in her sister’s simpler offering. Darcy rose from his place in the middle of it in the hope of seeing more of Miss Elizabeth Bennet or catching Bingley before his sisters found him. Before either object was attained, the concerto ended, and a Scotch air set a number of the younger set to dancing at one end of the room. The loudness of the tune and the noise of pounding boots made it quite impossible to hold a conversation. Darcy stood in silent indignation, his anticipation of further intercourse with Miss Bennet, or anyone else for that matter, now dashed beneath the feet of a country reel.

“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy!” Darcy turned to his host, who had suddenly appeared at his elbow, and regarded Sir William with a world-weary fixity. Sir William waxed eloquent on his subject, taking no notice of his guest’s lack of accord. “There is nothing like dancing, after all. I consider it as one of the first refinements of polished societies.”

“Certainly, sir,” Darcy replied, provoked into sarcasm, “and it has the advantage also of being in vogue amongst the less polished societies of the world. Every savage can dance.”

If he noticed Darcy’s manner, Sir William took no offense but merely smiled. “Your friend Mr. Bingley performs delightfully, and I doubt not that you are an adept in the science yourself, Mr. Darcy.”

“You saw me dance at Meryton, I believe, sir,” Darcy answered him, unwilling to comment on his proficiency at an activity that held little appeal for him.

“Yes, indeed, and received no inconsiderable pleasure from the sight.” Sir William’s praise of his dancing gave Darcy to wonder whether the man had need of spectacles as well as common sense. “Do you often dance at St. James’s?”

Darcy almost shuddered at the thought. “Never, sir.”

“Do you not think it would be a proper compliment to the place?” Sir William inquired in all seriousness. Darcy’s years of training enabled him to remain still while every nerve in his body screamed to be removed from participation in one of the most inane conversations of his experience.

“It is a compliment which I never pay to any place if I can avoid it.” There, he could be no plainer than that!

Evidently, Sir William had exhausted his opinions on dancing, for he now embarked on a new tack in his bid to continue the engagement of his distinguished guest in his most protracted public exchange to date. “You have a house in Town, I conclude.”

Darcy bowed his acknowledgment of being in possession of a domicile in London and prayed that his silence would encourage Sir William to entertain his other guests with his opinions.

“I had once some thoughts of fixing in Town myself, for I am fond of superior society,” he confided, “but I did not feel quite certain that the air of London would agree with Lady Lucas.”

Darcy elected to offer no sentiments on London’s air or its suitability for Lady Lucas, hoping thereby to bring the interminable conversation to an end. Instead, a beneficent smile appeared on Sir William’s face. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are not you dancing?”

Darcy swung around sharply, in time to surprise the look of total confusion and not a little alarm on the lady’s face. Both emotions were quickly subsumed and replaced, when she dared to look him in the face, with an appearance of indifferent politeness.

“Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner. You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.” With the ease that came with long acquaintance, Sir William possessed himself of Elizabeth’s hand and turned to present it gallantly to Darcy. The opportunity to hold her hand in his and repeat that contact throughout a form was a serious temptation, which Darcy, though surprised by this good fortune, was well inclined to entertain. He stepped forward, but before he could assure her of his willingness, she drew back.

“Indeed, sir, I have not the least intention of dancing,” she hastened to inform Sir William. “I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner.” Darcy sensed her fear at once again being presented to his notice only to be dismissed.

“Miss Bennet,” he interrupted, gravely summoning up every ounce of propriety he possessed, “I would be most gratified if you would allow me the honor of your hand.” Her expression told him plainly that she believed no such thing.

“You excel so much in the dance, Miss Eliza, that it is cruel to deny me the happiness of seeing you,” Sir William wheedled. “And though this gentleman dislikes the amusement in general, he can have no objection, I am sure, to oblige us for one half hour.”

No objection in the least, thought Darcy, suddenly in more charity with Sir William than he would have thought possible only moments ago.

“Mr. Darcy is all politeness,” said Elizabeth, smiling in anticipation of emerging from this encounter the winner.

“He is, indeed: but considering the inducement, my dear Miss Eliza, we cannot wonder at his complaisance; for who would object to such a partner?”

It was a question for which neither party was prepared to venture an answer. Elizabeth looked at Darcy archly, eyes sparkling in triumph and, murmuring her regrets to Sir William, turned away. Although disappointed, Darcy could not help but admire her poise and amusement in the awkward situation into which they had been drawn. Miss Elizabeth Bennet was so much more than he had expected to encounter in the savage hinterlands of