An Assembly Such as This

me.”

At the mention of his partner’s eyes, Darcy recovered himself and turned to her, determined to take back the ground he had lost at Wickham’s hand, whatever the lies the blackguard had propounded. Perhaps, with prodding, Elizabeth would reveal them. He opened himself to attack. “Sir William’s interruption has made me forget what we were talking of,” he confessed with a tight smile.

“I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves,” she returned dismissively. “We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine.”

She declines to continue the subject. What now? He cast about for some promising topic upon which to engage her attention toward himself and away from Wickham.

“Part of my soul, I seek thee…”

“What think you of books?” he asked quickly, smiling at the memory of the shared library that day.

“Books — oh! No. I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings.”

He almost laughed outright at her hasty denial. “I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions,” he pressed her.

“No — I cannot talk of books in a ballroom,” she insisted shakily. “My head is always full of something else.”

“The present always occupies you in such scenes — does it?” He allowed the doubt to seep into his voice.

“Yes, always,” she affirmed, her attention distracted by some thoughts of her own. And then, suddenly, “I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, that you hardly ever forgave, that your resentment once created was unappeasable. You are very cautious, I suppose, as to its being created.”

What is this? Darcy’s suspicion was immediately alerted. A reply was required if he was to discover her meaning.

“I am,” he avowed firmly.

“And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?” she pursued.

“I hope not.” His alarm at the direction of her questions increased.

“It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first.” Elizabeth’s look as she parted from him to salute the lady to her left was piercing. Darcy stiffened, sensing a trap, but of what nature and to what end he was at a complete loss. Of only one thing was he sure: Wickham was in this. In some way, this was his doing.

“May I ask to what these questions tend?” he demanded icily when they were again hand in hand.

“Merely to the illustration of your character,” she said with a small, forced laugh. “I am trying to make it out.” They broke, presented their demibows, and joined hands again, moving around each other in a complete circle.

“And what is your success?” Darcy inquired, tight-lipped.

“I do not get on at all.” She shook her head and tried to disarm him with a smile. “I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

Definitely Wickham!

“I can readily believe that reports may vary greatly with respect to me,” he responded, summoning all his reserve to quell the tumult of emotions that threatened his composure, “and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.”

Her color was high as he turned to her and took her fingers into his grasp. Whether this was from anger at his words or the embarrassment she should have felt for her own, Darcy could not discern. To his amazement, she persisted.

“But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity.”

Did she seriously think he would bandy about his character on a ballroom floor? Darcy’s willingness to indulge her questioning ended abruptly. Determined to have this avenue of conversation closed, he turned to her a countenance of deep hauteur and replied in freezing tones, “I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, Miss Bennet.”

There could be no doubt that his manner had finally abashed her. She missed the next move in the figure, nearly tripping over the demitrain of her dress. Darcy moved quickly to rescue her from a certain fall. Elizabeth moved away from his clasp as quickly as possible, murmuring a disjointed thanks.

“It is my pleasure to be of service, Miss Bennet,” he told her quietly. She said no more, and they finished the set in silence and in silence parted after Darcy escorted her to a group of her friends. He could not prevent his gaze from searching her out after he took up a position across the room. She had left her friends and seemed engaged in a minute examination of one of the bouquets of flowers that graced the area. Her pensive air communicated itself to him clearly, and he wondered, with growing sympathy, what Wickham had told her that was robbing her of peace.

More devilry to lay to his account, the wretch! What tales can he be spreading to cause her to so trespass the bounds of propriety? And Forster! This could explain his coolness tonight when I greeted him. Wickham! Not here, yet here all the same. An evil imp, come between me and…He stopped this line of thought. Come to cut up my peace!

Darcy suddenly felt the need for some fresh air and solitude. With a last glance at Elizabeth, he turned, made his way through the gay line of dancers, and sought the first egress to the outside. The chill air hit his face and, as he anticipated, began to clear his head. The threads of emerald and gold in his waistcoat shimmered and blinked, catching Darcy’s eye as he paced the veranda in the light of an unforgiving moon. He snorted as he remembered Fletcher’s admonishment that his problem with “the lady” was no more than a comedy of errors.

If this be comedy, Fletcher, your tragedy I could not bear. He stopped and looked up at Lady Moon. I am not angry with her. She is not blameworthy, she is…It was the cold, surely, that caused him to shiver. My other half? Darcy shook his head and, wrapping his arms about him, clapped his hands against his sides and stamped his feet. Your foolishness seems to have followed you out-of-doors. So, why are you out here freezing? You can be just as much a fool warm as cold.

Chapter 10 Beyond the Pale

“Mr. Darcy, you are not going out-of-doors!” Darcy looked over his shoulder as he shut the door and beheld the amused face of Caroline Bingley. “Shame on you, sir,” she continued in playful dismay, “to leave me alone to entertain the barbarians — and within my very gates! Most unhandsomely done!”

Darcy laughed lightly and offered her his arm. “You are too late, Miss Bingley. I am just returned from a quest for fresh air. I will say in my defense that it is doubtful my absence has occasioned the display of any untoward behavior on the part of your guests. All seems well,” he added as he looked about them. “In any event, you may certainly command the services of your brother should you need reinforcements.”

At his assurances, Miss Bingley’s look changed to one of distress. “Charles! He would be of no use at all, provoking man!” At Darcy’s quizzical look, she hastened to elaborate, “It is his behavior that has suffered most in your absence. Such thoughtlessness as he so plainly displays in paying exclusive court to Miss Bennet cannot long be ignored by the other guests.” She lifted her hand in a helpless gesture. “Mr. Darcy, what is to be done? If his friends do not counsel him, I fear he will commit a grave error — one that may well shut the doors of Society against him.”

“He is still by her side, then?” Darcy’s face grew somber.

“Oh, yes” — Miss Bingley sniffed — “he may as well be leashed. Truly, Mr. Darcy, people are beginning to talk! Only just now, that insufferable Sir William was hinting to me that my duties as Netherfield’s mistress would soon burden me no longer. If he could say such a thing to me, he has said as much to others. Of that you may be