An Assembly Such as This

Fletcher and congratulated himself on keeping to his purpose, but on wearily slumping down into a chair, he found that the effort had fatigued him all out of proportion to its intended effect.

Do not think about it, he adjured himself, closing his eyes and yawning. You are much too tired to parse it all out. He stretched his legs and settled back into the chair to await the arrival of his valet.

“Ahem.

“Mr. Darcy, sir.

“Ahem!”

Darcy’s eyes opened slowly, but upon resting them on Fletcher, he sat up with a jolt. “Fletcher! I must have fallen asleep!”

“Yes, sir. You were quite caught in Hypnos’s thrall. Do you require anything more than the usual tonight, sir?”

“No, no.” Darcy shook his head and yawned. “I just wish to continue what I started here in this chair and as soon as it may be possible.”

“Certainly, sir. May I inquire as to which coat and waistcoat you wish readied for Services tomorrow?” Fletcher asked as he swiftly divested his master of coat and cravat. Darcy sighed; the energy needed to wrap his mind around his valet’s question seemed unavailable to him.

“Perhaps the green, sir, with the gold and gray striped waistcoat?”

Darcy managed a wry grin as he looked down at Fletcher. “Yes, I suppose. Rather grand for a little country church, though, wouldn’t you say?”

“Grand, sir? Memorable, certainly, sir, but grand? No sir,” Fletcher assured him as he set about preparing his master’s nightclothes.

Darcy peered narrowly at his valet. “Memorable, eh? And why should I want to style myself in a ‘memorable’ fashion tomorrow?”

The regard Fletcher turned to him at his question was a portrait of professionalism piqued. “Mr. Darcy, sir! I have a reputation to maintain!”

“In Hertfordshire?”

“In whatevershire you happen to be, sir. It is my duty, sir, to see you turned out in a manner in keeping with your station and the occasion.” Fletcher continued with his preparations, investing them with an increased dignity.

“And services at a country church require a ‘memorable’ turnout?” Darcy probed, his suspicions aroused by Fletcher’s protestations.

“Pardon me, sir, but I was under the apprehension that the Lord was equally present at a ‘country church’ as he is in London at Saint ——— ’s.”

“Humph,” Darcy snorted. “I am not entirely convinced that your sincerity in this is as good as your theology, but I am too fatigued to discuss it further. The green it shall be.”

“And the gold and gray waistcoat, sir?”

“The gold and gray,” Darcy acquiesced. “Although why I should appear ‘memorable’ tomorrow I still do not fathom.”

“Very good, sir. Good night, Mr. Darcy.” The smile on Fletcher’s face as he left gave Darcy pause, but the previous night’s lack of sleep, the morning’s brutal ride, and the joyless struggle with his attraction to Elizabeth Bennet had taken their toll. In a matter of moments, he was deep in a dreamless slumber.

Chapter 8 His Own Worst Enemy

Darcy adjusted his neckcloth to a less constricting degree of tightness than his valet had deemed necessary and glanced at himself in the mirror as Fletcher gave a last flick of his brush across the shoulders of his green coat.

“There now, sir.” Fletcher circled him with a critical eye. He stopped at the waistcoat and, with a sure thumb, pressed anew the crease of the lapel, then nodded his head in satisfaction.

“I have your approval, then?” Darcy queried in some exasperation with the inordinate amount of attention Fletcher was giving to preparations for a simple morning’s services at Meryton Church.

“You will do, sir.”

“Do! Fletcher, you have not gone totty-headed on me, I trust? I warned you when I engaged your services that I was not desirous of playing the coxcomb.”

“Certainly not, sir!” Fletcher drew up in pained effrontery. “Nor would I allow it were anyone to convince you to make the attempt. It is not your style, sir.”

“On that, at least, we are agreed!” Darcy reached for his gloves as Fletcher opened the chamber door, his master’s hat in hand.

“A pleasant Lord’s Day morning to you, sir.” He bowed and handed Darcy his beaver and prayer book. Darcy’s nod as he left was of that slow, thoughtful sort designed to remind Fletcher who was the master. In no confusion as to its meaning, the valet cast his eyes downward with an appropriate degree of servility and swiftly closed the door with a firm click.

Shaking his head in bemusement at his valet’s inexplicable behavior, Darcy descended the stairs to the main hall. Seeing no one yet gathered for what should have been an imminent departure, he withdrew his pocket watch to see if he had mistaken the time. His own timepiece matched the one adorning his chamber and the clock in the hall. Frowning, he replaced it and started toward the breakfast room, only to be recalled by the sound of voices from the hall above. Turning on his heel, he retraced his steps, rounded the corner newel post of the staircase, and looked up, prepared to deliver a sharp request for haste.

“Elizabeth!” Her name escaped his lips as only a whisper, but she seemed to have heard, for her eyes rose from watching her footing as she descended the stairs to meet and return his appreciative stare. She was dressed charmingly in a cream-colored gown picked out with delicate white embroidery, over which she wore a curry-hued spencer trimmed in green. The colors suited her admirably, Darcy noted, and suffused her complexion with a warm glow. She appeared hesitant, looking at him with a curiously wide-eyed expression. Without considering, Darcy took one step toward her, then another and, when he came aside her, stopped and looked down into her confused countenance.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he murmured, and bowed, careful of the narrow stair. “Permit me?” He offered her his arm and indicated the remaining steps.

“Mr. Darcy…thank you, sir.” Her voice wavered as she took his arm and hastily looked about the hall. “My sister is just behind me…The others are coming.”

“I hope that is so, or we shall be very late,” Darcy managed in a low, steady voice despite the inner tremors he was experiencing at the slight pressure her hand exerted on his arm. It looked so well there; the soft cream and curry seemed to melt right into his coat sleeve. Almost as if…

No, no, Fletcher couldn’t have known! His suspicion reawakened, Darcy looked up from his arm to the profile of the woman at his side and then back up the stairs behind them, half-expecting to see his valet lurking in the shadows of the upper hall. Instead, he beheld the rest of their party about to join them.

Resplendent in a violet gown and purple pelisse with a matching bonnet trimmed with sweeping gray feathers, Miss Bingley began her descent. “Mr. Darcy! Louisa and Hurst are just now coming, but Charles and Miss Bennet are here, as you see…” Her voice trailed off as she drew closer, and a look of puzzlement wrinkled her brow as she beheld Darcy.

“Miss Bingley?” he prompted at her loss of words. Seemingly confounded into silence, she let her eyes travel from himself to Elizabeth as the others joined them in the hall.

“Miss Elizabeth.” Bingley approached them, smiling. “You must allow me to say how in looks you are this morning, both you and Darcy, actually. You could not be more complementary if it had been planned.”

Darcy flushed uncomfortably, although whether the greater part was caused by Bingley’s ingenuous