An Assembly Such as This

gentry and is quite pleased with his circumstance. Netherfield Hall is a snug little property that will respond well to his first, halting steps as a landowner. The society is, in my opinion, quite savage; but I am being persuaded that within it delight may be found. Charles, of course, is half in love already with a local beauty. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst find nothing charming and, when they are not pining for Town, drop broad hints on how very agreeable they would find Pemberley.

A ball is to be held at Netherfield in the near future, alas! Beyond that, neither I nor they have formed plans. I do foresee a trip to London soon on business matters but am undecided as to whether I will return to Hertfordshire or remain in Town until I join you for Christmastide.

My dear sister, allow me to say again how heartened I am that all is well with you. I will not remind you of your studies, for I know well your diligence and already swell with pride at your accomplishments.

May God keep you, Sweetling, for you are the true treasure of Pemberley, as well as of my heart.

I remain your obedient servant,

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Darcy sanded and blotted his letter, folded it into precise thirds, and peered into the interior of the desk for a stick of sealing wax. Locating one in the far reaches of a cluttered drawer, he lit it, allowing a few drops to descend upon the letter’s edge and, deftly withdrawing his seal from his waistcoat pocket, secured his letter to his sister. This pleasant duty discharged, he leaned back in the chair and contemplated his situation, absently tapping the letter in his hand into the palm of the other.

Miss Elizabeth occupied a settee only feet away, engrossed once more in the needlework she had briefly abandoned during their lively sortie earlier. She presented to him a picture of the earnest needlewoman, her full lower lip caught between dainty white teeth, as she brought needle to cloth with practiced ease. An inexplicable surge of contentment coursed through him as his gaze lingered on her concentrated aspect and the elegant way she plied her needle, her smallest finger crooked just so. This pleasurable sensation slipped rapidly into dismay as he considered the current state of their acquaintance. Sighing to himself, he rose and placed the letter into the silver servier from whence posts were collected.

How could he regain her good opinion, if he ever had it? Should he compliment her needlework? Unprofitable ruse! She would merely say her thanks and they would again be point non- plus. He was looking about the room, desperate for inspiration, when his eyes alighted upon the pianoforte tucked into a corner. Perfect!…if she will consent.

“Miss Bingley, Miss Elizabeth,” he began a trifle awkwardly, “would you condescend to indulge us with music this evening?” Miss Bingley’s languid features brightened at the invitation, and she rose with grace and alacrity. So eager was she to satisfy his request that she had nearly gained the pianoforte before remembering that he had also addressed Elizabeth. Politeness required that, as hostess, she offer her guest the first opportunity to entertain. She turned back to the room slowly and with a brittle smile invited Elizabeth to precede her.

To Darcy’s disappointment, Elizabeth firmly declined the offer, but she did put away her embroidery. This he wished to interpret as an indication that she would oblige him when Miss Bingley had done. As Elizabeth drifted toward the instrument, Darcy could not prevent his eyes from following her, each step and rustle of her gown commanding his full attention. Miss Bingley began her first selection. A desire to engage Elizabeth in some manner warred with Darcy’s repugnance at playing the fool, as fool he would certainly appear in any attempt, on his part, to embark on a flirtation. A flirtation? The thought shocked him as much by its novelty as by its revelatory nature. A flush crept up his neck even as Elizabeth’s eyes made brief contact with his. Hooding them, he dropped his gaze to his hands, only to discover that he was twisting his ring furiously.

Miss Bingley came to the end of the mellow Italian love song she had chosen and received the appreciation of the room with grace but little apparent satisfaction. It was likely, Darcy suddenly realized as he joined in the applause, that she had chosen the song with hopes its words would direct his attention to herself. The smile on her lips clashed with the glitter in her eyes, telling him that his lapse instead into a brown study had been duly noted.

She turned her attention to Elizabeth. “Songs of love can be so tedious when one does not know the language,” she drawled in malice-edged condescension. “Do you not find this so, Miss Eliza?”

Elizabeth paused in her exploration of the music books lying on the pianoforte. “Oh, Miss Bingley, that is too unfortunate! Especially as you played them so beautifully. Please, permit me to translate them for you!”

Darcy almost choked as comprehension of the neat turn that her insinuation had been given flooded Miss Bingley’s face. “I did not mean…that is…that will not be necessary,” she sputtered. In silent fury she snatched her music sheets from their resting place and embarked on a loud and lively Scotch air.

The mischievous dimple Darcy had so admired at Sir William’s made an all too brief appearance. Its effect was, however, in no wise diminished by its lack of longevity. He rose from his chair with no consciousness of having done so and, before he had fully regained command of himself, was at her side. “Do not you feel a great inclination, Miss Bennet, to seize such an opportunity of dancing a reel?” The words tumbled out, surprising himself as much as anyone in the room.

Idiot! he castigated himself. Dance a reel! What are you about? Darcy knew her well enough now to be forewarned by the smile that played across her features. He had not, however, anticipated her silence. He repeated his question. It sounded even more ridiculous the second time, but to retreat now was unthinkable.

“Oh! I heard you before,” Elizabeth assured him, “but I could not immediately determine what to say in reply.” Her chin tilted up dangerously as she paused. Darcy once again felt the air between them electrify and promptly forgave himself his awkward address. He schooled his face ruthlessly against the effects of the thousands of charges flying betwixt them. “You wanted me, I know, to say yes, that you might have the pleasure of despising my taste,” Elizabeth challenged, “but I always delight in overthrowing those kinds of schemes, and cheating a person of their premeditated contempt. I have, therefore, made up my mind to tell you, that I do not want to dance a reel at all; and now” — she fixed him with an imperious look — “despise me if you dare.”

Magnificent! It was the only thought Darcy could lay hold of as he watched the flow of wit and emotion mingle with the charm of her pleasingly formed person. She did not yet interpret him aright, but if such delight as this followed, what did it signify? He placed his hand on his chest, as if acknowledging a hit direct, and solemnly bowed.

“Indeed, madam,” he replied as he straightened, his face softened by the wry smile that lit it, “I do not dare.” He bowed again and left her side. With a murmur of apology to the others, he left the room as well and sent for his man. Relief for his disordered thoughts and heightened senses was, he knew, to be found only in activity out-of-doors. Once changed, he would take his hound out for a run and discipline his own mind by engaging it in the dog’s further training.

Some minutes later he left his chambers, pulling on his gloves as he made for the stairs and almost ran down them. Once outdoors, though, he slowed and sauntered toward the pens that hugged one side of the stables. Bewitching minx! he mused, unable to banish her from his thoughts. With your impudent manners and lively mind! Yet so sweetly faithful to your sister — nursing her through the consequences of her own mother’s folly. The image of that lady came, then, forcefully to his mind. A moment’s contemplation of the woman’s vulgarity and avarice served to steady him, somewhat, in his fascination with her daughter.

He reached the hound’s pen and swiftly released the latch but did not open the gate until the animal within, beside himself with joy at his master’s appearance, displayed a proper decorum. Trafalgar quieted himself sufficiently to be granted his freedom, although his true opinion of the moment was betrayed by the rhythmic twitches of his tail. Darcy opened the gate, and the hound shot out, racing in a wide circle around him before loping up to throw himself at his feet. Darcy stooped down and fondled the dog’s ears. He was rewarded with a quick, surreptitious lick across his chin.

“I swear to you, old man,” he addressed his adoring suppliant, “she is so out of the common way that if it were not for the inferiority of her connections, your master should be in some danger.”