An Assembly Such as This

heard it, Darcy’s contempt made room for anger at the woman on behalf of her daughter’s plight.

“Lizzy, do not interrupt me so. Excuse me, Lady Lucas, where was I? Oh, yes! I was just about to assure you that, in my own good fortune, I am not unconcerned with the disposition of your own dutiful girls. I am sure that you will, in no time at all, be in the same happy situation as myself.”

Darcy observed Elizabeth turn once again to her mother, vexation and shame alive on her face, accentuated by an overbrightness in her eyes. She hissed something in an inaudible tone. He guessed it was something about himself. His conjecture was not long in being confirmed.

“What is Mr. Darcy to me, pray, that I should be afraid of him?” Mrs. Bennet’s rhetoric stung him like a slap in the face. “I am sure we owe him no such particular civility as to be obliged to say nothing he may not like to hear.”

Darcy took a slow sip of his wine and set the glass down with deliberation. Never had he been witness to such a monumental display of impropriety in polite society. Further, to be its object was so astounding, so distasteful, that it rendered him speechless. Mrs. Bennet rattled on, oblivious to the looks of discomfort directed at her by both her daughter and Lady Lucas. To his relief, Darcy saw that no one looked at him except Elizabeth, whose misery at her mother’s behavior flushed her face and shoulders with shame. An unguarded wish to relieve her in some way tempered his disgust but did nothing toward changing his new-formed, implacable resolve that there was nothing under Heaven that would stop him from preventing a misalliance between Bingley and this family. He picked up his fork and, without tasting a bite, bent his attention to consuming the food on his plate, all the while considering strategy for his forthcoming campaign.

What remained of the evening Darcy passed in careful scrutiny of the Bennet family. His first object was to make a determination of the extent of his friend’s infatuation and of Miss Bennet’s affections. Fully cognizant of Charles’s tendency to enthusiasm, Darcy could not conclude with certainty whether Bingley was truly “in love” or had only succumbed to the allure of a pretty face and gentle manners. Miss Bennet was another matter. Under Darcy’s close observation, she appeared to receive Bingley’s attentions with becoming grace and modesty, but the joyful intensity of Bingley’s intercourse was not mirrored in her own face or deportment. She seemed pleased by him, to be sure, but untouched; and Darcy could detect no more in her manner than a proper acknowledgment of the honor his friend did her by his singular regard. No, he decided, she had not the look of true attachment about her. If Charles believed so, he deluded himself.

The supper over, entertainment was requested with a general cry from the gentlemen for song from the ladies. Darcy leaned back into his chair, experiencing in equal parts hope and fear that Elizabeth would answer the call. A glance told him that she was in no state to perform. Her eyes were downcast in a study of her gloves, her lips almost bloodless as they pressed close. Only when a general wave of movement from among the younger ladies resolved itself into the figure of another Bennet daughter did she look up.

“Oh dear…Mary Bennet.” Darcy heard a whisper come from behind him, which was then answered by a soft groan. “Screw up your courage now, lads” came an admonition from a lieutenant down the table to his fellows nearby. “Survive this and the Frenchies’ battle cries won’t bother you a bit.”

Darcy shot an alarmed glance at Elizabeth lest she have heard the ill-mannered comments that floated on the tide of general expectations. Her eyes were closed in what looked like pain. Her lips moved, but no sound issued forth. Polite applause recalled his attention to the performance at hand, and he turned, preparing himself for whatever might come.

The longer Miss Mary Bennet sang, the more grave his manner grew. In contrast to her elder sister, this Bennet female had a voice remarkable only for a weakness that she attempted to mask with affected movements suited more to the stage than to a private supper. Neither her inability to sustain the melody nor the ridicule her performance excited deterred her, for she needed but a modicum of applause at her finish to encourage the selection of another song.

Such eagerness to make a spectacle of a lack of talent and modesty was no less distasteful to Darcy than it was incomprehensible. Had no one thought to restrain such immodest tendencies in the girl? Her mother he discounted immediately, but what of her father? Mr. Bennet was reputed to be a peculiar sort of man, who but for the silent salute at Squire Justin’s, had remained largely unknown to him. He obviously exerts little influence upon his wife. Darcy grimaced to himself. Does that disregard extend to his daughters as well? He discreetly searched the room and discovered the gentleman in question making his way to the front. A very masculine sense of relief at the sight of a father taking command of his family gave him pause, and Darcy allowed himself a glimpse at Elizabeth, hoping to discern a lessening of her anxiety.

“That will do extremely well, child,” he heard Mr. Bennet admonish his daughter. “You have delighted us long enough. Let the other young ladies have time to exhibit.” Stunned by the baldness of Mr. Bennet’s words, Darcy could not believe what his ears told him. But the truth of it was testified by the fresh wash of pink that rushed over Elizabeth’s face. He quickly trained his eyes on the floor. Such withering remarks to address to one’s own flesh! And in public, no less! Darcy’s embarrassment at merely playing witness to such an exchange was nearly as acute as his opprobrium at its display.

“If I were so fortunate as to be able to sing, I should have great pleasure, I am sure, in obliging the company with an air.” The vaguely familiar voice stirred Darcy out of his reverie. He looked up to behold his aunt’s fawning vicar. “I do not mean, however, to assert that we can be justified in devoting too much of our time to music, for there are certainly other things to be attended to…”

Are we now to have a sermon in the midst of a ball! The disbelief under which Darcy labored verged upon the fantastic. He received the clergyman’s glances toward him with a growing dread.

“…as comfortable as possible. And I do not think it of light importance that a clergyman should have attentive and conciliatory manners towards everyone, especially towards those to whom he owes his preferment.”

Do not do it, man! Do not address to me…

“I cannot acquit him of that duty,” Mr. Collins continued, and then, with an ingratiating smile, he turned to Darcy. “Nor could I think well of the man who should omit an occasion of testifying his respect towards anybody connected with the family.” To Darcy’s horror, the room lapsed into complete silence as the vicar bowed deeply to him. Fortunately, the man looked for no response but took his seat. After a few moments the room concluded that there would be no acknowledgment of the strange clergyman’s speech and turned to other entertainment.

Darcy allowed himself to breathe again and motioned to a servant to refill his wineglass. Grasping it in fingers cold with outrage, he rose and walked swiftly into the meager shadow of the hearth’s great mantel. He took a generous sip from his glass and then turned to observe Bingley’s guests. His original assessment had been all too correct! Fuming, he took another gulp. Country society and its idea of manners fell appallingly wide of the mark. Ever since his entrance into its provincial precincts, he had been insulted, presumed upon, or toadied to by its chief inhabitants. The rules of good society were unknown, young women were allowed to run wild, and at any moment one could be subjected to stupendous indecorum, even at a ball!

Darcy’s narrowed gaze traveled over the crowd until he found Bingley in a far corner, his head bent close in private conversation with Miss Bennet while the ball swung crazily out of control. No! Darcy shook his head. For Charles’s own sake, it must be stopped! Despite her mother’s assertions, Miss Bennet had no claims beyond being the daughter of a gentleman, no connections that would benefit his friend, and little dowry to add to his income or property to increase his estate. Rather, she would bring to him an impossibly vulgar mother-in-law, four — no, three — unremarkable sisters he would be expected to foist upon Society, a caustic recluse for a father-in-law, and untold numbers of relations in the professional class. It was a script that presaged disaster. Darcy knew the extent of his influence with his friend, and this might well test its limits, but he must, he must, disengage him from this ruinous course.

He downed the last of his wine and, with gathered purpose, placed the glass on the nearest table, prepared to set the wheels in motion when sounds of rustling paper interrupted his thoughts and sent them rushing back to the hopes with which he had begun the evening. What had he wanted to come from this night? Merely Elizabeth Bennet’s good opinion? Darcy stepped back into the shadows. She was still at her chair, listening respectfully to a lady whose talents hers far eclipsed. Her color was still somewhat high, but it became her. The singing ceased,