An Assembly Such as This

the corners of his mouth; then unalloyed mirth followed hot on its heels as Fletcher displayed the ruined breeches and regarded him in confusion. At this juncture, Darcy could only collapse into a nearby chair and press a hand to his eyes in an attempt to recover himself.

“Mr. Darcy? Sir?” Fletcher’s voice held a note of concern as Darcy continued to try to choke down the laughter that threatened every time he looked at his valet or the breeches.

“Mr. Fletcher,” he finally managed, “I remember distinctly that I had something of import to discuss with you, but on my life, I cannot recall what it was. You probably know better than I what I should be saying to you at this moment; so if you would be so kind, consider it said! And do not grieve over the breeches, man!”

“Yes, sir. Certainly…I shall find another pair immediately. Thank you, sir!” Fletcher stammered and was as good as his word.

In a record twenty minutes Darcy was ready to leave his chambers. As the valet began picking up his discarded clothing, Darcy paused for some moments. The plottings of last evening, crowned by the scene at church, required at least a show of displeasure on his part. Though for the former he had no real proof and for the latter…Well, the man had garnered praise from a considerable quarter. Pulling out his watch, Darcy fiddled with the stem and checked its time against the chamber clock. Finally, he replaced it in his waistcoat pocket. “Fletcher, a moment.”

“Mr. Darcy.” Fletcher’s demeanor told Darcy he had regained a measure of his usual aplomb.

“I mentioned a matter of importance, you may recall?” Fletcher stilled his movements and looked apprehensively at his master. “I do not know why or how, but it must not be repeated. Do I make myself clear?”

Fletcher nodded.

“Miss Bingley very ably communicated her annoyance, and I do not wish to entertain it again.”

“Miss Bingley, sir? What has Annie done to Miss Bingley?” Fletcher’s puzzlement matched Darcy’s.

“Annie and Miss Bingley? Why, nothing!” Darcy replied.

“Then you are not displeased about Annie, sir? Truly, what else could a Christian do but defend the little innocent against that great —”

“I speak not of the young woman, Fletcher, but of Miss Bingley! Although I cannot be pleased to see someone so intimately in my employ involved in such an altercation.”

“Mr. Darcy, I swear on my life that I never altercated with Miss Bingley,” Fletcher averred in horror.

“No, no, not Miss Bingley.” Darcy was close to despairing of making himself understood. “Fletcher, listen…” The chamber clock struck eight, which meant he should be downstairs that very moment. “I am convinced you understand my meaning,” he pronounced in frustration, “and I expect your entire compliance.”

“Of course, sir.” Fletcher bowed. Darcy nodded, incompletely satisfied but at a loss as to how to obtain that satisfaction or now even identify what exactly would. With another nod to Fletcher, he hurried down to the dining room.

The pleasurable quietness of Sunday passed into an unexpected tedium on Monday. Bingley’s interest in the intricacies of estate management waxed low and was ill-compensated by the brightening of Miss Bingley’s manner now her uninvited guests were gone. Several of the local worthies and their ladies came to dinner, but none brought the sparkle to which Darcy had become accustomed. Therefore, the following day, when Bingley suggested a ride into Meryton ending in a visit to Longbourn, “to inquire after Miss Bennet’s health for politeness’s sake,” he was disposed to agree with an alacrity that surprised his friend.

The four miles to Meryton by way of winding country lanes gave both men ample time to fill their lungs with the bracing air of a fine autumn day. Catching their masters’ sense of an escape well made, their restive mounts matched it, employing all their cunning toward making the outing an eventful one. In this they were encouraged by their masters’ laughter and affectionately derisive oaths as to their origins until the village itself was in sight; where perforce, gentlemanly manners on the parts of all were once more assumed. As they swung onto the main thoroughfare, Bingley pulled his horse to a stop and all but stood in his stirrups, displaying an eagerness for the scene before them that mystified as well as amused his companion.

“What is it, Bingley? What do you see?” Darcy called to him as he, himself, began to search the street.

“Don’t you see them, Darcy? The Bennet family, or rather the ladies at least, and some other gentlemen. Over on the left, near the linener’s.” Thus directed, Darcy found them, grouped round by several officers and two other gentlemen, one of whom appeared to be garbed in parson’s black.

“How fortunate! Now we need not press on to Longbourn nor, come to that, even stop to make your inquiries in the street. Miss Bennet is here and in obvious good health; therefore, we —”

Bingley’s glare was all Darcy had hoped for. He set his heels to Nelson’s sides and grinned as he shouted over his shoulder, “Gudgeon! Are you coming?”

As soon as Bingley caught him up, Darcy slowed to a sedate pace and approached the group. None in the party had yet noticed them, the ladies’ view being blocked by the unknown gentlemen. A flutter of anticipation welled unbidden in Darcy’s chest as first Miss Jane Bennet and then Miss Elizabeth became aware of their arrival.

“Miss Bennet and, yes, all your sisters! How delightful to meet you!” Bingley greeted as he brought his mount to a halt.

“Mr. Bingley! How do you do, sir?” replied several of the younger girls, flushed with all the agreeable attention they were receiving.

“Sirs, we have just been forming a new acquaintance as we introduce our newly come cousin to Meryton,” Elizabeth explained over the giggles of her siblings. “May I present our cousin Mr. Collins, from Kent?” Aware that the black-clad gentleman had turned, Darcy briefly rested his eyes upon him and nodded. The walk into Meryton had done marvelous things to Miss Elizabeth’s downy cheeks, and the pleasure in her eyes, though not, he knew, for himself, was still wonderful to behold. He tore his eyes from her as she embarked upon her second introduction and essayed to attend to it.

That gentleman had not turned during the previous introduction but had maintained an attitude which kept his face averted from the horseman. It passed quickly through Darcy’s mind that his figure seemed familiar. It cannot be…!

“…introduce Mr. Wickham, who has just joined Colonel Forster’s company.” Elizabeth beamed as the gentleman, in one fluid motion, turned and bowed.

Darcy froze in shock and anger. His face drained of all color save for his eyes, which flashed darkly at the new officer. Immediately sensing his master’s turmoil, Nelson began backing away and threw his head in growing agitation. Darcy’s movements were practiced as he brought the animal under control, but his focus continued to drill into Wickham’s reddening countenance. Unable to hold against Darcy’s furious scrutiny, Wickham flinched but smoothly disguised his reaction with a touch of his hat by way of a salute. With lips clasped in an unrelenting, grim line, Darcy returned the salutation with the merest veneer of civility and turned to Bingley, his mind and emotions in utter chaos.

Mercifully, Bingley continued his pleasantries with the ladies and gentlemen only a few minutes more before bidding the group adieu. To Darcy, the interview was interminable. He sat stiffly in his saddle, hardly knowing where to look, his mind reeling.

How can it be? Joined the regiment? Why? How? Questions and suspicions flowed thick and fast. Why here? Did he know I would be in Hertfordshire…follow me? His object, what can be his object? As he reached down and pretended to adjust a stirrup, a wave of nauseating fear shook him to his core. Georgiana! My God, has he done something to Georgiana and come to throw it in my face! Darcy could not prevent the tremors of rage and fear that coursed through his body any more than he could forbid the sun to rise. His hands shook, the street seemed to tilt crazily, and all his being cried out to leap upon the devil whose discomposure of moments ago was now replaced with an air of modesty and congeniality.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth” — Bingley’s voice broke through Darcy’s turmoil — “please extend my compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Mr. Collins, Mr.— Excuse me, Lieutenant Wickham.