As the carriage traversed the last stretch of road toward the assembly hall, Darcy's apprehension peaked. Fortunately, his reluctance continued to go unnoticed by Bingley, who was quite absorbed by his own case of nerves. As it was, several times throughout the journey Darcy made himself inhale deeply so as to keep from loosing a deep sough of displeasure.
His own reticence could not be attributed to nerves, but rather a strong distaste for situations that caused him to feel like a prized show pony. Within his usual social circle, at least, the feeling was more comparable to passing inspection than blatant and unpleasant gawking and fawning. He feared tonight's gathering would subject him to the latter sort of attention — notion he despised.
No doubt he would begin by hearing whispers of Bingley's fortune (as he was the newest actual resident of the neighborhood) only to be eclipsed by murmurings of his own ten thousand a year. And just as expected, the evening would end with everyone convinced of the superiority of Bingley's amiable nature and fervent wishes that he was the wealthier of the two of them.
Not that Darcy particularly minded the last bit. Once the mothers, fathers, daughters, et al., drew that inevitable conclusion, he would be free to focus on enduring the boisterous cacophony that marked this sort of affair.
To be more precise, he would be free to practice distracting his mind from lingering overlong on thoughts that crept in during idle moments. He had fought for distractions the entire day. In fact, the thoughts of her seemed even more insidious than usual. He began to think of her as a small child demanding attention.
All of this was much to Caroline Bingley's distinct consternation, as she was even less able than normal to coax him into conversation. She spent the afternoon half-heartedly practicing the pianoforte whilst expressing her dismay in the form of what she hoped was a pretty pout about her mouth. Bingley too had commented on his obvious inattentiveness, stating that although Darcy had stared at a book for above a half hour, he had yet to turn a page.
In light of all this, Darcy found it even more difficult than usual to hide his discomfiture under the inscrutable countenance he spent much time and effort perfecting. Try as his might, he could think of no justification for an early escape back to the safety of Netherfield that wouldn't involve exercising obvious subterfuge. For the first time in years, he contemplated feigning illness as means of avoidance, but dismissed the idea as being just as juvenile as he had been the last time he attempted it. (He was eleven and trying to get out of lessons with his detested languages tutor. Mrs. Reynolds was not fooled.) Moreover, he hated the prospect of breaking his word to Bingley even on so trivial a matter.
A man's word is his bloody bond, after all… damn.
After what seemed an age, the carriage stopped and their party alighted. To Darcy's surprise, the men at the doors wore the white powdered wigs that usually adorned servants of prominent families. They bowed slightly in tandem and moved to push the heavy double doors open widely enough to admit the three of them as one. Darcy nearly drew back when he realized their formation put him at the head of the party with Charles and Caroline on either side and just behind him. Though he was tempted to insist Bingley go first, it was customary to allow those of superior circumstances to precede others. Before he could think to shift position, momentum carried them past the threshold.
As they were fashionably late due to Caroline's desire to make a grand entrance, there was already a dance in progress. The space was exceptionally crowded; they entered at the long end of the hall and subsequently, at the end of the line of couples. A young lady first spied their presence and stared, reaching blindly to tug the arm of the last dancer in line to halt her movement. Eventually, the next dancers noticed the delay and turned to stare as well.
Everything ground to a halt. A hush stole across the room as the music faded. All eyes turned toward the newcomers with many craning necks to see past their neighbors. A man approached whom Darcy recognized as Sir William Lucas, a member of the local gentry who had called previously at Netherfield.
"How good of you to come." Sir William began leading them slowly through the middle of the room, dividing the line of dancers on either side. Darcy scanned the crowd disinterestedly, half listening to the older man's quiet introductions.
As the throng parted, he felt the familiar itch under his collar that signified his hidden but nonetheless squirming discomfort at having so many pairs of eyes assessing him at once. He brought up the 'shield', as his sister called it, and let his mind and focus go blank, allowing his gaze to sweep over the blurred myriad of faces. And as he turned his head toward the right, the absolute last sight he expected to behold caught his attention.
The very eyes he could not forget. Brown and rich, sparkling, fringed with dark lashes. The finest eyes he never beheld.
There, in the face of an unexceptional girl wearing a dark green dress, were the eyes of his mystery woman.
No. Surely he was mistaken. No, it cannot be, he reasoned. For heaven's sake, 'tis nothing but a figment!
Yet, for an instant he was sure he recognized that particular brown hue. Quickly he fixed his gaze as she dropped a curtsey with the women around her, eyes lowered.
Then, as though she sensed his disquiet, her eyes flickered up to look at him directly. He shifted his gaze ahead hastily, barely able to contain a bombardment of emotion. His heartbeat quickened as he somehow knew it would.
Those eyes. Her eyes. Eyes he had seen dozens of times in a multitude of different expressions in what might as well be another life.
Fortunately for one who had been walking since just after his first birthday, his legs continued propelling him forward unabated though he was otherwise unaware of his surroundings. He felt abruptly disconnected from his environs as though plunged into a suddenly tangible dream world.
Hopeful that he had not stared excessively long at this stranger, he prayed hurriedly that no one had noticed his odd behavior, least of all the girl in green. The interval must have been short if he was able to continue forward without impeding the Bingleys behind him.
They continued to the end of the room as he forced his expression back into its usual mask, ignoring his confusion for the moment. Darcy kept quiet as Bingley and Sir William continued conversing together. The instruments began playing again as the dancers took up their former places as though there had been no interruption. He glanced in the direction of the girl but she had turned back toward her companions, thus preventing further study.
How very inconvenient indeed to encounter the apparent embodiment of his dream here in the country at an assembly he had no wish to attend! And on a day in particular when he would have dearly loved to be shut up alone with nothing more than a book to keep company with his disagreeable mood.
Obviously he was mistaken, his mind playing tricks on him. Clearly, he projected these strange secret desires onto an unwitting, unknown young woman who happened to have brown eyes. His restless nights apparently caused more injury to his psyche than he previously imagined. He would consult his physician as soon as he was back in London. And that is the end of it!
Darcy forced the matter from his mind ruthlessly, thus preventing anyone from noticing his preoccupation. Proficient as he was at maintaining composure, even Bingley did not notice his unease. For a moment, he was consumed by the process of convincing himself he was experiencing nothing more than the fruition of an exhausted mind and didn't pay heed to the group of people lining up for introduction.
Until he noticed the group included the girl in green, that is.
Mr. Bennet of Longbourn, who had also been a guest at Netherfield several days ago, led the group. Darcy darted a glance in the girl's direction as understanding dawned. She must be one of his five daughters.
Perfect, Darcy thought, keeping his face neutral. Now they shall expect the pony to prance about at their every whim.
Little did he know, his attempt at neutrality was perceived as near incivility. For, as his face settled into a habitually bored expression, some of his dismal spirits bled through until he appeared quite disdainful indeed.
"Mr. Bingley, my eldest daughter you know," Sir William began. Charlotte Lucas gave a small bob and smiled politely. "Mrs. Bennet, Miss Jane Bennet, Elizabeth, and Miss Mary Bennet." Each lady curtseyed in turn.
Almost against his will, Darcy took note of her name and turned it over in his mind.
Elizabeth Bennet.
Instantly, Bingley appeared transfixed by the eldest Miss Bennet. Darcy resisted the urge to roll his eyes, though she was arguably the prettiest of the lot. Fair of coloring and face, Jane Bennet appeared gentle and ethereal in a pale rose colored gown only slightly out of fashion, her flaxen hair curled delicately around a lovely face featuring eyes very much like her's but for a subtly rounder shape.
"It is a pleasure," their mother enthused. Her high voice grated so harshly on Darcy's raw nerves, he barely managed not to wince. "I have two others but they are already dancing." Wryly, he turned his eyes toward the dancers and couldn't help but wonder if they were the two laughing more raucously than the rest. For reasons he could not yet name, it seemed befitting of the general tone his evening was clearly taking on.
"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance." Bingley grinned, good humored as always, hardly able to tear his eyes from Jane Bennet.
"And may I introduce Mr. Darcy of Pemberley, in Derbyshire," Sir William enunciated pointedly.
Yet another stab of irritation made itself known at this machination. What would normally strike him as a perfectly normal introduction took on an entirely different, obscenely overt nature due to his mood. Despite the fact that no great sense of recognition overtook the faces of the group, there was no doubt they knew about him no matter how much of that knowledge now showed on their faces. This country-bred slip of a girl and her ridiculous mother probably couldn't help themselves and had already turned calculating eyes toward his and Bingley's fortunes. Neither respective sum could escape the notice of those anxiously awaiting the opportunity to throw their daughters in the way of men with sufficient enough fortune to more than secure their future. And no one would turn away the chance to secure said future with ten thousand a year as opposed to five thousand.
After all, it would be far more expedient to secure the future of the entire family rather than one daughter alone, Darcy thought bitterly. He'd long ago learned to identify the behavior after having seen it all too often amongst the London set. The greater the fortune, the more mercenary the efforts became.
He kept his face purposefully bland and unresponsive to the group before him, wondering vaguely what it would be like to enter into a gathering without his credentials preceding him.
From the corner of his eye he noted, albeit unwillingly, an expression of barely concealed amusement on the face of the girl in green in the form of slightly pursed lips and a tiny lift of finely arched brows.
His irritation doubled unreasonably.
With Bingley was so clearly enamored of the eldest daughter, he could only imaging the collective Bennets' thoughts would immediately turn to pairing himself with the second eldest.
Elizabeth, his mind supplied traitorously. She is Miss Elizabeth.
Inexplicably, the niggling thread of this alone threatened to unravel what remained of his equanimity.
He watched miserably as Bingley stepped forward to speak with the two eldest Bennet sisters. To his continuing dismay, Caroline Bingley remained steadfastly by his side.
"How do you like it here in Hertfordshire, Mr. Bingley?" He heard the girl in green ask, ignoring a small jump in his chest at the mere sound of her voice.
"Very much," Bingley replied, smiling.
"The library at Netherfield, I've heard, is one of the finest in the country." Her voice again. Another jump suppressed.
"Yes. It fills me with guilt. I'm not a very good reader, you see. I prefer being out of doors. Oh… I mean, I *can* read, of course… And that's not to say you can't read out of doors… um," Charles faltered blushingly.
"I wish I read more, but there always seem to be so many other things to do," Miss Bennet provided.
"Yes! That's exactly what I meant," Charles breathed gratefully.
Caroline, who had been observing this exchange with an air of general boredom, suddenly saw fit to interrupt Darcy's contemplative state. "Charles gets so adorably flustered when taken with a new pretty face," she drawled with a coquettish smile. "Speaking of libraries, Mr. Darcy, your library at Pemberley is astonishingly good." He found the need to clear his throat before speaking.
"Thank you. It is the work of many generations."
"And then you have added so much to it yourself."
"Indeed I have. I thank you for your attentions to my book collection, Caroline," he said, hoping to close the topic. He could well imagine her desire to be elsewhere nearly rivaled his own, though for undoubtedly different reasons. Still, he found himself unequal to the task of sharing this commiseration with her verbally. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice but instead appeared to find a modicum of comfort in the supposition that she and Darcy were of a like mind as to the decided inferiority of this particular gathering.
No indeed. Had Miss Bingley been privy to Darcy's thoughts at that moment, her response would have been quite unpredictable. Shock mostly certainly would dominate had she known Darcy had already repeatedly pushed from his mind various unseemly scenarios supplanting Miss Elizabeth Bennet in the place of his mystery dream woman. (An exercise he would repeat frequently throughout the evening.)
Caroline, of course, would be shocked in general not only by the existence of the mystery woman, but also that Mr. Darcy had dreams of any kind, let alone those of an unseemly nature. (Miss Bingley herself happened to be inclined to slumber so deeply as to cause more than one chambermaid to believe her to have expired in sleep.) Jealously would likely follow closely the moment she realized his thoughts, unseemly or otherwise, had nothing whatsoever to do with herself.
Thankfully, for all involved, no one in present company yet claimed the ability to divine others' thoughts.
For his part, Darcy had resolved to bestow no young lady with any attention at all regardless of her resemblance to ephemeral dream people. Redoubling his efforts to maintain his mask of indifference took enough of his concentration that he almost missed Bingley claiming the next dance with Miss Bennet. Suddenly, Miss Elizabeth was standing near him, looking on as Bingley and her sister maneuvered through the crowd to await the beginning of the next dance. As the music started, she turned to him.
"Do you dance, Mr. Darcy?" she inquired brightly.
"Not if I can help it," he replied tersely, without really looking at her. From the edge of his vision, he saw her turn away from him, a befuddled expression upon her face. She blinked, at a loss as to how to further the conversation and, after several more awkward seconds ticked by, walked away.
Regret quickly filled him as he turned his eyes to the floor. It's just as well, he told himself sternly. Surely she did not expect him to honor her with a dance. Even if she had, it was better he make his intentions known now that he would not be a participant in the night's revelry but merely an observer.
That's no cause to be rude, the traitorous inner voice muttered. Oddly, it sounded very much like the voice of Mrs. Reynolds as she would have sounded while scolding Darcy as a child. It was a tone she hadn't used on him in years but even thinking of it could still shame him.
As it seemed his current lot to revel in ignorance, however, he hastily turned his thoughts to other matters.
"We are a long way from Grovsner Square, are we not, Mr. Darcy?" Caroline's lip was all but curled in distaste. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head, following her eyes to where two young girls chatted and giggled boisterously with Mrs. Bennet. "The youngest Miss Bennets I presume," she indicated with a dainty roll of her eyes. Even from some distance, they could hear both girls expressing their continuous and very loud delight at the news that Meryton would very soon host a group of militia officers.
Darcy's frown deepened at their behavior but still he gave no verbal reply. A feeling of disquiet still possessed him after his first interaction with Miss Elizabeth and he thought it best to hold his tongue lest he risk displaying his altered condition. Nothing but a period of quiet solitude would restore his peace of mind. Unfortunately, such moments were sure to be lacking until their return to Netherfield; a return he was beginning to feel could not come too soon.
Presently, the dance in which Bingley was paired with Jane Bennet came to an end. Darcy had arrived at the number four after attempting to count the number of times his friend nearly lost track of his steps because of his attention to the lady. Now, Charles made a mad dash in Darcy's direction, no doubt seeking a confidant in his newest interest and a soothing balm to his nerves.
The rest of the crowd broke into small conversational groups whilst the musicians took a moment to avail themselves of refreshment. The pronounced hush in talk immediately surrounding Darcy gave him the peculiar feeling that he had become a topic of discussion. Rather than standing idly in the face of such scrutiny, he took the chance to stretch his legs, as he was still determined to refrain from any other physical activity. As it happened, he met Bingley in front of a line of staggered wooden seating. Absently, he realized he'd lost sight of Miss Elizabeth in the interim.
"There you are, Darcy. I say, this is rather more enjoyable than even I expected! What do you say?" His eyes lit up with his smile as the two men meandered down the length of the room.
"For my part, I say it's also rather more crowded," Darcy responded quietly.
"I've never seen so many pretty girls in my life." Bingley's enthusiasm continued unfettered as they slowed to a stop. Darcy briefly considered telling him to have his vision inspected, but decided against the idea.
"You were dancing with the only handsome girl in the room," he said instead. The words tasted strangely of falsehood even as they left his lips. A hollow sensation akin to dishonesty filled the pit of his stomach. He quickly dismissed it as nothing more than hunger.
"She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld!" Bingley's eyes lit up again, seizing upon the subject he wished to discuss most with fervor. "But her sister Elizabeth is very agreeable, too," he added hastily, with a suggestive raise of his brows.
"Perfectly tolerable, I dare say," he allowed quickly, the same void creeping into his abdomen. "But not handsome enough to tempt me. Return to your partner and enjoy her smiles. You're wasting your time with me." Bingley appeared to have barely heard him, turning away with a faintly thankful nod, already distracted by the pursuit of Miss Bennet. In his absence, Darcy struggled not to make a face. He had certainly expected Mrs. Bennet, possibly even Elizabeth herself, would imagine a natural pairing of the two of them, but not Bingley.
Where there are young ladies unattached, there are visions of matrimony dancing in their heads, he mused crossly, for a single man in possession of a good fortune simply must be in want of a wife.
Oddly, he found he was mildly disappointment Charles didn't try harder to win his participation. Usually, he worked for the better part of an hour to get Darcy to merely socialize if not ask a lady to dance, even if it was only Caroline. Perhaps Bingley finally understood that in such a setting, Darcy could ill afford to display any interest in any of the ladies present. Such an attachment would be an affront to his family name.
Still, it was something of a standing tradition between the two friends. Even before they had set out from Netherfield, Bingley had made sure to reference a second time the expected surplus of young ladies. Darcy had fully anticipated having to parry Bingley's encouragements throughout the night, citing his customary dislike of dancing. It seemed Charles was more taken with Miss Bennet than he previously believed. He resolved to keep a closer eye on the situation lest his friend develop an unequal or unsuitable regard.
Never mind that such activity would also divert his mind from other occupation.
Slowly, he made a circuit of the room, eventually coming back to his former position near the large fireplace. As he came to a stop, a flash of deep green crossed his vision. Purposefully, he averted his eyes, hardly noticing her progress across the floor nor her acceptance of an invitation issued by a stout young man with curly brown hair. Her enthusiasm in this acceptance also escaped his notice, as did her ease of movement once the dance began.
He laid the blame squarely at the feet of her unusual color of dress every time his eyes were drawn to her.
Does no one else in the whole of Meryton wear green?
Bingley had this time partnered with Charlotte Lucas, as Miss Bennet had evidently already promised this set to another. Though Charles seemed to be enjoying himself nonetheless, Darcy noticed his attention, when not on the movements of the dance, quite frequently strayed to the other lady. He noted, too, that Miss Elizabeth was similarly aware of Bingley's distraction and took delight in it. Again, Darcy tore his eyes away from her, admonishing himself firmly.
In the midst of his self-recrimination, a sound rang out, carrying across the room with more volume than ought to have been possible; a sound which gave him an impossible sense of familiarity though he had never truthfully heard its likeness.
Over the din of music and conversation came a melodious peel of tinkling laughter so full of vivacity and mirth he knew an uncharacteristic desire to join in. It brought feelings of intense intimacy strong enough made him flush with embarrassment as though the whole room was privy to his plight. His mind filled with an enticing picture of brown eyes closing on a sigh of pleasure. And he knew without looking from whom the laughter came.
Focusing his eyes on the far wall, he waited for the tension in his is stomach to subside. Unbidden, memories of a salacious bent assailed him one after another. The dam he'd spent the evening constructing piece by piece broke in fiery splendor. The softness of her lips; her fingers kneading his bare skin; the throaty hum she made when they joined; these and more systematically entered his mind and were firmly pushed away.
The wall at which he stared might have had a hole burned clear through it with the ferocity of his feelings in that moment.
For what felt like an epoch of time, Darcy found himself in a state of mortified arousal for the second time that day. Once again, his body seemed determined to act against him. For the first time in his life, he felt immense gratitude to be surrounded by people and activity that prevented his person from being scrutinized too closely. He was also thankful for the double layering of fabric that constructed the front of his breeches.
Fortunately for poor Darcy, the dance was an unruly and lively thing and no one much noticed his concerns. Not even the ever present Miss Bingley, who had fortuitously taken herself off to the refreshment table, was aware his predicament. (No doubt this was only undertaken so she could later make snide comments about the inadequacy of the offerings.)
For nearly ten minutes, Darcy forced his mind to dwell on cold weather, cold water, and his Aunt Catherine. Though it still angered him, he even resorted to thinking about the debacle at Ramsgate (a subject he avoided at nearly any cost). Until his blood cooled sufficiently from one source, he was happy to channel it's heat toward anger rather than arousal, at least until he stopped feeling so thoroughly exposed.
By the time the dance came to an end, Darcy had recovered and made his way haltingly through the crowd toward Bingley. He intended to tell his friend that he had a sudden headache and wished to leave immediately after the next dance. The previous resolution to avoid the use illness as an excuse was quite forgotten. Hesitant though he was to cut the evening short for Charles, he desired greatly to be away from the apparent incarnation of the woman from his dreams.
Such was his desperation, he even resolved to take the carriage back to Netherfield and have it return for the Bingleys if necessary.
Once again, however, other plans prevailed, this time in the form of the prodigiously civil Mrs. Bennet. The instant the dance was ended, she pounced upon Bingley, effusive in her praise of both his and Jane's dancing ability. As Darcy drew close, the group grew to include the very girl he least desired to see.
"Your friend Miss Lucas is a most amusing young woman," Bingley was saying to her.
"Oh, yes! I adore her," Miss Elizabeth returned with genuine feeling. Darcy tried not to look at her mouth as she spoke.
"It is a pity she's not more handsome," Mrs. Bennet observed abruptly, afraid Bingley's comment implied a danger to his preference for Jane. Bingley himself appeared entirely taken aback at hearing such a criticism stated so blatantly.
"Mama!" Miss Elizabeth said in shock, attempting to communicate a warning with her eyes the impropriety of expounding on this remark.
"Oh, not that Lizzie would ever admit that she's plain," Mrs. Bennet continued heedlessly. "Of course, it is my Jane who's considered the beauty of the county."
"No, Mama—Mama, please!" Jane put in, rightly embarrassed by her mother's immodesty. A faint stain colored her cheeks becomingly and her mother spoke over her, not to be stopped.
"When she was but fifteen, a gentleman was so much in love with her, I was sure he would make her an offer. However… he did write her some very pretty verses—"
"—And that put paid to it," Miss Elizabeth jumped in impatiently, placing a hand on her mothers arm to stay her. Clearly, she had been awaiting the opportunity to end her sister's mortification. "I wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love."
"I thought that poetry was the food of love." Darcy responded without thinking, nearly starting at the sound of his own voice. He hadn't set out to speak at all, especially not to the one person hounding his thoughts and certainly not in a conversation concerning love, of all things.
"Of a fine, stout love it may. But I am convinced if it is but a vague inclination, one poor sonnet will kill it stone dead," she replied without hesitation with a sly twinkle in her eyes. His narrowed on her, even as he became conscious that the others' eyes were trained on the two of them as the volley began.
"So what do you recommend to encourage affection?" he wondered, unable to hold her piercing gaze. His eyes flickered away to indicate Bingley standing next to him. Before he realized what he was asking, her reply was upon him.
"Dancing. Even if one's partner is barely tolerable."
A feeling of cold swept through him. She held his stare pointedly, far longer than propriety deemed appropriate, then curtseyed slowly, turned on her heel and walked away.
Frozen in place, he stared after her. After a moment, he realized his mouth was open slightly and shut it with an audible click.
It's not possible, he thought. He was sure she'd been nowhere near when he made that ill-humored remark. How did she know? How had she heard? Somehow she knew the exact word he had earlier used to describe her to Bingley.
For all his cold exterior, Darcy next felt the hot flush of shame throughout his body as she increased the distance between them. He watched her retreating back, as she continued to the other end of the room and through the double doors without so much as a hitch in her stride.
Not since he was a student had he cause to feel so thoroughly set down in conversation. He was far more accustomed to the role of instigator rather than recipient of such an exchange. How dare she presume to scold him in such a public venue? His behavior may not have been entirely above reproach, but she need not draw attention to the fact.
After a time, Darcy realized the next dance was starting around him and was once again faintly thankful for the mass of people that prevented his strange behavior from drawing undue attention. His legs felt leaden as he made his way to the side blindly. No small part of him wanted to follow her, though whether to apologize or rail at her he wasn't sure. As long as he remained surrounded by strangers he knew there would be no end to his inner chaos. He prayed Bingley's successful evening would make him amenable to leaving as soon as may be.
For Darcy, a swift end to this miserable outing would be his only salvation.
~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~
It was not until much later that Darcy was able to appreciate how astutely Elizabeth had dealt with the situation. He would even come to wonder if she realized it herself at the time, for he would have much cause to reflect on the specific night of the Meryton Assembly time and again from that point on.
Not only had she revealed her knowledge of his private comment referencing her tolerability, but she had also displayed, on the surface, near perfect indifference as to his opinion of her. Despite his resulting anger at her impertinence, no one but Bingley would actually understand the significance of her remark, and he was far too besotted with her older sister to notice. Instead she had drawn only his attention to his misconduct in such a way as to make further comment on his part all but impossible. Her obvious wit and quickness of mind took him completely by surprise.
Though an inauspicious beginning, he would later count it among the most interesting tales of his life.