Elizabeth was not formed for melancholy, or the practice of dwelling on the many disadvantages of her family life. There was an assembly planned in Meryton and she dearly loved to dance, so she cast aside her irritation and joined her sisters in the business of making the best of dresses, slippers and ribbons. Their Aunt Gardiner had sent them recent copies of magazines with the latest modes and, once they had persuaded Lydia out of a headdress suitable only for a woman twice her age and Kitty out of dampening her muslin to make it cling, had settled on new arrangements of their hair which, they felt, were both attractive and fashionable.
Mr Bennet had, as usual, declared his fixed intention of avoiding the occasion and even Mrs Bennet knew there was no moving him from his library. So the Longbourne coach was crammed with a squirming cargo of ladies, each attempting to protect her own gown from the feet and elbows of the other passengers.
"And remember, Jane, Mr Darcy is the tall, dark gentleman and you must be certain to look your best when we are introduced. And as for you, Miss Lizzie, I will thank you not to put yourself forward. We do not wish to give the gentleman a disgust of our country manners."
Elizabeth hide a smile and wondered what her mother would say if she told her that she had met the enigmatic Mr Darcy again at Mrs Walker's house, when she had called to ascertain how her son was faring. The gentleman had been perfectly polite but there had been a distinctly disdainful expression on his, admittedly very handsome, face. No doubt he disapproved of her visiting Mrs Walker because the woman ran a small alehouse, although she had taken her father's manservant Jesse as escort. Perhaps he shared her mother's views on 'country manners'.
The Assembly rooms were full of light, music and their friends. Lydia and Kitty immediately ran off to join a group of younger girls, while Mary found a quiet, well-lit corner to read in. Jane was commanded to sit with her mother and Elizabeth escaped to see her friend Charlotte Lucas, who was sitting with her mother on the other side of the room. The band, while not the most polished Elizabeth had every heard, were enthusiastic and the overall effect was good-humoured and even those not dancing, could scarcely avoid tapping their feet.
Elizabeth was soon invited to dance by Stephen Goulding, a friend since childhood and she enjoyed an invigorating polonaise which lifted her, not very depressed spirits and lent a becoming flush to her cheeks.
However, the set was just drawing to an end when the party from Netherfield arrived with all the éclat of a royal visit. Not only was the hero of the hour present, but also the new proprietor of Netherfield, a good-humoured-looking blond man in his late twenties, and two further ladies and another gentleman, quickly identified as the latter's two sisters and a brother-in-law. Their very dress marked them out amid the less fashionable crowd they had joined. The ladies' silks had been costed to within sixpence before they had advanced ten paces, and the gentlemen's incomes had been confidently stated on the basis only of the weight of their broadcloth and the probable cost of their silk neckcloths. The latter tied in knots of such intricacy that at least half a dozen, hitherto entirely satisfied, young gentlemen were cast into deepest gloom.
Sir William Lucas, as the acknowledged leader of Meryton society, hurried forward to greet them and bows and curtsies exchanged. He also took it upon himself to express the thanks for the neighbourhood for Mr Darcy's actions following the accident.
"I beg you not to refer to it, sir," replied Mr Darcy. "I did no more than anyone might who came across such an incident." This was felt to be most gentlemanly. However, once he had danced with both ladies of his own party, he refused to dance with anyone else. This was felt to be most ungentlemanly but, since the entire town had but recently decided that he was everything that was good, they were all reluctant to change their minds so quickly and determined that he had probably injured himself somewhat during his recent exertions and was unable to continue.
Mr Bingley, while the rest of his party held themselves aloof, was apparently determined to make up for their refusals. He danced every set, he was profuse in his compliments in a manner which happily combined good sense and propriety and was evidently much taken with Jane, whom he asked to dance twice. Mrs Bennet, did her best to attract the notice of his friend, doing everything possible short of tripping him up, and that gentleman eventually took refuge on the other side of the hall, where he surveyed the company from his considerable height in a manner which either revealed his disdain for his company or his physical discomfort, depending on whether one believed Elizabeth or her neighbours.
Since he had taken up position quite close to where she was sitting with Charlotte, she might very well have been the only person to hear an exchange between the two newly arrived gentlemen.
"Come, Darcy," said Mr Bingley, "I must have you dance. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You know how I detest it, unless I am particularly acquainted with my partner."
"Upon my word, I wouldn't be as fastidious as you for a kingdom. I've never met such a group of pleasant people in all my life."
"You might recollect, Bingley, that one of these 'pleasant people' owns the cottage I visited yesterday. I wouldn't keep my pigs in such conditions."
Bingley laughed and shook his head. "If you are going to assess your dance partners by their fathers' concern for the poor, I am afraid you may end up with a dance card entirely full of Quakers and such. Well, I have the hand of that remarkably pretty Bennet girl for the next set so I shall leave you here in lofty contemplation of your own virtue."
Mr Darcy watched his friend collect his partner from her harridan of a mother and wondered how much longer they would have to stay at this affair. It was his own fault, he had encouraged Bingley to attend, knowing how important it was for him to get to know his new neighbours, but he had underestimated just how uncomfortable he himself would be.
He winced imperceptibly as the band struck up once more and, as he did so, caught the eye of the Miss Bennet he had met twice over the last few days. He sighed to himself, he could hardly ignore the girl, so he bowed and braced himself for another exchange of polite nothings.
They exchanged greetings, then, "You are not enjoying the music, Mr Darcy." It was much more a statement than a question.
"I am afraid not, Miss Bennet." Really, he did not need to explain but found himself adding, "Are you familiar with the expression 'perfect pitch'?" She nodded and he continued. "The second violin and the viola are both tuned flat and I find the noise something akin to that of fingernails on a slate with which my cousins tormented me when we were all learning to write."
"You are a musician, sir?"
"I played the violin at one time," he replied stiffly. The conversation was becoming much too personal for his comfort.
"Oh what a shame you no longer do so. Music is, I find, such a resource in times of both trouble and joy."
He bowed but said nothing and they watched the rest of the set in silence.
It was the last set of the evening and the Assembly soon broke up in a flurry of lost shawls, mislaid sons and daughters and a welter of promises to call. Lydia and Kitty had had partners all evening and were satisfied, Mary had found a kindred soul in a visiting cousin of the Kings and had spent all evening discussing the works of the Reverend Fordyce. Jane had danced twice with the highly sought after Mr Bingley, and, if she had not managed to attract the attention of the rich Mr Darcy, he had not danced with anyone else from the town, so Mrs Bennet was almost satisfied.
Almost, but not quite. "Lizzie, I thought I told you not to thrust yourself forward in that immodest way. You quite kept Mr Darcy from meeting Jane."
Elizabeth shook her head. "Oh mama! You can hardly blame me for his hiding himself away all evening. He hardly exchanged more than a dozen words with anyone not of his party and certainly not with me." Her mother did not hear, but this was nothing new, Elizabeth was resigned to her mother not hearing anything she did not wish to. They returned home with no more than the usual amount of gossiping and complaining.
In the Netherfield coach, the conversation was much less good-humoured. Mr Bingley's sisters, Caroline and Louisa Hurst were united in abusing the company, the music and the hall. They both, and especially Caroline, tried to recruit Mr Darcy to their cause but without success. That gentleman cradled his hat on his knee and tried to remember when he had stopped playing and why.